Ex Libris 
 C. K. OGDEN 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 LIFE AND DEATH

 
 Air JTm^^^^ \r^m 
 
 ^^^S 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 LIFE AN D 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 DEATH 
 
 
 m 
 
 r^E^5Kf) 
 
 BEING 
 An authentic Account of the Deaths 
 
 m 
 
 1 
 
 LfftJKr^^ 
 
 of one hundred celebrated 
 
 
 liiy 
 
 
 men and women, with 
 
 
 1^ 
 
 ^n!K#^ 
 
 their portraits 
 
 ^ft J^n^o^^ 
 
 s 
 
 • T^f^S^^Vi 
 
 COLLATED AND RE-TOLD BY 
 
 
 u^ 
 
 R^[^^)iKl^ 
 
 COLONEL THOMAS H. LEWIN 
 
 
 9^ 
 
 
 AfTHOR OF 'the FLY ON THE WHEEL,' 'WILD 
 
 TRIBES OF THE S.E. FRONTIER,' ' THE 
 
 LEWIN LETTERS,' ETC. 
 
 K»^^-p 
 
 S 
 
 
 ? 
 
 1 KJ^^C^ 
 
 1 
 
 
 LONDON 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^r2^^J^fS\ 
 
 CONSTABLE AND CO. LTD. 
 
 
 ■^ 
 
 
 1910 
 
 ISfV^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^^^^ 
 
 
 i
 
 I or 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Vea! tliougln itself is triumph; nor would I pray 
 For Death ; nor shrink, if I could but command 
 Courage of heart — courage of heart and hand. 
 
 W. B. Scott. 
 
 'T'TTTHAT first inclined my mind to the making of this book 
 \ \ / was a passage that I met with in the Essays of Montaigne. 
 ▼ V It is in the 19th chapter of the First Book of Essays, and is 
 as follows : "There is nothing I desire more to be informed of, than of 
 the death of men; that is to say, what words, what countenance, and 
 what face they show at their death. Were I a composer of books, 
 I would keepe a register, commented of the divers deaths, which in 
 teaching men to die, should after teach them to live." 
 
 This collection of mine then is an attempt to make such a register 
 as Michael Lord of Montaigne, the Wise Master, recommended. It is 
 a record of the deaths of many distinguished and noteworthy human 
 beings, who have passed away from earth; showing how they bore 
 themselves on that master-day which judgeth all. The French have a 
 proverb, "Nous savons que nous mourons, mais nous ne le croyons 
 pas." We are as ignorant of the way in which we shall quit this 
 world, as we are of the manner in which we helplessly entered it: yet 
 in looking through all the deaths recorded here, I am astonished at 
 the fearlessness and ease with which human beings in general, leave 
 their mortal habitation. As the great surgeon John Hunter said, on 
 his death-bed, "If I had stren-gth enough to hold a pen, I would 
 write how easy and pleasant a thing it is to die." 
 
 What makes the hour of death so impressive is, that it is the 
 hour of sincerity. What a human being speaks or thinks at that hour, 
 will in most cases, be true and faithful: it is no time to make phrases 
 or pose for effect; and when that hour comes, if the body and mind 
 are unweakened by disease or old age (as in those for instance who.se 
 lives are reft away by execution, their bodies being in full health and 
 strength), we may truly say with Juvenal, " Fortem poscc animum 
 mortis tcrrore carentem," ask for a firm mind free from the terror oi 
 
 v
 
 vi A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 death. "There is a remedy for everything except Death," said 
 Don Quixote. We should not let die anything that has lived in the 
 past, especially anything that can show us clearly what manner of men 
 were the Great Ones who have gone before us : the ways of the living 
 and dying of such men are profitable for contemplation with sad 
 reverence; for death is a supernatural wonder, the last act of a most 
 strange drama which gives new meaning to all that has gone before. 
 It is the end that crowns the work. As Carlyle says, " It is the 
 transition out of visible Time into invisible Eternity." For when all 
 is said and done, man loves man ; the tie of mysterious brotherhood 
 connects each with all. "Homo sum; humani nihil a me alienum 
 puto." To die indeed is not so terrible; especially if one considers 
 what it would be not to die at all. Lord Stratford de RedclifFe told 
 Mr. Gladstone that "longevity was not a blessing." What poor 
 human nature shrinks from is prolonged suffering; the form and 
 manner of dying only are to be dreaded. As Heine wrote, "Der Tod 
 ist nichts, aber das Sterben ist eine schandliche Erfindung." Death 
 is nothing much, but the act of dying is an ignominious invention. 
 Nothing indeed is so bad or so good as we expect, and what has been 
 most assuredly will be. Old age is, on the whole, a much pleasanter 
 period of life than one expects; it is less full of anxiety; the stress 
 and strain of ambition have gone, with the attainment of an assured 
 position ; strength is less, but the spirits are more equable; and great- 
 est boon of all, man escapes from the yoke of the passions. Each 
 friend or companion who dies is a link severed in the chain that binds 
 us to life. Time flies and will not return, for the wings of men's lives 
 are plumed with the feathers of Death. As Shelley says: 
 
 First our pleasures die, and then 
 
 Our hopes, and then our fears: and, when 
 
 These are dead, the debt is due, 
 
 Dust claims dust — and we die too. 
 
 Or, we may say with Macbeth : 
 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day. 
 To the last syllable of recorded time; 
 And all our yesterdays, have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! 
 Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the stage 
 And then is heard no more.
 
 INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 There is no cause under heaven or upon this earth, for which 
 some person is not ready to die! How careless is Youth of life! From 
 mere joy of excitement, young men, aye and young girls too, will 
 fearlessly and pleasurably encounter the gravest risks of death. In 
 war, the chase, on the ocean, in aviation, mountain-climbing and 
 motoring, men meet their ends with open eyes, the motive being 
 generally the pleasure of exercising their physical powers and the 
 extreme delight in going one better than their fellows. Nothing 
 indeed is less real than the grave to those who are alive: for when we 
 are, Death is not; and when Death comes, we are not. As Cicero 
 says, "Death is an event either to be utterly disregarded, if it ex- 
 tinguish the soul's resistance; or much to be wished for, if it convey 
 her to some region where she shall exist for ever. I shall either be 
 not miserable, or I shall be happy." 
 
 To die is landing on some silent shore, 
 
 Where billows never break nor tempests roar. — Garth. 
 
 In old Roman days it was quite usual for any one who was 
 attacked by an incurable disease, or who was tired of life, to put a 
 voluntary end to existence. The suicide of Petronius Arbiter was 
 described by Tacitus as being a worthy action. "He determined to 
 linger no longer between hope and fear, }'et he did not force out life 
 by one violent effort, but ordering his veins to be opened, had them 
 bound up again, then opened them afresh as the mood took him, 
 addressing his friends not seriously, or with any view to gaining a 
 reputation for fortitude; he listened to them while they related, not 
 anything touching the immortality of the soul or the tenets of philo- 
 sophers, but frivolous poems and smooth verses. Some of his slaves 
 he rewarded with presents, others he ordered to be scourged; he 
 feasted, or he took a nap, so that his death, though compulsory, had 
 all the appearance of being natural." This was the Roman manner 
 of quitting life. We read of a senator in Trajan's time, who, slipping 
 on the pavement from infirmity, kissed the ground, exclaiming 
 "Proserpine, I come" — put his house in order and ended. The same 
 calm disregard of death is found among the Japanese, the Chinese 
 and the Red Indians of the American Continent; but with the spread 
 of Christianity the hope of a future life became the belief of mankind, 
 while the fear of hell-fire caused death to be regarded with terror; 
 at the same time the incapacity of earth's pleasures to satisfy human
 
 Vlll 
 
 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 ideals, and the conviction that there existed a moral law by which the 
 wrongs and injustices of this world might be adjusted or atoned for, 
 caused mankind at large to regard the ending of life on earth as a 
 much more serious and important event than had been set forth by 
 Plato or Cicero, or than was taught in the vague Pantheism to which 
 human reason naturally inclines. The Jews themselves cannot be said 
 to have held any strong convictions as to the immortality of the soul, 
 and but a dubious glimmer of belief is to be found in the Psalms. 
 A beautiful passage in Lafcadio Hearn's "Glimpses of Unfamiliar 
 Japan " (vol. ii, p. 6io) may fittingly find place here, giving as it does 
 the Japanese view as to a life beyond the grave. He says, "I was 
 on the point of quitting my hotel, when the landlady, touching my 
 arm, said, 'Wait a little. It is not good to cross a funeral.' I looked 
 round and saw the procession coming along the shore. It was a 
 child's funeral. Young lads came first bearing little white flags and 
 branches, and after the coffin the mother walked : a young peasant 
 woman crying very loudly, and wiping her eyes with the long sleeves 
 of her coarse blue dress. Then the old woman at my side murmured, 
 ' She sorrows: but she is very young. Perhaps it will come back to 
 her again.' " And elsewhere the same author speaks of the primitive 
 custom that prevails in parts of Japan, that of calling upon the name 
 of the dead immediately after death; for it is thought that the call 
 may be heard by the fleeting soul, which might thus sometimes be in- 
 duced to return. "Therefore, when a mother dies, her children should 
 first call her; and of all her children, first the youngest, for she loved 
 that one most: and then the husband and all those who loved the 
 dead, cry to her to return. And it is also the custom to call loudly 
 the name of any one who faints or becomes insensible from any cause, 
 and there are curious beliefs underlying this custom." It is said that 
 of those who swoon from pain or grief especially, many approach very 
 near to Death, and these always have the same experience. "You 
 feel," said such an one, "as if you were suddenly somewhere else and 
 quite happy — only tired; and you know that you want to go to a 
 Temple that is very far away. At last you reach the gate of the 
 Temple-court and see the Temple inside. It is wonderfully large and 
 beautiful; and you pass the gate and enter the Court to qo into the 
 Temple, but suddenly you hear the voices of friends behind you 
 calling your name, very very earnestly; so you turn back and all at
 
 INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 once you come to yourself again ; at least it is so if your heart cares 
 to live: but one who is really tired of living will not listen to the 
 voices, and walks on into the Temple. What there happens no man 
 knows, for they who enter that Temple never return." 
 
 As FitzGerald has it in his transcript of "Omar Khayyam ": 
 
 Strang-e, is it not? that of the myriads who 
 Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through, 
 
 Not one returns to tell us of the Road 
 Which to discover we must travel too. 
 
 Men fear death as children fear the dark; for, well considered, 
 death is but a cessation from the servitude of the body, the tyranny 
 of the passions, the impressions of our senses. Death is a purely 
 natural operation, such indeed as are youth and age, growth and 
 manhood, pregnancy and birth. As compared with the vastness of 
 time that has been before us and that will be after us, how short is 
 this, our period of human life — "as with the greatest so with the 
 least of men, each goes his own narrow way, however vociferous of 
 applause or of contempt the phantom spectators of this world may 
 be, however urgent the viewless witnesses of another. A man takes 
 up his candle, and in its clear but baffling light must push his way 
 through the darkness of life's corridor past every hindrance, stopping 
 his ears as best he may against fear and the conflicting voices, towards 
 the glimmer of the window at the far end, only to stand at last con- 
 fronting in the dark glass, against the deeper darkness of the night 
 without, his own weary and haunted face, bravely aware that even 
 the candle that has been his guide and comrade must be extinguished 
 before he can see beyond." 
 
 Marcus Aurelius says, " Either the order of things is fixed by 
 irrevocable Fate, or there is a placable, flexible Providence. If there 
 be an inexorable necessity, of what use is it for us to resist? If the 
 governing intelligence can be moved by prayer or good works, then 
 let us pray and act justly. . . . Now that is ever best which is good for 
 the whole, so that it appears that Death of itself can neither be hurtful 
 to anyone in particular, inasmuch as it depends not on our will, nor 
 is it contrary to the common good, while it is both expedient and 
 natural, being by the order and appointment of Divine Providence; 
 so that he whose mind accords with the Divine ordinance may truly 
 be said to be divinely led and inspired. ... It has indeed been often seen
 
 X A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 that they who esteemed pleasure alone to be happiness, and pain 
 misery, yet they nevertheless met death with perfect composure. We 
 are but actors for a season and our lives are rounded in a sleep. Go 
 thy ways then, well-pleased and contented, for so is He thatdismisseth 
 thee from this world's stage." The same thought had William 
 Shakespeare in The Tempest: 
 
 These our actors, 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air: 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cloud capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve 
 And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made on ; and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep. 
 
 Or again in Measure for Measure: 
 
 The best of rest is sleep, 
 And that thou oft provokest; yet grossly fear'st 
 Thy death, which is no more. 
 
 Then Plutarch in his preface to the Life of Paulus ^milius has 
 some delightfully apt thoughts which North thus paraphrases: 
 "When first I began to write these lives my intent was to profit 
 others, but since continuing and going on I have much profited myself 
 by looking into these histories, as if I looked into a glass to frame 
 and fashion my life to the mould and pattern of these virtuous and 
 noble men: for coursing over their manners in this sort and seeking 
 to describe their deaths, methinks I am still conversant and familiar 
 with them and do, as it were, lodge them with me one after another, 
 and when I come to peruse their histories and to weigh the virtues 
 and qualities they had and what singularities each of them possessed 
 and to choose and to cull out the chiefest things of note in them, then 
 I cried out, O God ! can there be a more surpassing pleasure in the 
 world? or is there anything of more force to teach men civil manners 
 and a ruled life, or to reform the vice in man? Democritus the 
 Philosopher writes that we should pray that we might ever see 
 happy images and sights in the air and that the good which is meet 
 and proper to our nature may rather come to us than that which is 
 evil and unfortunate; presupposing a false opinion and doctrine in
 
 INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 philosophy which alloweth to men, infinite superstitions; that there 
 are good and bad images flying in the air which give a good or ill 
 impression unto men and so incline them to vice or virtue; but as for 
 me, by continual reading of ancient histories and gathering these lives 
 together which now I place before you, and by always keeping in mind 
 the acts of the most noble and virtuous men of former ages and of 
 worthy memory, I do teach and prepare myself to shake off and 
 banish from me all lewd and dishonest conditions, if by chance the 
 conversation of those whose company I keep acquaint me with some 
 unhappy or ungracious touch. This is easy unto me, that do dispose 
 my quiet mind, not troubled with any passion, unto the deep con- 
 sideration of so many noble examples." Thus said Plutarch — and 
 of all the examples to be found in this collection I think the one 
 which most moved me was the death of the Emperor Baber, "for 
 greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his 
 friend." (See page 37.) 
 
 In the days long ago when I read the Memoirs of the Emperor 
 Baber, I remember also I came upon the story of the Persian Poet 
 Ferdusi who lived in the time of Muhammed Shah (a.d. 1020). 
 Now Muhammed Shah remembering the fame of the Poet Ferdusi 
 and how many hearts had been lightened by his verse, and learning 
 moreover that he lived in poverty in his dominions, ordered that gifts 
 should be sent to him equalling in amount the annual tribute of a 
 whole province. The long file of camels carrying the monarch's gifts 
 set forth and entered the Poet's city by the south gate, with sound of 
 trumpets and kettle-drums, and amid the applause of the populace; 
 just at the time when, by the north gate, the funeral procession of the 
 Poet Ferdusi carried his body to the tomb. 
 
 So passes this strange life of ours — leading whither? As Words- 
 worth says: 
 
 Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: 
 
 The soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 
 Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
 
 And Cometh from afar. 
 
 We start on our pilgrimage full of enthusiasm. Life's cup is nectar 
 at the brink. Hope beats high as we think how much there is to be 
 done and what we shall do. The world is full of prizes for those who 
 dare: but as the years go by, we cannot satisfy ourselves.
 
 xii A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon 
 Turns Ashes — or it prospers; and anon, 
 
 Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face, 
 Lighting a little Hour or two — is gone. 
 
 Our labour seems endless and unprofitable, and when the time comes 
 for us to cease work — lo ! it is as a tale that is told, and all we have 
 done and suffered seems of little worth : worldly success, rank, 
 pleasure, love, all fail to satisfy. It is something different from all 
 these that we seek. It is the peace that passeth understanding, only 
 to be found in Death. 
 
 The profit of life consists, not in the time we live, but in the use 
 we make of that time, for this life is a place of good or of evil, as we 
 make it. The Romans instead of saying "he is dead" were accus- 
 tomed to say " he has lived." It is indeed a trite old saying that we 
 all must die, but yet there is hardly one of us but thinks he may live 
 another twenty years yet. Death may be only the beginning of 
 another life : our birth is the commencement, as our death is the 
 end, of our present existence ; and it is as futile to regret the one as 
 it is to mourn the other, or to lament that we did not exist a hundred 
 years ago. Nature says, " Depart out of this world even as you 
 entered it; the same way you came from death into life, so, without 
 passion or amazement, return from life unto death." Make room in 
 this crowded world for others, as others have made room for you. 
 Lay down the burden and the mystery of all this unintelligible world 
 — the hurrying of mankind out of this brief existence into the un- 
 known and endless future, "to the land of solved problems; of 
 realized ideals; where the spirit is always willing and the flesh 
 never weak." 
 
 What we principally fear in death is pain, its customary fore- 
 runner; but patience and fortitude can diminish suffering and it is 
 one of the qualities of physical pain that it annihilates thought. It 
 is well known that if pain be violent it is also short; it will either 
 end itself, or put an end to you. As Montaigne says, " Pain is one 
 of the masks or appearances that death puts on to affright us: even 
 as children are frightened by any one, even their nearest or dearest, 
 who puts on a mask; but when the mask is removed, from things 
 as from men, there will be found beneath it nothing but that same 
 friendly Death that a foolish country-man or a silly maid did suffer 
 a while ago, without any great amazement or fear." R. L. Stevenson
 
 INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 wrote " I am almost glad to have seen Death so close, with all my 
 wits about me, and not in the customary lassitude and disenchantment 
 of disease. Even thus clearly beheld I found him not so terrible as we 
 suppose: but indeed, with the passing of years, the decay of strength, 
 the loss of all my old active and pleasant habits, there grows more and 
 more upon me the belief in the kindness of this scheme of things and 
 in the goodness of our veiled God, which is an excellent and pacifying 
 compensation." And now he too has gone! "Abiit ad plures!" he 
 has joined the great majority; the famous nations of the dead. Shall 
 we meet again those who have gone before? Mystery of mysteries! 
 The problem of immortality resolves itself indeed into this only — will 
 man remember after death? 
 
 When one we love passes the dread portals and accomplishes 
 the miracle of death, a great interest goes out of our lives: but 
 apart from the pang of separation there is a deep undercurrent of 
 feeling that seems in some way to change and alter the visible 
 universe. It is as if the departure of our friend's body had deprived 
 our own of some of its sentient fibres, and we are surprised to find 
 that the world still jogs on along its accustomed way, while to us 
 the earth and sea and sky have changed, and lost their brightness; 
 we realize then the loneliness, impenetrable and transparent, elusive, 
 and yet everlasting, the indestructible loneliness that surrounds every 
 human being, from the cradle to the grave. 
 
 Whatever may be the causes of dissolution, whether sudden 
 violence or lingering sickness, the immediate cause of death in all 
 cases is the failure of some part of the nervous system. As Herbert 
 Spencer puts it, " Life is the continuous adjustment of internal with 
 external relations"; and when this adjustment is interfered with life 
 ceases, and death ensues : so we have all depending on a balance of 
 mechanical forces. 
 
 Death by natural decay occurs because in old age the relations 
 between assimilation, oxidation, and genesis of force in the organism, 
 fall out of balance with the relations between oxygen, food, and 
 absorption of heat by the body. In old age the cells which form the 
 vital constituents of tissue are worn out by prolonged use. In youth 
 these cells are continually replaced by new ones. Millions of our 
 blood corpuscles are continually dying, and being replaced; our 
 vital processes in fact are all accompanied by a renewal of the tissues
 
 xiv A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 of the human body, and death only takes place because a worn-out 
 tissue cannot for ever renew itself: the capacity for continued activity 
 depending on cell regeneration, which is not everlasting but finite. 
 
 Death, from disease oraccident, arises when some unusual external 
 action takes place to which there is no answering internal reaction. 
 Sudden death is marked by the absence of all corporeal struggle, as 
 in death by lightning; or as when, in the Middle Ages, the "coup- 
 de-grace" or blow on the stomach of the criminal, whose limbs had 
 previously been broken on the wheel, was followed by the instant 
 termination of life. 
 
 It may then, I think, be assumed, that in death, the immediate 
 cause of dissolution is failure of the nervous system, especially the 
 higher centres which are very intimately associated with the brain, 
 and such interference or failure impairs and deadens the consciousness 
 of the dying so that they do not know fear. In death by asphyxia, 
 when the brain is bathed in dark venous blood, all power of thought 
 is gradually lost, the energy of the brain is lulled to sleep — a sleep 
 full of dreams; and the dying lips murmur the names of loved ones, 
 or speak of the recollections of the past, as Falstaff " babbled o' green 
 fields " ; or Napoleon, in vision of battle, uttered with his latest breath 
 the words "tete d'armee." 
 
 Sir Henry Halford, one of the leading physicians of the nineteenth 
 century, says " of the great number of those to whom it has been my 
 painful professional duty to have ministered in the last hours of their 
 lives, I have sometimes felt surprised that so few have appeared 
 reluctant to go 'to that undiscovered country, from whose bourne 
 no traveller returns.' Some have even manifested a willingness to 
 die, from impatience of suffering, or have passed into that passive 
 indifference which results from extreme bodily exhaustion." 
 
 I think therefore that we may consider it as proved that Death 
 in itself is a negative and natural experience, which should not be 
 dreaded and indeed is not dreaded by the dying. This conclusion is 
 amply confirmed by the historical instances given in this book. Our 
 being seems like a balance, where in equilibration are Construction 
 and Destruction : Life and Death. As the scales move we live or die. 
 
 In vain we ask what is life? what is death? for in discussing 
 these questions we arrive (as in all human research) at problems which 
 are insoluble: and yet it is this human quest after Truth, perfect
 
 INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 Truth, which has raised man from the level of the beasts that perish, 
 to his present undoubted supremacy in the world of intellect — a quest 
 that fills up the measure of life and gives it purpose. 
 
 The glories of our blood and state 
 Are shadows, not substantial things; 
 There is no armour against Fate, 
 Death lays his icy hand on kings; 
 
 Sceptre and Crown 
 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Our heads must come 
 
 To the cold tomb ; 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 
 
 James Shirley, 1596- 1666. 
 
 T. H. LEWIN.
 
 NOTE 
 
 I HAV'E to thank many authors and publishers for their kind permission to 
 make quotations from works written or published by them; in particular 
 Messrs. Thomas Nelson and Sons and Mr. R. E. Prothero ("Life of Dean 
 Stanley"), the Delegates of the Clarendon Press, Oxford (Jowett's "Phaedo"), 
 Messrs. Houghton Mifflin (Hearn's "Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan"), Messrs. 
 Longmans, Green, and Co. (Froude's " Life of Carlyle "'), Constable and Co. 
 (Holden's " Mogul Emperors of Hindustan" and "The Ancestor"), Messrs. 
 Macmillan and Co. (Contessa Cesaresco's "Life of Cavour," Mitford's "Tales 
 of Old Japan," and in conjunction with Mr. Aldis Wright, " Life of Edward 
 Fitzgerald"), Mr. Eveleigh Nash and Mr. Hilaire Belloc ("The Eye Witness"), 
 and Mr. Lloyd Osborne ("A Letter addressed to Friends by Lloyd Osborne"); 
 and also to my valued friend Mr. Busteed (" Echoes from Old Calcutta"). 
 
 T. H. L.
 
 MONUMKNT Al'X MORTS, PkRK-LaCHAISE. 
 
 Pa tna rd Photo. 
 
 " Respice item cjUcun nil ad nos aateacta vetustas 
 " Temporis jett-rni fuerit, quam nascimur ante. 
 " Hoc igitur speculum nobis natura fiituri, 
 " Temporis exponit post mortem denique nostram. 
 
 Consider how all the endless time that passed 
 Ere we were born, was nothing to us. 
 This mirror nature holds up to us showing 
 The time which shall also come, after our death.
 
 LAST WORDS 
 
 But at my backe I always heare Time's winged chariot hurrying neare. 
 
 Andrew Marvell. 
 
 Ainger: "Those were very agreeable voices that I heard this morning," 
 
 speaking of the song of birds. 
 Akaba, a.d. 132: "They led the Rabbi Akaba out for execution, just at 
 
 the time when the famous Shema (Deut. vi, 4) fell to be repeated. 
 
 'Hear, O Israel, Jehovah is God, Jehovah is one.' And as they tore 
 
 his flesh with curry-combs, and as he, with long-drawn breath sounded 
 
 forth the word IHN (one), his soul departed from him." — The Talmud. 
 Arne, T. a. : Died trying to sing a passage of music. 
 AscHAM, R.: "I desire to depart and to be with Christ." 
 Barter, General: His wife asked him if he were afraid to die. He 
 
 answered, "A soldier, my dear, and afraid to meet my God!" 
 Bronte, C. : "Oh! I am not going to die, am I? He will not separate us: 
 
 we have been so happy." 
 Browning, E. B. : "How do you feel?" asked her husband. "Beautiful," 
 
 she answered. 
 Byron, Lord: "Now I must sleep." 
 A Canon of Westminster: "I have passed the gates, but have been 
 
 permitted to return to tell you that there is another life." 
 Cato: "Now I am master of myself," as he felt the point of his sword and 
 
 shortened it for the stroke by which he killed himself. 
 Charlemagne: "Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit." 
 Chesterfield, Lord: "Give the Doctor — a chair." 
 Churchill, C. : "What a fool I have been!" said the dying disreputable 
 
 parson-poet. 
 Corot: "When the Spring comes I will paint a beautiful picture. I see a 
 
 sky full of roses." 
 Crome, J.: His last words were "Hobbema, my dear Hobbcma! How 1 
 
 have loved you." 
 Dyott, General: "It is easier to die than to live." 
 Gainsborough, T. : "We are all going to Heaven and Vandyke is of the 
 
 company." 
 Goethe, J. W.: "More light." 
 
 c
 
 xviii A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 Graham, J.: "How goes the day?" "Well for the King, but I am sorry 
 
 for your Lordship." "'Tis the less matter for me," answered Graham 
 
 of Claverhouse, "since it goes well for my master." 
 GusTAVUS Adolphus: "I am sped, brother. Save thyself." 
 Haller, a. von: Feeling his own pulse, said, "The artery ceases to beat," 
 
 and died on the instant. 
 Harrison, Thos.: "Where is your good old cause now?" "Here it is," 
 
 answered the regicide, laying his hand upon his heart. "I am going 
 
 to seal it with my blood." 
 Haydn, Josef: Fell into his death swoon as he sat at the piano playing 
 
 "God preserve the Emperor," while the French cannon were firing. 
 HOBBES, T. : "I am taking a fearful leap in the dark!" On his tomb at his 
 
 own request is written, "This is the philosopher's stone." 
 Hunter, John, The Great Surgeon: "If I had strength enough to hold 
 
 a pen, I would write how easy and pleasant a thing it is to die." 
 Irving, Hy. : "Into Thy hands, O Lord, into Thy hands." 
 Lawrence, Sir Henry: "Here lies Henry Lawrence, who tried to do his 
 
 duty." 
 Louis XVIII : On his death-bed an attendant priest began to read the prayers 
 
 for the dying. The King opened his eyes. "Is it as bad as that?" 
 
 he asked. "Yes, Sire," said the priest. "Well! never mind. Go on 
 
 with it," said the King. 
 Luther, Martin: "Into Thy hands, O God, I commit my spirit." 
 Maria Theresa: "Your Majesty rests uncomfortably." "I am comfortable 
 
 enough to die." 
 Marie Antoinette: "Nothing can hurt me now." 
 Mary Stuart: "Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commit my spirit." 
 Mazarin, J. : Looking at his treasures, " — et il faut quitter tout cela!" 
 Montmorency, A. de: "Do you think that a man who has known how to 
 
 live honourably for eighty years does not know how to die for a 
 
 quarter of an hour?" 
 Moore, John: "I hope my countrymen will do me justice." 
 Mozart, W. A. : Died while his daughter was singing to him from his 
 
 "Requiem." 
 Napoleon Bonaparte: "Tete d'armee." 
 Nelson, Lord: "Thank God! I have done my duty." 
 Nero: "What an artist is lost in me!" 
 
 Newton, Sir Isaac: Expired in the act of winding his watch. 
 PcETUS: Arria, wife of Cfficina Foetus, when her husband was ordered by 
 
 the Emperor Claudius to put himself to death, finding that he lacked 
 
 courage stabbed herself mortally, then drawing out the knife she gave 
 
 it to her husband, saying with a smile, "Poete, non dolet" — "Foetus, 
 
 it does not hurt."
 
 LAST WORDS xix 
 
 Patmore, C. : To his wife. "I love you, my dear, but He is my light and 
 
 my life." 
 Pitt, W. : "Oh! How I leave my country!" 
 
 Richelieu, Cardinal: "1 have had no enemies but those of the State." 
 Sarsfield, p.: Seeing the blood on his hand he said, "Oh! that this were 
 
 shed for Ireland!" 
 Shirley (formerly Editor of " Punch") "lit a cigar and was taking a few 
 
 whiffs when a look of great surprise came over his face and he fell 
 
 back in the bed, dead." 
 Sidney, Sir Philip: "This man's necessity is greater than mine." 
 Tenterden, Lord: Lord Chief Justice Tenterden thought he was dismissing 
 
 a jury and said, "Gentlemen, you are dismissed." 
 Thistlethwayte, Arthur: (On execution.) "Now to learn the great secret. " 
 Vespasian: "An Emperor should die standing." 
 Washington, G. : "It is well with me." 
 Wesley, J.: "The best of all is, God with us." 
 Wolfe, C. : Author of "The Burial of Sir John Moore." His last words 
 
 were, "Close this eye. The other is closed already. Farewell." 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH (1552-1618), written the Night 
 before his Execution. 
 
 Even such is time: that takes in trust 
 Our youth, our joys, our all we have. 
 And pays us but with earth and dust; 
 Who, in the dark and silent grave, 
 When we have wandered all our ways. 
 Shuts up the story of our days; 
 But from this earth, this grave, this dust. 
 My God shall raise me up, I trust. 
 
 GRAHAM OF CLAVERHOUSE (1613-1650), written the Night 
 
 BEFORE HIS EXECUTION. 
 
 Let them bestow on every airt a limb, 
 
 Then open all my veins, that I may swim 
 
 To Thee, my Maker, in a crimson lake; 
 
 Then place my parboiled head upon a stake. 
 
 Scatter my ashes, strew them in the air. 
 
 Lord! since Thou knowest where these atoms are, 
 
 I'm hopeful Thou wilt gather all my dust, 
 
 And confident Thou'lt raise me with the just.
 
 XX A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 Epitaph in the Churchyard of Anthieux, near Rouen. 
 
 Passant, penses-tu pas 
 Passer par ce passage, 
 Oil passant, j'ai passe? 
 Si tu n'y penses pas, 
 Passant, tu n'es pas sage; 
 Car en n'y pensant pas, 
 Tu te verra passe.
 
 'The Dance of Death" by Hans Holbein.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Introduction 
 Last Words 
 
 NO. DATE OF 
 
 1. Socrates b.c. 
 
 2. ^MiLius, Paulus 
 
 3. A Lady of Cea 
 
 4. OcTAviANus Augustus a 
 
 5. Seneca 
 
 6. St. Paul 
 
 7. St. Peter 
 
 8. Nero 
 
 g. Saints Perpetua and Felicitas 
 
 10. St. Peter Balsam 
 
 11. The Prophet Mohammed 
 
 12. Charlemagne 
 
 13. Henry IV of England 
 
 14. Joan of Arc 
 
 15. Louis XI of France 
 
 16. Cardinal Wolsey 
 
 17. The Emperor Baber 
 
 18. Martin Luther ........ 
 
 19. St. Francis Xavier ....... 
 
 20. Latimer and Ridley ....... 
 
 20. Archbishop Cranmer ....... 
 
 21. The Emperor Charles V ..... . 
 
 22. Jean Calvin ......... 
 
 23. John Knox 
 
 24. St. Teresa 
 
 25. William of Orange, " William the Silent " 
 
 26. Mary, Queen of Scots 
 
 27. Sir Richard Grenville 
 
 28. Michel de Montaigne 
 
 29. Queen Elizabeth ........ 
 
 30. Sir Walter Raleigh 
 
 PAGE 
 V 
 
 xvii 
 
 DEATH 
 
 399 
 160 
 
 55 
 14 
 65 
 66 
 67 
 68 
 202 
 
 3" 
 632 
 814 
 1413 
 1431 
 1483 
 1530 
 1530 
 1546 
 1552 
 1555 
 1556 
 1558 
 1564 
 1572 
 1582 
 
 1584 
 1587 
 159' 
 1592 
 1603 
 1618
 
 xxii A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 NO. 
 
 31. Jacob Bohme 
 
 32. Dr. John Donne 
 
 33. GusTAvus Adolphus 
 
 34. George Herbert 
 
 35. Cardinal Richelieu 
 
 36. Lord Herbert of Cherbury 
 
 37. Arthur, Lord Capel 
 
 38. Charles I of England 
 
 39. William Harvey, M.D 
 
 40. Oliver Cromwell 
 
 41. Princess Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans . 
 
 42. Charles H ....... . 
 
 43. The Emperor Aurungzebe 
 
 44. Louis XIV 
 
 45. Madame Guyon 
 
 46. Sir Isaac Newton 
 
 47. Queen Caroline of Anspach, Wife of George II 
 
 48. Frederick William I of Prussia .... 
 
 49. George II of England 
 
 50. Emanuel Swedenborg 
 
 51. Louis XV of France 
 
 52. The Rajah Nanda Kumar (Nuncomar) 
 
 53. David Hume 
 
 54. Jean-Jacques Rousseau 
 
 55. The Empress Maria Theresa .... 
 
 56. Denis Diderot 
 
 57. Samuel Johnson 
 
 58. John Fletcher of Madeley 
 
 59. Friedrich II of Prussia (Frederick the Great) 
 
 60. John Wesley 
 
 61. MiRABEAU 
 
 62. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart .... 
 
 63. Louis XVI of France 
 
 64. Marat 
 
 65. Charlotte Corday 
 
 66. Marie Antoinette 
 
 67. Madame Roland 
 
 68. Madame du Barry 
 
 69. Danton 
 
 70. Camille Desmoulins 
 
 71. Hindoo Widow's Suttee 
 
 72. George Washington 
 
 DATE OF 
 
 DEATH 
 
 a.d. 
 
 1624 
 
 )» 
 
 I63I 
 
 ») 
 
 1632 
 
 M 
 
 1633 
 
 )) 
 
 1642 
 
 1 1 
 
 1648 
 
 1 » 
 
 1649 
 
 ^f 
 
 1649 
 
 )) 
 
 1657 
 
 1 1 
 
 1658 
 
 J 1 
 
 1670 
 
 ) ( 
 
 1685 
 
 )) 
 
 1707 
 
 !) 
 
 I7I5 
 
 n 
 
 I717 
 
 n 
 
 1727 
 
 n 
 
 1737 
 
 )» 
 
 1740 
 
 )) 
 
 1760 
 
 >) 
 
 1772 
 
 > » 
 
 1774 
 
 » } 
 
 1775 
 
 )> 
 
 1776 
 
 i> 
 
 1778 
 
 »> 
 
 1780 
 
 )t 
 
 1784 
 
 M 
 
 1784 
 
 J > 
 
 1785 
 
 >> 
 
 1786 
 
 )) 
 
 I79I 
 
 M 
 
 I79I 
 
 )» 
 
 I 791 
 
 » J 
 
 1793 
 
 M 
 
 1793 
 
 ) 1 
 
 1793 
 
 >) 
 
 1793 
 
 1 » 
 
 1793 
 
 >> 
 
 1793 
 
 I> 
 
 1794 
 
 )) 
 
 1794 
 
 1> 
 
 1798 
 
 >) 
 
 1799
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 XXlll 
 
 NO. 
 
 73. Schiller 
 
 74. Lord Nelson 
 
 75. William Pitt 
 
 76. Warren Hastings 
 
 77. James Harris, ist Earl of Malmesbury . 
 
 78. Napoleon Bonaparte ...... 
 
 79. Lord Byron 
 
 80. Beethoven 
 
 81. James Carlyle ....... 
 
 82. Goethe 
 
 83. Sir Walter Scott . . . . 
 
 84. Prince Talleyrand 
 
 85. Honore de Balzac 
 
 86. Wellington ....... 
 
 87. Taki Zenzaburo 
 
 88. Arthur Schopenhauer 
 
 89. Cavour ......... 
 
 90. A. de Vigny 
 
 91. Thackeray 
 
 92. Charles Dickens 
 
 93. Thomas Carlyle 
 
 94. Dean Stanley 
 
 95. Edward FitzGerald 
 
 96. General C. Gordon 
 
 97. The Emperor Frederick of Prussia 
 
 98. A Japanese Fisherman ..... 
 
 99. R. L. Stevenson 
 
 100. Abdulla el Taashi ...... 
 
 loi. Togo's Address to the Spirits .... 
 
 102. The Emperor and Dowager Empress of China 
 
 103. Lieutenant-Commander Sakuma 
 
 Death 
 
 THE INFINITE 
 
 GOD 
 
 DATE 
 A 
 
 OF DEATH 
 D. 1805 
 1805 
 1806 
 1818 
 1820 
 182I 
 1824 
 1827 
 1832 
 1832 
 1832 
 1838 
 1850 
 1852 
 1858 
 i860 
 1S61 
 1863 
 1863 
 1870 
 I88I 
 1881 
 1883 
 1885 
 
 1892 
 1894 
 1899 
 1904 
 1908 
 I9IO
 
 Socrates. 
 
 Froftr an mxraving.
 
 No. I 
 
 The Death of Socrates. Born 469 b.c. Died 399 b.c. 
 
 Aged 70. 
 
 SOCRATES speaking to the men of Athens, by whom he was condemned 
 to die, spoke as follows: "Let us reflect and we shall see that there is 
 great reason to hope that death is good: for one of two things, either 
 death is a state of nothingness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men say, there 
 is a change and migration of the soul from this world to another. Now if you 
 suppose there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of him who is 
 undisturbed even by dreams, and were to compare this with the other days 
 and hours of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and nights he 
 had passed in the course of his life, better and more pleasantly than this one, 
 I think that any man (I will not say a private man, but even a great king), 
 will not find many such days and nights when compared with the others. 
 Now if death is like this I say that to die is gain, for eternity is then only a 
 single night. But if death is a journey to another place, and there, as men 
 say, all the dead are; what good, O my friends and judges, can be greater 
 than this? If, indeed, when the pilgrim arrives in the world below he is 
 delivered from the professors of justice in this world, that pilgrimage will be 
 worth making. What would not a man give that he might converse with 
 Orpheus and Musaeus, and Hesiod and Homer? Nay, if this be true let me 
 die again and again. I shall find out who is wise, and who pretends to be 
 wise and is not. What would not a man give, O judges, to be able to 
 examine the leader of the great Trojan expedition, or Odysseus or Sisyphus, 
 or numberless others, men and women. Wherefore, O judges, be of good 
 cheer about death, and know this of a truth, that no evil can happen to a 
 good man either in life or after death. The hour of departure has arrived 
 and we go our ways — I to die and you to live. Which is better God only 
 knows." 
 
 Socrates was then removed to the prison, and the narrator (Plato) goes 
 on to describe his death as follows: 
 
 Now the hour of sunset was near (for a good deal of time had passed 
 while he was within), he came out, sat down with us after his bath, but not 
 much was said. Soon the jailer, who was the servant of the Eleven, entered, 
 and stood by him, saying: "To you, Socrates, whom I know to be the 
 noblest and gentlest and best of all who ever came to this place, I will not 
 impute the angry feelings of other men, who rage and swear at me, when, 
 in obedience to the authorities, I bid them drink the poison — indeed, I am 
 sure you will not be angry with me; for others, as you are aware, and not I, 
 are the guilty cause. And so fare you well and try to bear lightly what must 
 needs be; you know my errand." Then bursting into tears he went out. 
 Socrates looked after him and said, "I return your good wishes and will do 
 as you bid." Then turning to us, he said, "How charming the man is; since 
 
 I B
 
 2 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 I have been in prison he has always been coming to see me, and at times he 
 would talk to me and was as good as could be to me, and now see how 
 generously he sorrows for me. But we must do as he says, Crito; let the 
 cup be brought, if the poison is prepared; if not let the attendant prepare 
 some." "Yet," said Crito, "the sun is still upon the hill-tops, and many a 
 one has taken the draught late, and after the announcement has been made 
 to him, he has eaten and drunk and indulged in sensual delights. Do not 
 hasten then, there is still time." Socrates said, "Yes, Crito, and they of 
 whom you speak are right in doing thus, for they think that they will gain 
 by the delay; but I am right in not doing thus, for 1 do not think that I 
 should gain anything by drinking the poison a little later. I should be 
 sparing and saving a life which is ah^eady gone; I could only laugh at 
 myself for this. Please then to do as I say and not to refuse me." Crito 
 when he heard this made a sign to the servant; and the servant went out and 
 remained for some time and then returned with the jailer carrying the cup of 
 poison. Socrates said, "You, my good friend, who are experienced in these 
 matters, shall give me directions how I am to proceed." The man answered, 
 "You have only to walk about until your legs are heavy, and then to lie 
 down and the poison will act." At the same time he handed the cup to 
 Socrates, who in the easiest and gentlest manner, without the least fear or 
 change of colour or feature, looking at the man with all his eyes, took the 
 cup, and said, "What do you say about making a libation out of this cup to 
 any god? May I or may I not?" The man answered, "We only prepare, 
 Socrates, just so much as we deem enough." "I understand," he said, "yet 
 I must pray to the gods to prosper my journey from this to that other world 
 — may this, then, which is my prayer, be granted to me." Then holding the 
 cup to his lips, quite readily and cheerfully, he drank off the poison. And 
 hitherto most of us had been able to control our sorrow; but now when we 
 saw him drinking, and saw too that he had finished the draught, we could 
 no longer forbear, and in spite of myself, my own tears were flowing fast; 
 so that I covered my face and wept over myself, for certainly I was not 
 weeping over him, but at the thought of my own calamity in having lost 
 such a companion. Nor was I the first, for Crito, when he found himself 
 unable to restrain his tears, had got up and moved away and I followed; 
 and at that moment Apollodorus, who had been weeping all the time, broke 
 out into a loud cry that made cowards of us all. 
 
 Socrates alone retained his calmness. "What is this strange outcry?" 
 he said. "I sent away the women mainly in order that they might not 
 offend in this way, for I have heard that a man should die in peace. Be 
 quiet then, and have patience." When we heard that, we were ashamed, and 
 refrained our tears; and he walked about until, as he said, his legs began 
 to fail, and then he lay on his back, according to the directions, and the 
 man who gave him the poison now and then looked at his feet and legs;
 
 SOCRATES 
 
 and after a while he pressed his foot hard and asked him if he could feel ; 
 and he said, "No"; and then his leg and so upwards and upwards, and 
 showed us that he was cold and stiff. And he felt them himself and said, 
 "When the poison reaches the heart, that will be the end." 
 
 He was beginning to grow cold about the groin, v.hen he uncovered his 
 face, for he had covered himself up and said (they were his last words) — 
 "Crito, I owe a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to pay the debt?" 
 "The debt shall be paid," said Crito. "Is there anything else?" There was 
 no answer to this question, but in a minute or two a movement was heard 
 and the attendants uncovered him: his eyes were set and Crito closed his 
 eyes and mouth. 
 
 Such was the end of our friend, whom I may truly call the wisest and 
 justest and best of all the men whom I have ever known. 
 
 Note. — The death of Socrates was necessary to preserve the framework of Grecian 
 society as it then existed — so at least thought the wisest men in Athens at that day. The 
 doctrines taught or rather inculcated by Socrates were purely negative, undermining belief 
 of every sort; his purpose doubtless was excellent, the clearing of men's minds from all false 
 impressions, but the inevitable result would have been the dissolution of the existing social 
 state. As far as reason goes he was put to death unjustly and contrary to the higher law 
 which should rule men's actions; but according to the law of expediency he was rightly con- 
 demned, for society must preser\'e itself against even the noblest thinkers. Self-preservation 
 is perhaps the deepest rooted of all human laws. 
 
 In the words of Prof Henry Jackson, of Cambridge: " It is because Socrates was an 
 innovator that we, who see in him the founder of philosophical inquiry, regard him as a great 
 man; it was because Socrates was an innovator that old-fashioned Athenians, who saw in 
 the new-fangled culture the origin of all their recent distresses and disasters, regarded him 
 as a great criminal. ... It was the fear of what may be called 'philosophical radicalism' 
 that prompted the action of his accusers." 
 
 Authority: Plato's Dialogues, "Phaedo," trans. Jowett.
 
 e:*-.. M' 
 
 T 
 
 I'AUI.US .-Emii.ianus.
 
 No. 2 
 
 The Death of iEmilius Paulus, Roman Consul. 
 Born 230 B.C. Died 160 b.c. 
 
 A" 
 
 ND after he had ordered and disposed the greatest matters of his charge 
 and office, he fell sick of a disease that at the beginning seemed very 
 dangerous, but in the end there was no other danger, seeing that it was 
 a lingering disease and hard to cure. So following the counsel of the physicians 
 who willed him to go to a city in Italy called Velia, he took sea and went 
 thither and continued there a long time, dwelling in pleasant houses upon 
 the seaside quietly and out of all noise. But during this time of his absence 
 the Romans wished for him many a time and oft. And when they were 
 gathered together in the Theatres to see the plays and sports, they cried out 
 divers times for him, whereby they showed that they had a great desire to 
 see him again. Time being come about when they used to make a solemn 
 yearly sacrifice, and ^milius finding himself also in good perfect health, he 
 returned again to Rome where he made the sacrifice with the other priests, 
 all the people of Rome gathering about him and rejoicing much to see him. 
 The next day after he made another particular sacrifice to give thanks unto 
 the Gods for the recovery of his health. After the sacrifice was ended, he 
 went home to his house and sat him down to dinner; he suddenly fell a 
 raving (without any perseverance of sickness spied in him before, or any 
 change or alteration in him) and his wits went from him in such sort that he 
 died witliin three days after, lacking no necessary thing that an earthly man 
 could have to make him happy in this world. For he was even honoured at 
 his funeral, and his virtue was adorned with many goodly glorious orna- 
 ments, neither with gold, silver, nor ivory, nor with other such sumptuous- 
 ness or magnificence of apparel, but with love and good will of the people, 
 all of them confessing his virtue and well doing: and this did not only his 
 natural countrymen perform in memory of him but his very enemies also. 
 For all those who met in Rome by chance at that time, that were either 
 come out of Spain, from Genoa, or out of Macedon, all those that were 
 young and strong did willingly put themselves under the coffin where his 
 body lay to help to carry him to the church: and the old men followed his 
 body to accompany the same, calling ^milius the benefactor, saviour and 
 father of their country. For he did not only treat them gently and graciously 
 whom he had subdued, but all his lifetime he was ever ready to pleasure 
 them and to set forward their causes even as they had been his very friends 
 and near kinsmen. The inventory of all his goods after his death did scarce 
 amount to three hundred three score and ten thousand silver drachms 
 which his two sons did inherit. But Scipio being the younger left all his 
 right unto his elder brother Fabius, because he was adopted into a very rich 
 house, which was the house of the great Scipio Africanus. Such they say 
 was Paulus ^milius' condition and life. 
 
 Authority: Plutarch's "Lives." 
 5
 
 A KoMA.N Lady. 
 From the Statue in I'lorencc.
 
 No. 3 
 
 The Death of a Lady of Cea, in the -^gean Sea; 
 
 About 55 B.C. 
 
 SEXTUS POMPEIUS going into Asia, passed through the Island of 
 Cea belonging to Negropont ; it fortuned whilst he abode there (as one 
 reporteth that was in his company) that a woman of great authority in 
 the island, having first yielded an account unto her citizens, and showed good 
 reasons why she was resolved to end her life, earnestly entreated Pompey to 
 be an assistant at her death, that so it might be esteemed more honourable, 
 which he assented unto: and having long time in vain sought, by virtue of 
 his eloquence (wherein he was exceeding ready) and force of persuasion, to 
 alter her intent and remove her from her purpose, in the end yielded to her 
 request. 
 
 She had lived four score and ten years in a most happy estate of mind 
 and body, but then lying on her bed, better adorned than before she was 
 accustomed to be, and leaning on her elbow, thus she spoke: — "The Gods, 
 O Sextus Pompeius (and rather those I forgo, than those I go unto), reward 
 and pay thee for that thou hast vouchsafed to be a counseller of my life 
 and a witness of my death. For myself, having hitherto ever tasted the 
 favours of Fortune, for fear the desire of living overlong should make me 
 taste her frowns, with a happy and successful end I will now depart, and 
 licence the remainder of my soul, leaving behind me two daughters of mine 
 own, with a legion of grandchildren and nephews." Having said this and 
 having preached unto and exhorted her own people and kinsfolk to unity 
 and peace, and having divided her goods among them, and recommended 
 the care of her household Gods unto her eldest daughter, with an assured 
 hand she took the cup wherein the poison was, and having made her vows 
 unto Mercury, with prayers that he would conduct her unto some happy 
 place in the other world, she roundly swallowed the mortal potion. This 
 done, she entertained the company v/ith the progress of her behaviour as 
 the parts of her body were, one after another, possessed with the cold opera- 
 tion of that venom ; until such time as she said, she felt it work at the heart, 
 and then she called her dear daughter to do for her the last office and close 
 her eyes. 
 
 Authority: Montaigne's "Essays," Book ii, chap. 3.
 
 The Emi'ekok C^ctavius Augustus. 
 
 Front an I'ngraz'ing by Moncornet.
 
 No. 4 
 
 The Death of Caius Octavianus Caesar Augustus, Emp. 
 Born 63 B.C. Died a.d. 14. 
 
 WHEN Augustus was near the completion of his seventy-sixth year 
 he felt that his end was approaching; his health, which in youth 
 had required care, had become stronger during maturity, but now 
 began to give way. He usually left Rome in the great heat of summer, and 
 retired to one of his villas by the sea. On this occasion, his adopted son 
 Tiberius was returning to take command of the troops in Illyricum and was 
 to sail from Brundusium. The old emperor accompanied him on his journey 
 and they went leisurely together, Livia being as usual in attendance on her 
 husband, as far as Astura where Augustus was attacked by dysentery. How- 
 ever, as he felt better in a day or two, they took ship and sailed along the 
 coast, halting for four days at Capreae. Here he diverted himself in his usual 
 kindly cheerful manner, attending the sports of the young peasants and some- 
 times after dinner setting the boys to scramble for the dessert from the table. 
 From Capreae he went to Naples, still feeling indisposed. He was desirous 
 of appearing at the quinquennial games there as an act of courtesy to the 
 people who had instituted the games in his honour, and, though ill at ease 
 and losing strength from his malady, he remained to the conclusion. Then 
 he continued his journey with Tiberius as far as Beneventum where they 
 parted, Augustus turning back to the coast. At Nola his exhaustion became 
 so great that he was obliged to take to his bed, in the family home of his race 
 and in the very room where his own father had died. The old emperor did 
 not deceive himself with hopes of recovery ; he was short of his seventy-sixth 
 year only by a month, and knew that the end was at hand. 
 
 On the last day of his life, after inq liring whether the news of his illness 
 had caused any commotion in Rome, which he feared, knowing the hostility 
 of the rival parties there, and being told that all was tranquil, he called for a 
 looking-glass and arranged his hair, endeavouring to disguise the hollow 
 cheeks and pallor which had been caused by his malady. Then he sent for his 
 friends, and as they stood around his bed he asked them what they thought 
 of his career — had he played his part well on life's stage? And on their praising 
 him he added a Greek verse with which Roman plays were usually concluded: 
 "Let all applaud and clap their hands with joy." After this he dismissed 
 them and inquired of his wife Livia, who remained by his side, whether she 
 had tidings of Livilla, daughter of Drusus, who had been out of health. Then 
 suddenly he threw his arms round Livia's neck and kissing her said: " Livia! 
 live mindful of our union, and now, farewell!" Then he gently expired with- 
 out pain and without a struggle on the 19th August a.d. 14. 
 
 Authorities: Tacitus; Gibbon; Baring-Gould, "Tragedy of the Caesars."
 
 Senkca. 
 
 From a htnti-ic I'ust in the Miisi-tini nt Xa/>ics.
 
 No. 5 
 
 The Death of Lucius Annaeus Seneca. Born at Corduba, 
 in Spain, a.d. 3. Died a.d. 65. 
 
 SENECA was accused of taking part in the conspiracy of Piso, his in- 
 timate friend, and was ordered by the Emperor Nero to put himself to 
 death. Seneca was at his villa, Nomentanum, four miles from Rome, 
 when towards evening the tribune, bearing the Emperor's mandate, surrounded 
 the house with his soldiers and delivered his fatal message. Seneca, at the time, 
 was seated at the table with his wife Paulina and two of his friends: on the entry 
 of the tribune and the delivery of the death warrant, he called for his tablets 
 to make his will, but this being forbidden, he turned to his friends and remarked 
 that "since he was debarred from requiting their services and affection, he 
 bequeathed them that which now alone was left him, but which was yet the 
 fairest legacy he could leave — the example of his life ; and if they kept that in 
 view they would reap the fame due to honourable men and to their inviolable 
 friendship." At the same time he endeavoured to repress their tears, and 
 restore their fortitude, asking them to recall the precepts of philosophy. " We 
 are not ignorant," he said, "of the disposition of Nero; nor is it surprising 
 that after he had murdered his mother and his brother, he should take the life 
 of his old tutor." Then he embraced his wife and besought her not to give 
 way to grief. She begged to be allowed to die with him, and to this he assented 
 as a proof of her enduring affection. Both of them then had the veins of 
 their arms opened ; but as the blood flowed but feebly from the aged body 
 of Seneca, he caused the veins of his legs also to be opened, and that his wife 
 might not be a witness of his sufferings, he had her conveyed to another 
 chamber. Meanwhile the blood continuing to flow but slowly, and death 
 advancing with a lagging pace, he besought Statius Annaeus, his friend and 
 physician, to prepare for him a cup of hemlock juice, in the same way as that 
 by which Socrates was despatched. The cup was prepared, but in vain, his 
 limbs were now cold and he seemed impervious to poison: "Dying," he said, 
 " seems to be a difficult matter." At length he had recourse to a bath of hot 
 water, whence he besprinkled his slaves and attendants saying that thus he 
 offered a libation to Jupiter, the Deliverer. Here, from the effects of the steam 
 and loss of blood, he soon lost consciousness and his spirit passed away. His 
 corpse was burnt without any funeral ceremony or religious rites, for so he had 
 directed. 
 
 Nero, who had no dislike for Paulina, on hearing what she had done, 
 ordered at once that her death should be prevented, and in consequence, her 
 slaves and freed-men bound up her arms and staunched the blood. Thus she 
 gained a few more years of life, and lived, ever cherishing the memory of her 
 husband, but showing by the deathly pallor of her countenance, how nearly 
 she had shared his fate. 
 
 Authorities: Tacitus; Biographic Universelle. 
 II
 
 t* Jm^. "x^^* 
 
 f* 
 
 KrjMAN Dll'TVCH. CONTAIMNt; T\V() I'oRJkAlTS OK 
 
 St. Taui.. 
 
 y^/j cn^razuni"^ represents one leaf of an ancient and very curious 
 
 ivory diptych brought from Rome in the time o/ the first Nafioleon 
 
 by Baron Denon. A facsimile is in the British Museum, 
 
 (Lcwin's ''St. Paul," vol. ?,/. 3ii.}
 
 No. 6 
 
 The Death of St. Paul or Saul, a Jew of Tarsus in 
 Cilicia, by trade a tentmaker, educated in Jeru- 
 salem, born at Tarsus about a.d. 5 ; died at Rome, 
 June 29 A.D. 66. 
 
 ON the day fixed for the second and final hearing of St. Paul's case, the 
 Emperor Nero (Caesar, to whom he had appealed) was absent from 
 Rome in Achaia and had committed the administration of justice to 
 his freedman Helius. Paul was brought before the court, and in this, as in every 
 emergency, stood forth undaunted, avowing his faith in Christ and insisting 
 that he had violated no law that could be found in the statute book. The 
 jurors conferred together: the presiding Judge pronounced sentence and the 
 Apostle heard unmoved his condemnation to death; instead of being crucified 
 he was, by virtue of his inherited Roman citizenship, allowed the privilege of 
 decapitation. 
 
 It was the custom among the Romans not to inflict capital punishment 
 until the expiration of ten days from the day of conviction, in order that the 
 Emperor might have the opportunity, were it his pleasure, of granting pardon. 
 Nero, however, more frequently hurried his victims from the court to the 
 scaffold in a very short space of time, and Helius, his representative, would 
 not be of a more merciful disposition. On the 29th June a.d. 66, so runs 
 the tradition, Paul was given in charge to a centurion to be led out to die. 
 The place of his execution was at Aquae Salviae or Tre Fontane, about two 
 miles from Rome on the Ostian Way, where to-day stands the great Church 
 of St. Paul. The springs from which the place took its name are situated in 
 a small valley encompassed on every side by low hills which rise around like 
 an amphitheatre. An execution is always an attractive spectacle to a certain 
 class of human being: there would be the usual mob— some priests and their 
 underlings whose livelihood depended on the maintenance of the State 
 religion. The soldiers of the Praetorian Guard also, three of whom were 
 converted afterwards and themselves suffered for the name of Christ. Their 
 names have been preserved: Longinus, Acestus, and Megistus. There would 
 have been present also the Apostle's faithful followers — Pudens and Claudia 
 would have been there and Eubulus and Linus, with Luke the beloved 
 physician. Thither the Roman centurion and his guarded prisoner arrived, 
 and then the passive martyr was blindfolded and laid his head upon the block. 
 He had always regarded death as the gateway to eternal life, and now that 
 the day of his departure had arrived he hailed it with pleasure. As he 
 wrote to the Philippians: "To live is Christ, to die is gain. But if I live in the 
 flesh this is the fruit of my labour: yet what I shall choose I wot not. For I am 
 in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which 
 is far better: nevertheless to abide in the flesh is more needful for you." 
 
 13
 
 14 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 And to Timothy: " For I am now ready to be offered and the time of my 
 departure is at hand." 
 
 The body of St. Paul was buried by a Roman convert of distinction, 
 named Lucina, in her own garden by the Ostian Way, and on that spot was 
 built the Church of St. Paul Without the Walls. 
 
 Authorities: Lewin's "Life of St. Paul"; Dr. Wm. Smith's " Dictionary of the Bible"; 
 M. Crawford, "Ave Roma Immortalis."
 
 Sr. I'Kii.K 
 
 1 ATI.. 
 
 From an cn^^ravhtg oj a Mt-dallion Joumi in the cenntery of DomitcUa, which presefits 
 the portrait of St. Paul on the left and of St. Peter on the right. 
 {Leiuins *' .SV. Patti," 7'oL 2^ p. 411.)
 
 No. 7 
 
 The Death of the Apostle Peter, originally called Simon 
 the son of Jonas: by trade a fisherman. Born at 
 Bethsaida on the Sea of Galilee about 5 b.c. and 
 died at Rome on June 29 a.d. 67, 
 
 ST. PETER did not visit Rome until the last year of his life. His wife 
 accompanied him in his wanderings, and is said to have suffered death 
 before him, and to have been supported in her hour of trial by her 
 husband's exhortations. St. Peter himself was executed, it is said, on the same 
 day as St. Paul, having been arrested during Nero's persecution on the charge 
 of being aChristian. Before his execution he was confined inthedeepMamertine 
 prison behind the Forum, but because he was of lowly birth, Nero's executioners 
 led him out over the Sublician bridge up to the heights of the Janiculum, where 
 common criminals were done to death. He was then old and so very weak that 
 he could not carry his own cross, as condemned men were made to do in those 
 days, so that when the guards had climbed halfway up the hill, being tired of 
 pulling along the cross and seeing that the old man could not go much 
 further, they proceeded to crucify him. St. Peter said that he was not worthy 
 to suffer as his Lord and Master had suffered, and on his earnest entreaty 
 they nailed him to the cross, and then reversing it they planted the cross with 
 him on it, head downwards in the deep yellow sand of the hill. When after 
 much torment he died, the Christians who had followed took the body and 
 buried it by night near the long wall of Nero's circus. The spot was marked, 
 and his disciples oftentimes went there to pray. Some thirty years afterwards, 
 a bishop named Anacletus, who had been ordained priest by St. Peter himself, 
 built a little oratory over the grave. Later, some Greeks came by night and 
 tried to steal away the holy body of the Apostle, but were prevented by the 
 Roman Christians, who carried it away and hid it for nineteen months in the 
 Catacombs of St. Sebastian, after which it was brought back and re-interred 
 in the oratory of Anacletus. Again, when a new circus was built by the 
 Emperor Elagabalus, the body was exhumed and taken once more for safety 
 to the same Catacombs, where it remained now for a long time. In a.d. 306 
 came the Emperor Constantine, who laid deep the foundations of the old 
 Church of St. Peter built over the little oratory of Anacletus, on the Janiculum, 
 and this endured for eleven hundred years. All this time the holy body of 
 St. Peter lay in the Catacombs, the place marked from generation to genera- 
 tion by the Christians of Rome; but at last, in the days of Honorius, it was 
 brought back for the last time and laid, where it now lies, in the Basilica of 
 St. Peter. It was placed in a brazen sarcophagus, and lies under the nearest 
 left-hand pillar of the canopy that covers the high altar. The old church 
 of St, Peter being in bad repair and in danger of falling into ruins when 
 Nicholas V was Pope, the architects Alberti and Rossellini were called in 
 
 15
 
 1 6 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 and they made the first plan, but it was the great Pope Julius II who, in 
 1506, laid the first stone of the present Basilica. The plan was changed 
 many times, and it was not until 1626 that Urban VIII consecrated what is 
 now called the Church of St. Peter at Rome, which rises after two thousand 
 years as a magnificent memorial over the body of the Apostle. 
 
 Authorities: Lewin's "Life of St. Paul"; Dr. W. Smitli, " Dictionary of the Bihle"; 
 M. Crawford, "Ave Roma Immortalis."
 
 
 ii^im^^^HH 
 
 
 ^ ' '^^^1 
 
 
 
 
 "^' ^^H 
 
 ' .^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^1 
 
 ^^^^^^^^Bws' 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^1 
 
 ^^^^^^^H 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^1 
 
 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H --^^^ 
 
 ' - ^i^^^^^H 
 
 ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^EcjBII-^" ' " '.'^ -.^M^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^l 
 
 Emperor Neko. 
 
 (From a Inist in the British Museum.)
 
 No. 8 
 
 The Death of the Emperor Nero. Born a.d. 37. 
 
 Died A.D. 68. 
 
 THE night was that of the 8th June, a.d. 68. The Emperor retired to 
 his bed but could not sleep. He was deeply agitated by the news he 
 had received that the troops had proclaimed Galba Emperor. He had 
 relied on the Delphic oracle which had assured him that he had to fear only 
 the seventy-third year, and he had learnt that Galba was seventy-three. About 
 midnight he rose, and leaving his room wandered about the palace in deadly 
 anxiety, looking for a servant or a friend. All was hushed. No tramp of the 
 sentinel was to be heard. The palace was deserted. Guards, freedmen, 
 courtiers, and servants had fled. He wandered out into the garden and 
 looked at the Tiber, but the dark water repelled him and he returned seeking 
 some hiding-place. Here he met his freedman Phaon, who with his secretary 
 Epaphroditus were seeking him, who named Phaon's villa as a place of 
 safety in the direction of the Anio. Hope dawned again in the heart of Nero. 
 He disguised himself, and mounting a horse that was brought for him, they 
 set forth. The lightning was flashing over the Alban hills. The way lay 
 close to the Praetorian camp. On nearing the Nomentane Gate they passed 
 some passengers in the street: " See there," shouted one, " those men are in 
 pursuit of Nero!" A passing soldier recognized the Emperor and hurried to 
 the camp with tidings of his flight. Outside the city they let the horse go, 
 and by a side lane through bushes and thorns reached Phaon's villa, into 
 which they entered after some difficulty, and Nero threw himself on a bed 
 and drank a little water. His faithful attendants pointed out to him that life 
 was not possible, and that it would be better for him to accept the fact 
 manfully and put an end to himself. As they talked a messenger hurriedly 
 entered with a letter for Phaon. It related how the Senate had met and 
 declared Nero to be an enemy of the State, and had ordered his arrest and 
 execution. When Nero heard this he trembled and caught up a dagger, 
 feeling its point, but decided "the fated hour was not yet come." Then he 
 entreated one of his followers to kill himself with the dagger so as to give 
 him courage to follow the example. This each declined to do, and gently 
 reprimanded him for his want of courage. "Yes," said he, "to my shame 
 be it spoken I yet live. This is not becoming in Nero. Indeed it is not 
 worthy. Come, man, pluck up thy heart. Be cool, be cool." As he was thus 
 speaking the noise of horses' hoofs approaching the villa was heard. It could 
 be only the Praetorian guards coming to arrest him, and he recited a line of 
 Homer: " The sound of swift heel'd steeds assaults mine ears." With shaking 
 hand he applied the dagger to his throat, but had not the resolution to drive 
 it in : he was therefore assisted by his secretary Epaphroditus. The next 
 moment a centurion of the guard burst into the room and found the wretched 
 Emperor seated on the bed, and tried to staunch the blood which poured from 
 
 17 D
 
 1 8 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 his throat, to prevent his purpose being fulfilled, if he could be said to have 
 a purpose. "Too late," said Nero, "and this is your loyalty!" Then he 
 sank back on the bed and died, his eyes fixed and starting out of his head to 
 the terror of the bystanders. He died thus on gth June, a.d. 68, on the 
 identical day on which he had caused his wife Octavia to be assassinated. 
 When he died he was aged thirty years, five months, and twenty-six days, 
 and was in the fourteenth year of his reign. Thus perished the last of the 
 family of the Caesars, the last of the divine Julian race. 
 
 Authorities: Baring-Gould, " Tragedy of the Caesars " ; Gibbon.
 
 No. 9 
 The Deaths of Saints Perpetua and Felicitas. a.d. 203. 
 
 A VIOLENT persecution of the Christians being set on foot by the 
 Emperor Severus in a.d. 202, it reached Africa the following year, and 
 among others who were arrested and tried for not offering sacrifice to 
 the gods, was the noble lady Perpetua and a slave girl named Felicitas. 
 Perpetua was of good family, some twenty-two years of age, and married to a 
 person of quality in the city of Carthage. Felicitas was seven months gone with 
 child. The father of Perpetua, who was advanced in years, loved her more 
 than all his other children. They were kept under a strong guard in a private 
 house, and the account of their sufferings given by Perpetua is as follows: 
 "We were in the hands of our persecutors when my father, out of the 
 affection he bore me, made new efforts to shake my resolution. I said to him: 
 ' Can that vessel which you see, change its name? ' He said ' No.' I replied: 
 'Nor^can I call myself other than I am, that is to say a Christian.' At these 
 words my father in a rage fell upon me and beat me, but finding me invincible 
 he went away. A few days after we were put in prison, and I was shocked at 
 the horror and darkness of the place, for till then I knew not what such sort 
 of places were. We suffered much that day chiefly on account of the great 
 heat and the ill-treatment we met with from the soldiers. I was, moreover, 
 tortured with concern for that I had not my infant: but the deacons Tertius 
 and Pomponius, who assisted us, obtained by money that we might pass 
 some hours in a more commodious part of the prison to refresh ourselves. 
 My infant being brought to me almost famished I gave it the breast. I 
 recommended him afterwards carefully to my mother and encouraged my 
 brother, but I was much afflicted to see their concern for me. After some 
 days a rumour being spread that we were to be examined my father came to 
 the prison overwhelmed with grief. ' Daughter, ' said he, ' have pity on my grey 
 hairs; have compassion on your father if I yet deserve to be called by that 
 name; consider my great love for you and make me not a reproach to all 
 mankind. Have respect for your mother and above all have pity on your 
 child that cannot survive you. Lay aside this resolution, this obstinacy, lest 
 you ruin us all.' He took me by the hands at the same time and kissed 
 them. I confess that I was pierced by sharp sorrow and I endeavoured to 
 comfort him, saying: 'Father! grieve not; nothing will happen but what 
 pleases God, for we are not at our own disposal.' He then departed very 
 much concerned. The next day, while we were at dinner, a person came all 
 on a sudden to summon us to examination. The report of this was soon 
 spread and brought together a vast crowd of people in the audience chamber. 
 We were placed before the Judge, who was Hilarion the procurator of the 
 province. When it came to my turn to be interrogated, my father suddenly 
 appeared with my child in his arms, and conjured me in the most tender 
 manner not to be insensible to the misery I should bring on that innocent 
 
 19
 
 20 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 creature to which I had given h'fe. The procurator Hilarion joined with my 
 father and said: 'What! will not the grey hairs of your father or the tender 
 innocence of your child move you? Sacrifice, I entreat you, for the prosperity 
 of the Emperor.' I replied: 'I will not do it.' 'Are you then a Christian?' 
 said Hilarion. I answered: 'Yes, I am.' As my father laid hold on me, the 
 procurator ordered him to be beaten off, and then proceeded to pass sentence 
 on us, by which we were condemned to be exposed to wild beasts. We were 
 then sent back to prison, as we were reserved for the shows which were to be 
 held on the festival of Geta who had been made Caesar four years before by 
 his father Severus, when his brother Caracalla was created Augustus." 
 
 The rest of this narration is added by an eye-witness. The day of their 
 suffering being come they were led from the prison to the amphitheatre: as 
 they passed under the balcony where sat Hilarion they said to him: "You 
 judge us in this world but God will judge you in the next." The people, 
 enraged at this boldness, begged that they might be scourged, which was 
 granted. Then Perpetua and Felicitas were exposed to a wild cow. Perpetua 
 was first attacked, and the cow having tossed her up, she fell on her back. 
 Then putting herself in a sitting posture, and perceiving that her clothes 
 were torn, she gathered them about her in the best manner she could to cover 
 herself, thinking more of decency than of her sufferings. Getting up, not to 
 seem disconsolate, she tied up her hair which was fallen loose, and perceiving 
 Felicitas on the ground, much hurt by a toss of the cow, she helped her to 
 rise. They stood together thus expecting another assault from the beast, but 
 the people crying out that it was enough, they were being led away to the gate 
 where those that were not killed by the beasts were despatched at the end of 
 the show by the gladiators: but the people, not yet satisfied with beholding 
 blood, cried out to have them brought into the middle of the amphitheatre that 
 they might have the pleasure of seeing the last blow. Perpetua fell into the 
 hands of a very timorous and unskilful apprentice of the gladiators, who with 
 a trembling hand gave her many slight wounds which made her languish a 
 long time. Felicitas died more quickly. 
 
 Authority: Butler's " Lives of the Saints."
 
 No. lo 
 The Death of St. Peter Balsam. 3rd January a.d. 311. 
 
 PETER BALSAM, a native of the territory of Eleutheropolis, in 
 Palestine, was apprehended at Aulane, during the persecution of 
 Maximinus. Being brought before Severus, governor of the pro- 
 vince, the interrogatory began by asking him his name. Peter answered: 
 " Balsam is the name of my family, but I received that of Peter at my 
 baptism." Severus: '* Of what family and of what country are you?" Peter: 
 "I am a Christian." Severus: "What is your employ?" Peter: "What 
 employ can I have more honourable, or what better thing can I do in the 
 world, than to live a Christian?" Severus: "Do you know the imperial 
 edicts?" Peter: " I know the laws of God, the sovereign of the Universe." 
 Severus: " You shall quickly know that there is an edict of the most clement 
 Emperor, commanding all to sacrifice to the gods or be put to death." Peter: 
 "You will also know one day, that there is a law of the eternal King pro- 
 claiming that every one shall perish who offers sacrifice to devils. Which do 
 you counsel me to obey, and which do you think should be my option? To 
 die by your sword or to be condemned to everlasting misery by the sentence 
 of the great King, the true God?" Severus: "Seeing you ask my advice, it 
 is that you obey the edict and sacrifice to the gods." Peter: " I can never be 
 prevailed upon to sacrifice to gods of wood and stone as those are which you 
 adore." Severus: "I would have you to know that it is in my power to 
 avenge these affronts by your death." Peter: " I had no intention to affront 
 you. I only expressed what is written in the divine law." Severus: "Have 
 compassion on yourself and sacrifice." Peter: " If I am truly compassionate 
 to myself I ought not to sacrifice." Severus: " My desire is to use lenity: I 
 therefore still do allow you time to consider with yourself, that you may save 
 your life." Peter: "This delay will be to no purpose, for I shall not alter my 
 mind. Do now what you are obliged to do and complete the work which the 
 devil, your father, has begun. I will never do what Jesus Christ forbids." 
 Severus, on hearing these words, ordered him to be hoisted on the rack, and 
 whilst he was suspended in the air said to him, scoffing: "What say you 
 now, Peter? do you begin to understand what the rack is? Are you yet 
 willing to sacrifice?" Peter answered: "Tear me with iron hooks but talk 
 not of my sacrificing to your devils. I have already told you that I will 
 sacrifice to that God alone, for whom I suffer." Hereupon the governor 
 ordered his tortures to be redoubled, but Peter, far from fetching the least 
 sigh, sang these verses of the royal prophet: "One thing I have asked of 
 the Lord; this will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord, 
 all the days of my life. I will take the chalice of salvation and call upon the 
 name of the Lord." The governor then called forth fresh executioners to 
 relieve the first ones, who were now fatigued. The spectators, seeing that 
 Peter was streaming with blood, called out to him: "Obey the emperor. 
 
 21
 
 2 2 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 Sacrifice and rescue yourself from these torments." Peter replied: " Do you 
 call these torments? I, for my part, feel no pain ; but this I know, that if I 
 am not faithful to my God, I must expect real pains such as cannot be 
 conceived." The governor also said: "Sacrifice, Peter Balsam, or you will 
 repent it." Peter: "Neither will I sacrifice, nor shall I repent it." Severus: 
 "I am just ready to pronounce sentence!" Peter: "It is what I most 
 earnestly desire." Severus then dictated the sentence in the following 
 manner: " It is our order, that Peter Balsam, for having refused to obey the 
 edict of the invincible emperor and having contemned our commands after 
 obstinately defending the law of a man who was crucified, shall himself be 
 nailed to a cross." 
 
 Thus it was that Peter Balsam finished his life at Aulane on the 3rd of 
 January, which day he is honoured in the Roman martyrology. 
 
 Authority: ButJer's "Lives of the Saints."
 
 r 
 
 ^fa »- : : —»►►>- • ' -«A^- 
 
 11 TT ^ ^ -- 
 
 l^ ^ixj i!.j.il> '^\ 2so.i>£. ^.i-i-) \c'i:>^\ \'^ ..Y^ 
 
 c^^ ^ ^j9 t^ 9 ^ ^ 9 ^t^ ^ ••oo o-' ^ c -^ 
 
 I 1 * ^ i O / ^ ^ ~^ ^ tp CO 
 
 /o ^ o i ^C/ --^ ^ ^^ / o 99(^9^ ^ ^ ^ o^o ^ 
 
 i^V^ 
 
 
 " The Throne Verse " from the chapter called 
 "The Cow "in THE KORAN. 
 
 God ! There is no God but He, the Living, the Steadfast ! 
 
 Slumber seizeth Him not, nor sleep. Whatsoever is in the 
 Heaven and whatsoever is in the Earth is His. 
 
 Who is there that shall plead with Him, save by His leave } 
 
 He knoweth what was before them and what shall come after 
 them, and they compass not aught of His knowledge but what He 
 willeth. His Throne overspreadeth the Heavens and the Earth, and 
 the keeping of both is no burden unto Him, and He is the High, 
 the Great ! 
 
 Lane Poole's translation.
 
 No. II 
 
 The Death of Mohammed Abul Kasim ibn Abdallah, 
 the Arabian Prophet and the Founder of Islam 
 (self-surrender). Born at Mecca a.d. 570. Died 
 at Medina a.d. 632. 
 
 IN the tenth year of the Hegira (or flight from Mecca) and twenty-three 
 years after receiving his first revelation, Mohammed resolved to make a 
 final pilgrimage from Medina to Mecca, to fix for all time the ceremonies 
 to be observed by the Faithful in making the pilgrimage (Haj). When the 
 solemn rites had been performed he preached his last sermon as follows: 
 "Ye people! Hearken to my words, for I know not whether after this year 
 I shall ever come amongst you again. Your lives and your property are 
 sacred and inviolable among one another till the end of time. The Lord 
 hath ordained to every man the share of his inheritance: a testament is not 
 lawful to the prejudice of heirs. The child belongeth to the parent and the 
 violater of wedlock shall be stoned. Ye people! ye have rights which may 
 be demanded of your wives, and they have rights demandable of you. Treat 
 your women well ; and your slaves, see that ye feed them with such food as 
 ye eat yourselves, and clothe them with the stuff that ye yourselves do wear; 
 and if they commit a fault which ye are not willing to forgive, then sell 
 them ; for they are the servants of the Lord and are not to be tormented. 
 Ye people! hearken to my speech and comprehend it. Know that every 
 Muslim is the brother of every other Muslim: all of you are on the same 
 equality: ye are one brotherhood." Then looking up to heaven he said: 
 "O Lord, I have delivered Thy message and have fulfilled my mission." 
 And all the multitude answered: "Yea verily, thou hast." Then Mohammed 
 lifted up his hands and blessed the people. Three months later he was 
 dead. 
 
 Two months after his return from Mecca to Medina he was attacked by 
 fever, and feeling his end was approaching he had himself carried to the 
 house of Ayesha, his best beloved wife. To allay the burning heat of the 
 fever, he ordered cold water to be thrown over his body, and this afforded 
 him so much relief that he was able to attend prayers the next day in the 
 public mosque; here, after humbly asking God's pardon for his sins, he 
 ascended the pulpit and said: " If any one complains that I have beaten them, 
 here am I and they may return the blows without fear. If I have injured 
 any one by words, let them now revile me. If I have taken any man's money 
 I am ready to restore it." On this a man arose among the congregation and 
 claimed a debt. Mohammed ordered it to be paid at once, saying: "It is easier 
 to endure shame in this world rather than in the next." He offered up 
 supplication to the Most High for those of his followers who had been slain 
 in defence of the Faith; he recommended his people to be unflinching in the 
 
 25 E
 
 26 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 suppression of all idolatry and ordered that all should be as brothers after 
 confessing the one God. 
 
 In spite of growing feebleness he continued to resort daily to the Mosque 
 to pray, but at length was compelled to depute Abu Bakr to pray for him. 
 At last, after fourteen days of cruel suffering, he bathed his face with water 
 and offered up this prayer: " Lord, be merciful to me and let me find a place 
 among those who have found favour in Thy eyes." He beheld with firmness 
 the approach of death, he enfranchised his slaves (seventeen men and eleven 
 women); gave minute instructions for his funeral and bestowed a benediction 
 on his weeping friends. He told them that he had been visited by the Angel 
 Gabriel, who had granted, as a special favour from God, that the Angel of 
 Death should not take his soul without asking permission, and he added that 
 the request had been made and he had acceded to it. Then with trembling 
 lips he intoned the Fatahah — the Prayer of the Beginning: 
 
 "In the name of Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate, 
 
 Praise be to Allah, Sovereign of all worlds, who giveth Mercy: 
 
 The King of the day of faith. 
 
 Thee Lord we worship: of Thee we implore help. 
 
 Guide us into the path of salvation. 
 
 The Path of those for whom Thy loving mercy is great, 
 
 Of those who have not deserved Thy wrath, nor deviated from the Way. 
 
 Amin! O Lord of Angels, Djinns and men." 
 
 His head was resting in the lap of Ayesha, his beloved wife, when he fainted 
 and seemed to pass away, but recovered after a few minutes and raising his 
 eyes said in broken and faltering accents: "O God! Pardon my sins- 
 Yes! I come." Then in the arms of his most dear wife Ayesha, he rendered 
 his spirit to the Most High God; and it was midday of Monday, 8th June, 
 A.D. 632. 
 
 Mohammed was of middle height, rather thin but broad of shoulders 
 and wide in chest, strong in bone and muscle. His head was massive and 
 well developed. Dark curly hair flowed over his shoulders, sprinkled with a 
 few gray hairs. His face was oval, his complexion of a golden-brown. The 
 forehead was divided by a large vein that stood out and throbbed in 
 moments of excitement. Large, black, ever-moving eyes looked out through 
 his long, dark eyelashes. The nose large and aquiline; the teeth strong and 
 white; his hands shapely and fine; in presence dignified and imposing. He 
 was very taciturn and rarely laughed, but when he spoke it was with em- 
 phasis and deliberation. 
 
 Authorities: W Muir; Lane-Poole; Sprenger; Bosworth Smith.
 
 
 Charlemagne.
 
 No. 12 
 
 The Death of Charles the First, called Charlemagne, 
 King of France and Emperor of the West. Born 
 A.D. 742 at Salzburg in Bavaria. Son of Pepin the 
 Short and his Queen Bertrade. Acceded to the 
 throne on his father's death in 768. Died and 
 was buried at Aix la Chapelle (Aachen) a.d. 814. 
 
 CHARLEMAGNE was the contemporary and friend of Haroun al 
 Raschid, the Eastern Caliph. The chief source of our information 
 about him is the chronicle of his life written by his friend and 
 secretary Eginhard, who is admitted to be a thoroughly trustworthy narrator. 
 The appellation of "Great" has been often bestowed and sometimes de- 
 served, but Charlemagne is the only prince in whose favour the title has 
 been indissolubly blended with the name. He was the first who united 
 Germany under one sceptre; the activity of both his body and mind was 
 amazing, and his subjects and enemies were alike astonished at his sudden 
 appearance, when they believed him to be in another part of the empire. 
 His edicts were minute directions comprehending the correction of abuses, 
 the reformation of manners, the management of his farms, even down to the 
 care of his poultry and the sale of his eggs. 
 
 Eginhard, chaplain and secretary of the Emperor Charles the Great 
 (we are told in an old chronicle by a monk of St. Gall), was loved by the 
 Emperor's daughter, the Princess Emma, who had been promised as bride 
 to the King of the Greeks. Fear of the Emperor's anger restrained them for 
 some time, but at last one night Eginhard went to the girl's window and 
 knocked. She allowed him to enter, and he remained with her during the 
 night. A little before dawn, when he thought of returning, he was horrified 
 to see that the ground was covered with snow, which had fallen during the 
 night, and he dared not get out at the window for fear his tracks would 
 betray their secret. As they deliberated together in their trouble, the young 
 girl, taking courage, proposed that she should get out of the window first, 
 that he should then get on her back, and she would carry him to his 
 lodgings. Now, that night as it happened, the Emperor was sleepless, and, 
 looking out ot his window at early dawn, he saw the Princess Emma 
 staggering along under her load, and again returning along her own tracks. 
 The Emperor saw this with astonishment, but contained himself, and held 
 his peace. The next day Eginhard, in anguish lest his intrigue should be 
 discovered, determined to leave the country, and in order to give a pretext 
 for this determination, he sought an audience, and kneeling before his 
 master, begged that he might be sent on some distant mission, saying that 
 he had served long and faithfully without recompense. To this request 
 
 27
 
 28 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 the Emperor Charles promised consideration, and dismissed him; he then 
 convoked his Council, and when those grave and reverend Lords were 
 assembled, the Emperor informed them of the culpable intrigue between his 
 secretary and the Princess, asking their advice as to what should be done. 
 The Council were stupefied. At last some advised that the young man 
 should be put to death; others that both of them should be exiled; but the 
 oldest and wisest of the Councillors recommended that this important matter 
 should be left to the decision of the Emperor himself, to determine according 
 to his own wisdom, which he had received from God. Then the Emperor 
 Charles, having long reflected, said: "You know, my friends, that human 
 creatures are subject to many accidents, and that oftentimes out of evil 
 comes forth good: we must therefore in this affair consider and respect the 
 intentions of Providence. I do not wish to punish my secretary in such a 
 manner as to dishonour my daughter, and I think it will be wiser to pardon 
 the sin of their hot youth and mend all by an honest marriage." Then he 
 ordered Eginhard to be summoned. The Emperor saluted him tranquilly, 
 and said: "You have complained to me that your past services have not 
 been recognized, and you were wrong not to bring this to my notice before, 
 for in sooth you have served me well. Now, as I wish to attach you more 
 closely to me, I intend to give you in marriage the Princess Emma, my 
 daughter, who carried you so well and with such docility the other night. 
 She will make you happy." The Princess was then called in, blushing for 
 shame, and they were then and there united in matrimony. 
 
 As he neared the age of seventy, Charlemagne determined that he would 
 publicly recognize his son Lewis as his successor, and he accordingly called 
 together all the chief men of his realm to Aix la Chapelle. In an eloquent 
 speech, he alluded to the probability of his own speedy death, and demanded 
 the consent of all present to the nomination of his son Lewis as his successor. 
 The assent of the nobles was unanimous, and on the following Sunday the 
 immense church of St. Mary, which Charlemagne had himself built at 
 Aix la Chapelle, was filled by a vast crowd of all ranks, for the public ratifi- 
 cation of the Emperor's purpose by the voice of his subjects. 
 
 His usual simple garments were laid aside, and robed with imperial 
 splendour and surrounded by his trusted chiefs, the Emperor Charlemagne 
 advanced to the high altar leaning with one hand on his son's shoulder. The 
 father and son knelt together in prayer, and then the Emperor rose and 
 addressed his son in the presence of the multitude. He exhorted him to fear 
 God, to protect the Christian Church, and to be the friend of the poor: he 
 begged him to choose his ministers from among the ablest and most upright 
 of his subjects; to deprive no man of his property unjustly, and to keep 
 himself pure in the sight of God. His son Lewis promised obedience to his 
 father's commands, and the Emperor then taking the imperial crown from off 
 the high altar gave it to his son and directed him to place it on his own head
 
 CHARLEMAGNE 29 
 
 as a gift from God, from his father, and from the nation. After the ceremony 
 the father and son separated with tears and embraces, Lewis returning to his 
 own government, and both of them feeUng that they would, in all probability, 
 never meet again. 
 
 In the year 814 at Aix la Chapelle (Aachen), where he habitually resided, 
 Charlemagne felt the first attack of the malady which terminated his life. 
 After bathing in the hot springs, he was seized with a violent pain in the 
 side, and this proved to be pleurisy. In common with all men who during a 
 long life have enjoyed robust health, Charlemagne despised and rejected the 
 aid of medicine, and imagining that abstinence was the sole remedy for all 
 sorts of sickness he refused all food, taking nothing but some hot water. 
 Thus he lay in great and ever-growing weakness for the space of a week, 
 when, realizing his condition, he summoned his friend Hildibald, Archbishop 
 of Cologne, to administer to him the Holy Sacrament. Throughout that day 
 and the day following he laboured with great weakness, but at daybreak, 
 knowing that his hour was at hand, he made a great effort, and gathering all 
 his strength made the sign of the Cross. Then joining his hands together as 
 in prayer he said: "In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum," 
 Then he ceased to breathe, and it was nine o'clock of the 28th January 814, 
 in the seventy-third year of his age, and the forty-seventh of his reign. He 
 was buried in the great Church of St. Mary, clad in his royal robes and 
 wearing on his body the pilgrim's wallet which he had worn when he went to 
 Rome. 
 
 In the year 997 the Emperor Otto III, being at Aix la Chapelle, ordered 
 the tomb of Charlemagne to be opened. The account given by one who was 
 present is as follows: "We entered the tomb and found Charles the Great 
 seated upright like a living person in a chair. He was crowned with a golden 
 diadem; his hands were covered with gloves through which the nails had 
 grown ; in his right hand he held a sceptre, his sword was by his side, and 
 on his knees was a manuscript of the Gospels. Above our heads was the 
 marble mausoleum which had been broken through to give us entry. We paid 
 our homage in the act of kneeling. Then the Emperor Otto covered the 
 body with fine white vestments, caused the nails to be cut, and had repaired 
 whatever had fallen into decay. All the limbs were in perfect preservation, 
 but a small portion of the bridge of the nose was missing; this was replaced 
 by gold. The Emperor removed one of the teeth from the mouth and then 
 retired, after which the opening by which we had entered was blocked up." 
 Many years afterwards the Emperor Frederic I, called Barbarossa, obtained 
 from Pope Alexander III the canonization of Charlemagne. The tomb was 
 then again opened in the presence of the Emperor Frederic, and the bones 
 were elevated with great reverence and honourably enclosed in a silver chest 
 by the Archbishop of Cologne and the Bishop of Liege. On the floor of the 
 Church of St. Mary there is now a large slab of marble, bearing the inscrip- 
 
 E 2
 
 30 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 tion " Carolo Magno": beneath this repose the remains of the Emperor 
 Charlemagne. In the nineteenth century Mme. de Krudener visited Queen 
 Hortense (mother of Louis Napoleon) and was shown by her the scapulary 
 of Charlemagne, which had been taken from his tomb and given by the 
 authorities of the town to the Empress Josephine when she visited Aix la 
 Chapelle. There was in it a piece of the true Cross enclosed in a crystal ball 
 as large as a turkey's egg, set round with jewels, and attached to it was a 
 small piece of the golden chain by which it had been suspended round 
 Charlemagne's neck. 
 
 The Emperor Charlemagne was of commanding stature, being nearly 
 seven feet in heiglit. He was strong and well made; his eyes large and 
 animated; his face bright and pleasant in expression; he had a large nose 
 like most great men; his neck was short and thick; and when he grew old he 
 became corpulent but he had great dignity of presence. Eginhard describes 
 him as " Apice capitis rotundo" — a round-headed man. His health was 
 uniformly good until the last four years of his life, when he suffered from 
 fever and ague. He was accustomed to take plenty of exercise and delighted 
 in riding and swimming. He wore a linen shirt and drawers, over that a 
 tunic with a silver border; his legs were bound with garters, and he wore 
 latched shoes on his feet. In the winter he protected his shoulders and chest 
 with an otter skin vest. He was always girt with a sword, the hilt and belt 
 being of gold; his favourite sword he called "La Joyeuse," and this was 
 buried with him. In his eating and drinking he was most temperate and he 
 had an abhorrence of intoxication. During his meals he liked some one to 
 read aloud, or he listened to music. Such was Charlemagne. 
 
 Authorities: Mombert ; Gibbon; Eginliard ; J. P. R.James; Glaister; Weale.

 
 No. 13 
 
 The Death of King Henry IV of England. Born 3rd 
 April 1367. Died 20th March 1413, aged 46. 
 
 IT was gloomy and dull at Westminster Abbey on the morning of 
 19th March 1413, when the King went by. He was in a litter, and the 
 curtains hanging loosely by the pole at the corner showed his face 
 upon a pillow. It was a terrible face, red and made hideous by disease, and 
 scant of hair as that of an old man. The carriers went by quickly and round 
 by the little gate that was there, into the South Transept. Inside the Abbey 
 it was warm but quite silent and dark. The King lay in his litter and 
 groaned: then he bade the men take him forward again whither he would 
 go. But just as the four men laid hold of the handles, he asked as loudly as 
 his disease and his weakness would permit, where, if anywhere, the Blessed 
 Sacrament was reserved that day. The man-at-arms who accompanied the 
 litter walked forward to see if there was a light, and coming back said it was 
 reserved at the High Altar for some purpose, although this was not a feast 
 day. "Then," said Henry, "you shall not carry me past but I must pray." 
 So when his litter was before the gate of the choir, they set him down again 
 and the King made obeisance. Then he motioned them to bear him forward 
 again, and he groaned. So they carried him till they came to the shrine of 
 King Edward: there he knelt as best he could, but with vast difficulty, and 
 prayed. Even as he thus prayed in despair, and yet in supplication, he 
 fell down in an epileptic fit, and his servants ran and caught him as he fell 
 and carried him quite unconscious into the Abbot's apartments, and there in 
 the Jerusalem chamber he lay down to die. He had once entertained the 
 idea of making a crusade for the recovery of the Holy City, as it had been 
 foretold that he would die at Jerusalem. His weakness increased quickly, 
 and the next day he died. 
 
 It was decided to bury him at Canterbury ; and to take the body there 
 they put it aboard ship in the Thames to go to Feversham, and the master, 
 waiting for the turn of the tide, dropped down the river by night, having 
 lashed upon his deck (with other cargo) the first of the Lancastrians. When 
 they got to where the river broadens, the wind freshened and the sea rose, 
 for the flood tide was against them. The master was in peril, he and his 
 crew, and men in peril at sea have a fear of the dead. When therefore many 
 hours later they had safely landed, and the royal coffin had been borne with 
 great pomp to Canterbury, the master and his crew went to drink with the 
 townspeople. They drank all together and when they were full of ale and 
 had become bold with it, and sung some songs, they told the tale that in the 
 gale of the night they had lightened the ship lest it should founder; they 
 had not lightened it of lead nor of iron nor of any part of the cargo, but they 
 had lightened it secretly of an evil thing— they had jettisoned the body of 
 the King. The coffin was buried in Canterbury Cathedral by the side of 
 Lady Mary de Bohun, the King's first wife and mother of his children. 
 
 Authorities: H. Belloc; Chambers' " History of England." 
 
 31
 
 Joan of Arc. 
 
 Front a print by Marietta of the picture by \ 'ig-non.
 
 No. 14 
 
 The Death of Joan of Arc, called the Maid of Orleans. 
 Born 1412. Died 1431. 
 
 ON the 23rd of May 1430, Joan of Arc, the Maid of Orleans, with 
 three or four hundred men, headed a sortie from Compiegne, which 
 place was at that time invested by the Enghsh and Burgundian 
 armies. She was mounted on a fine dapple-gray charger and carried her own 
 standard : at her side she bore the good blade which she had taken from a 
 Burgundian prisoner at Lagny and over her armour she wore a surcoat of 
 cloth of gold. Such a conspicuous dress was unsuited for a sortie, but the 
 innocent pride of the village girl loved anything chivalrous and ceremonious. 
 She soon found that the enemy were in such force that her small body of 
 men-at-arms could make no head against them, and her followers fell into 
 confusion and began to retire. The Maid covered the retreat undaunted, 
 being the last to give way; but her standard and showy dress marked her out 
 for attack and she was quickly pulled off her horse and made prisoner by the 
 Burgundians. The English soldiers soon learnt that the famous Maid of 
 Orleans had been taken prisoner and they crowded round her, more excited 
 by her capture than they had been by many a famous victory. She was first 
 taken to the Castle of Beaulieu, but an attempt at escape on her part being 
 made and frustrated, she was removed under close guard to the Castle of 
 Beaurevoir, about twelve miles south of Cambray. Here she was kindly 
 treated by the wife and sister of John of Luxembourg who held the Castle, 
 but so terrified was she that the Burgundians would deliver her up to the 
 English that she made a second and more desperate attempt to escape, 
 jumping out of a window and injuring herself in the fall. The Duke of 
 Bedford, who commanded the English army, wished above all to have her 
 solemnly tried and condemned for magic and witchcraft, in order to destroy 
 the belief in the supernatural powers which were attributed to her by all 
 parties, but he had first to get her out of the hands of John of Luxembourg, 
 who seemed in no way disposed to give up his captive. His wife, when he 
 was shaken by the offers of the Duke of Bedford, begged him on her knees 
 not to deliver up his innocent and courageous prisoner to a certain and 
 ignominious death, one who moreover was protected by the laws of war ; but 
 in vain, and in consideration of a large sum of money and a promised pension, 
 he delivered Joan to an English guard, by whom she was carried to Rouen. 
 Here her trial speedily began. On the 3rd of January 1431, King Henry 
 the Sixth of England issued letters under the Royal Seal directing the Duke 
 of Bedford to make over his prisoner to the Bishop of Beauvais for trial by 
 the Ecclesiastical Courts. She was loaded with chains and closely guarded 
 by five soldiers, three of whom were ordered never to leave her cell. She 
 had resumed her woman's dress and submitted herself to the Ecclesiastical 
 Courts for examination, but although they harassed her with questions and 
 
 ^3
 
 34 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 surrounded her with traps of all sorts they could find no proof for the 
 allegations of magic and witchcraft. Asked as to her education, she said she 
 had been brought up in her father's house like any other country girl, being 
 taught household management, and she added naively " Pour filer et coudre, 
 je ne crains femme de Rouen." Being asked why she carried a sword and 
 wore man's clothes, she answered: " I carried a sword because it is good to 
 do so in time of war, when one must give blows with the flat or even with 
 the edge at time of need." As for her wearing male dress she said simply 
 that it was more convenient, but that now having submitted herself to the 
 Holy Church, she had resumed female apparel. She always carried her own 
 banner, she averred, in charging the enemy in order to avoid killing any one, 
 and she added "Indeed I never have killed anyone." "Do you believe," 
 asked the Judges, " that the Voices which you say directed and advised you, 
 proceeded from good or from evil spirits?" " I do not know," said Joan, " I 
 leave that to be decided by the Holy Church." Although repeatedly pressed 
 on this point, she affirmed again and again that Saint Margaret and Saint 
 Catherine had indeed appeared to her and directed her actions. The Court, 
 unable to arrive at a decision, sent the Maid back to her dungeon, and here a 
 terrible snare was laid for her. In the night her woman's dress was removed, 
 so that on waking she had no resource but to put on man's attire which had 
 been left in its place. This resumption of male attire was held by her Judges 
 to be a relapse of the worst description, and she was condemned to death. 
 "Alas," cried the hapless girl, "can it be possible that you will treat me so 
 horribly, and that my whole body must be devoured by the flames? I would 
 sooner have been seven times beheaded than thus to burn ! I appeal to God, 
 the Judge of all, against the great wrong that is done to me." 
 
 It was nine o'clock on the morning of the 30th of May 1431, that Joan 
 was brought out from her prison and placed on a cart, which, under an escort 
 of eighty men-at-arms, conveyed her to the old market place of Rouen near 
 the river. Here her sentence was pronounced by the Bishop of Beauvais. It 
 decreed that Joan was a relapsed heretic, and then proceeded "Nous decidons 
 que toi, Jeanne, membre pourri dont nous voulons empecher que I'infection 
 ne se communique aux autres membres, tu dois etre rejetee de I'unite de 
 I'Eglise, tu dois etre arrachee de son corps, tu dois etre livree k la puissance 
 seculiere; et nous te rejetons, nous t'arrachons, nous t'abandonnons, priant 
 que cette meme puissance seculiere en de9a de la mort et de la mutilation des 
 membres, modere envers toi sa sentence." By this formula the Christian 
 ecclesiastics hoped and intended to relieve the Church of all part in the 
 violent death of a human being, but every one who heard the sentence knew 
 that it was but a vain form, that her death was decided upon and the pile 
 prepared. 
 
 At Rouen, when a heretic was made over to the secular power the custom 
 was to conduct him or her before the Town Council for final sentence, and
 
 JOAN OF ARC 35 
 
 this was now done. Two Serjeants put upon Joan's head a great paper mitre 
 on which was inscribed " Relapsed heretic, apostate, idolatress," and she was 
 given over to the executioner. "Ah! Rouen," she said, "j'ai grand peur que 
 tu n'aies a souffrir de ma mort." She asked for a cross to kiss and one of 
 her English guards broke a stick into two pieces and tied them together in 
 the form of a crucifix: this she received devoutly and, kissing it, placed it on 
 her heart under her robe. They tied her to the stake, and as they did so she 
 called on Saint Michael and Saint Catherine to help her in her anguish. 
 When the executioner put fire to the pile she called on the name of Jesus 
 five or six times and asked a bystander to get some holy water. Generally, to 
 shorten the sufferings of the victim the executioner was accustomed to put wet 
 straw on the pile, so that suffocation might take place before the mounting of 
 the flames, but in the present instance this had been omitted from fear of the 
 magic power of the Maid, who might have disappeared in the smoke. She 
 called once more faintly on the name of Jesus, then her head fell on her 
 shoulder and she expired. Her ashes were carefully collected and thrown 
 into the Seine. Thus died Joan of Arc. 
 
 Guillaume Manchon, the reporter, who at the trial had written in the 
 margin of his notes " Responsio Johannje superba," said after the execution 
 that he " never wept so much for anything that happened to himself." Jean 
 Tressat, the English Secretary, went home crying out "We are all lost, for 
 we have burned a saint" ; and a priest, Jean Fabry (afterwards a bishop), 
 said, "he did not believe that any man could restrain his tears." 
 
 "Silence au camp! La vierge est prisonniere; 
 Par un injuste arret Bedford croit la fletrir; 
 Jeune encore elle touche a son heure derniere. 
 Silence au camp! la vierge va perir. 
 
 " Tranquille, elle y monta; quand debout sur le faite, 
 
 Elle vit ce bucher qui I'allait devorer, 
 
 Les bourreaux en suspens, la flamme dej4 prete, 
 
 Sentant son coeur faiblir, elle baissa la tete 
 
 Et se prit a pleurer. 
 
 "Ah! pleure, fille infortunee! 
 Ta jeunesse va se fletrir 
 Dans sa fleur trop tot moissonnee! 
 Adieu, beau ciel, il faut mourir." 
 
 Casimir Delavig^e. 
 
 Authorities: A. E. Bray; Biographic Universelle; Anatole France; F. M. VVyudliam.
 
 Louis XI OF France.
 
 No. 15 
 
 The Death of Louis XI of France. Born 14.23. Died 
 
 30th August 1483. 
 
 WHEN the King fell sick he was living at his Castle of Plessis le 
 Tours, and in his illness his chief hope and confidence was in the 
 prayers and intercessions of a hermit who had come from Calabria 
 and resided in the neighbourhood. He sent continually to this holy man 
 believing that it was in his power to prolong life if he pleased, for Louis had 
 good hopes of recovering. Finding his thoughts were so intent on this 
 hermit, it was the advice of a certain grave divine and others who were about 
 him, that it should be declared unto him that his condition was desperate, 
 and that he did but flatter and delude himself with false hopes, and that 
 finally there was nothing for him to do but put his trust in the mercy of God. 
 This resolution was come to by Monsieur Olivier le Daim, the King's 
 barber, and some others whom he had advanced to high employments beyond 
 their capacities, so that without the least circumstance of introduction these 
 imprudent persons went to the King and said: "Sir, things are now come to 
 that pass that we must do our duty; and that is to inform you that you must 
 not place your hopes any longer in this hermit, or in anything else, for you 
 are a dead man ; think therefore upon your conscience for that is the only 
 remedy you have left." To this King Louis answered: "I hope God will 
 assist me for perhaps I am not so sick as you imagine." 
 
 What sorrow was this to him, to hear this news, this sentence of death. 
 Never man was more fearful of death than he, for he had all his life long 
 commanded and requested his servants, and me among the rest, that when- 
 ever we saw him in danger of his life we should not use any long stories but 
 admonish him to confess himself, without ever mentioning that cruel and 
 shocking word "death." However, he endured that and several more things 
 as terrible when he was ill, and indeed more than any man I ever saw die. 
 You have heard with what indiscretion and bluntness they acquainted the 
 King with his approaching end. He was still attended by his physician. 
 Dr. James Coctier, to whom, within the space of five months he had given 
 no less than fifty-four thousand crowns in ready money: yet this doctor used 
 him most scurvily and he durst not change him, because the doctor had 
 spoken to him one day in a most audacious manner. "I know," said he, 
 " that some time or other you will remove me from court, but be sure " (and 
 he confirmed it with an oath) "you shall not live eight days after." With 
 which expression the King was above all measure terrified, so that ever after 
 he did nothing but flatter and reward the doctor. 
 
 I will not accuse my master, or say I never saw a better prince, for 
 though he oppressed his subjects himself, he would never see them injured 
 by any one else. After so many fears, sorrows, and suspicions, God, by a kind 
 of miracle, restored him both in body and mind, as is the Divine method in 
 
 37 F
 
 38 
 
 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 such kind of wonders. He took him out of the world in perfect ease, under- 
 standing, and memory; having called for the sacraments himself; discussing 
 without the least expression of pain to the very last moment of his life. He 
 died on Saturday, the 30th of August in the year of our Lord 1483, about 
 eight at night in the Castle of Plessis, where his fit took him on the Monday 
 before. His soul is, I hope, with God, and enjoys everlasting rest in the 
 Kingdom of Paradise. He was confiding and suspicious, avaricious and 
 lavish, audacious and timid, mild and cruel, and was the first French 
 monarch who bore the title of " the most Christian King." 
 
 Authority: Philippe de Comines.
 
 Cardinal Wolsey. 
 
 J-'roiii the pictxtn- in t/u: Boiih'ian Librniy.
 
 No. 1 6 
 
 The Death of Cardinal Wolsey. Born at Ipswich 
 14th March 147 1. Died 29th November 1530. 
 
 CARDINAL WOLSEY was staying at Sheffield Park with the Earl 
 of Shrewsbury when he was attacked by dysentery, and the com- 
 plaint was aggravated by unskilful medical treatment. He was thus 
 ailing when Sir William Kingston, the Constable of the Tower, with a guard 
 of twenty-four soldiers arrived bearing the King's order to bring Wolsey a 
 prisoner to London. When Kingston was introduced and knelt before him 
 Wolsey said: " I pray you stand up and cease this kneeling to a very wretch 
 replete with misery. Stand up, good Master Kingston, or I will myself 
 kneel to you." With a mind thus harassed, Wolsey's sufferings of body 
 necessarily increased ; but the King's order was peremptory, and when they 
 set forth on his last journey he was in truth a dying man. They rode to 
 Nottingham and thence to Leicester, but the Cardinal became so weak that 
 he could hardly sit on his mule. It was late and dark when they reached 
 Leicester Abbey, and the Abbot came out to meet him by torchlight. "Father 
 Abbot," he said, " I am come hither to leave my bones among you." He was 
 carried up to bed and never left it alive. All Sunday his malady increased, 
 and on Monday morning his faithful attendant Cavendish thought him to be 
 sinking. He writes: " He, perceiving my shadow upon the wall by his bed- 
 side, asked who was there. 'Sir, I am here,' quoth I. ' What is it of the 
 clock?' said he. ' Forsooth, sir,' said I, ' it is past eight o'clock in the morn- 
 ing.' ' Eight of the clock, eight of the clock,' said he, rehearsing divers 
 times. ' Nay, nay, it cannot be eight of the clock ; for by eight of the 
 clock ye shall lose your master, for my time draweth near that I must 
 depart out of this world.' In the night he often swooned, but rallied in the 
 morning and asked for food. Some chicken broth was brought him, but he 
 remembered that it was a fast day. 'What though it be,' said his confessor, 
 ' ye be excused by reason of your sickness.' ' Yea,' quoth he, ' what though? 
 I will eat no more.' After this he made his confession and a little later Sir 
 William Kingston entered to enquire after his health, and seeing how ill the 
 Cardinal was, tried to comfort him. 'Well, well,' said Wolsey, ' I see the 
 matter against me how it is framed, but if I had served God so diligently as 
 I have done the King, he would not have given me over in my grey hairs. 
 Howbeit, this is the first reward that I must receive for my worldly diligence 
 and pains, that I had to do him service only to satisfy his vain pleasure, not 
 regarding my godly duty. Wherefore I pray you with all my heart to have 
 me most humbly commended unto his Royal Majesty, beseeching him in 
 my behalf to call to his most gracious remembrance all matters proceeding 
 between him and me from the beginning; then shall his conscience declare 
 whether I have offended him or not. He is a prince of royal courage and 
 rather than he will miss any part of his will he will put his realm in danger. 
 
 39
 
 40 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 I assure you I have often kneeled before him the space of an hour or two 
 but could never dissuade him from his will or appetite. Therefore, Mr. Kings- 
 ton, be well advised and assured what matter you put in his head for ye shall 
 never put it out again.' Then, as his tongue failed him, he gasped out: 
 ' Master Kingston, farewell. I can no more. My time draweth on fast, I 
 may not tarry with you.'" His breath failed him and his eyes grew fixed. 
 The Abbot came and administered supreme unction, and as the clock struck 
 eight Wolsey passed away: and (writes Cavendish) "Calling to our remem- 
 brance his words the day before, how he had said that at eight of the clock 
 we should lose our master, we looked at each other, supposing that he had 
 then prophesied his departure." 
 
 The body lay in state befitting a great Cardinal till five in the afternoon, 
 when it was placed in the Lady Chapel of the Abbey, where it was watched 
 all night. At four the next morning. Mass was sung and by six of the clock 
 the grave had closed over the remains of Cardinal Wolsey. 
 
 Authorities : G. Cavendish, M. Creighton ; and Dictionary of National Biography.
 
 rnr>iMil 
 
 aUXf 
 
 i^/r-^ 
 
 /.AIIIRUIi-lJlN Mi'lIAMMI.h, SIKNAMKII HaIIKU ( I H I: Tliil.Ki. 
 
 EmI'KKdR of lllNDOSTAN. 
 
 I-nwi D,:t. M:is. MS Add., 5717,/"'- 5^-
 
 No. 17 
 
 Zahir-ud-din Mohammed, surnamed Baber, or the 
 Tiger, Emperor of Hindostan. Born 14th February 
 1483. Died 26th December 1530. 
 
 WORN out by a long career of hardship and warfare, the Emperor 
 Mohammed Baber found his health declining when he was at 
 Agra, in the North-West of India, in 1529, and the news 
 reached him that his favourite son, Humayun, who afterwards succeeded 
 him, had fallen dangerously ill in his provincial government of Sambal. He 
 at once gave orders that the Prince should be brought by water to Agra, so 
 as to have the benefit of the advice of the Court physicians, and in due course 
 he arrived, but all medical skill was unavailing, and his life was despaired 
 of. When all hope from medicine was over, and while several men of skill 
 were talking to the Emperor of the melancholy condition of his son, Abul 
 Baka, a personage highly venerated for his knowledge and piety, remarked 
 to Baber that in such a desperate case the Almighty had sometimes vouch- 
 safed to receive the most valuable thing possessed by one friend as an 
 offering in exchange for the life of another. The Emperor was much struck 
 by this remark. " Surely," said he, "the life of my son is so precious to me 
 that I would give my own in exchange for it"; and he thereupon solemnly 
 invoked the Almighty, devoting his own life to heaven as a sacrifice to 
 preserve his son. The noblemen around him entreated him to retract this 
 rash vow, and to offer instead the great diamond taken at Agra, and 
 estimated the most valuable gem on earth ; they urged that the ancient sages 
 had said that it was the dearest of our worldly possessions alone that should 
 be offered to Heaven. But the Emperor persisted in his resolution, declaring 
 that no stone, however precious, could compare in value to him with his 
 own life. Three times he walked round the dying prince, a solemnity always 
 observed in offering a sacrifice, and then retiring, he prayed earnestly to 
 God that his life might be taken and his son spared. After some time 
 he was heard to exclaim : "I have borne it away! I have borne it away!" 
 The Mohammedan historians assure us that Humayun almost immediately 
 began to recover, and that in proportion as health returned to him, the 
 life and strength of his father visibly diminished. With that unvarying 
 affection for his family which Mohammed Baber had shown through life, 
 he strongly besought Humayun to be kind and forgiving to his brothers. 
 This Humayun promised, and, what in such circumstances is rare, he 
 kept his word. Speaking of his son Humayun in his Memoirs, we get a 
 tender glimpse of his affection for him. He says: " I was just talking with 
 his mother about him when he came in. His presence opened our hearts like 
 rosebuds and made our eyes shine like torches. It was my rule to keep open 
 table every day, but on this occasion I gave feasts in his honour and showed 
 
 41
 
 42 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 him every kind of distinction. His conversation had an inexpressible charm, 
 and he realized absolutely the ideal of perfect manhood." 
 
 The Emperor Mohammed Baber expired at the Charbagh, near Agra, 
 in the forty-eighth year of his age, and thirty-sixth of his reign as a sovereign 
 prince. His body, in accordance with his wishes, was carried back to Kabul, 
 where it was interred on a hill that still bears his name. The Mohammedan 
 historian remarks: "In a short time Death, the sunderer of societies, the 
 filler of graveyards, the destroyer of palaces, bore him away to the mercy 
 of Allah the Compassionate." 
 
 The grave of Baber is marked by two erect slabs of white marble, and as 
 is common in the East, the different letters of a part of the inscription 
 indicate the number of the year of the Hegira in which the Emperor died. 
 Near him his wives and some of his children have been interred, and the 
 garden was once surrounded by a wall of white marble. A clear running 
 spring waters the flowers of this cemetery, which is a great holiday resort of 
 the people of Kabul. In front of the grave there is a small mosque of 
 marble, and an inscription upon it sets forth that it was built in the year 
 1640 by order of the Emperor, Shah Jehan, so that the Faithful might here 
 offer up their prayers. From the hill which overlooks Baber's tomb there 
 is a noble prospect, and the gardens of the city of Kabul lie in full blossom 
 beneath it. In Baber's own words : "The verdure and flowers render Kabul 
 in the spring a very heaven !" 
 
 The Emperor's Arabic name was Zahir-ud-Din Mohammed, but the 
 name of Babar or Baber, by which he was known to his followers, was a 
 Mongol name (signifying "the Tiger") given him in rough affection. He 
 was succeeded on the throne by his son, Nairuddin Mohammed Humayun, 
 who was afterwards the father of Akbar the Great. 
 
 The contemporaries of Mohammed Baber were, in England, Henry VII 
 and Henry VIII; in France, Louis XII and Francis I; in Germany, the 
 Emperors Maximilian and Charles V. The discovery of America, and of the 
 passage to India by the Cape of Good Hope, with the rise and progress of 
 the Reformation, were the most interesting events in Europe during the 
 reign of Baber. 
 
 Authorities: "Memoirs of Moliammed Baber," trans. Leyden and Erskine ; Holden's 
 " Mogul Emperors"; Burne's "Travels in Bokhara."
 
 .\Iakiin LriiiKK.
 
 No. 1 8 
 
 The Death of Martin Luther. Born loth November 
 1483. Died 1 8th February 1546. 
 
 IN the summer of 1545 Martin Luther was tortured again by his old 
 enemy the stone. On midsummer's day he wrote to a friend that this 
 tormentor would have killed him, had not God willed it otherwise. 
 "I would rather die," he wrote, "than be at the mercy of such a tyrant." 
 He described his condition in a letter of 17th January 1546 in these words : 
 "I am old, spent, worn and weary, with but one eye to see with, and very 
 cold." 
 
 On 28th January he went to his birthplace, Eisleben, and just before 
 entering the town was seized with an alarming giddiness and faintness, ac- 
 companied by constriction of the heart, and a difficulty of breathing. This, 
 however, passed off, and he attributed the attack to the effects of a chill. 
 About this time he wrote to his wife: "Mercy and peace in the Lord! 
 Pray read, dear Kate, the Gospel of St. John and the little Catechism, of 
 which you will remember once declaring that you yourself had said all that 
 it contained; for you wish to disquiet yourself about your God, just as if He 
 were not Almighty, and able to create ten Martin Luthers for one old one, 
 drowned perhaps in the Saale, or fallen dead by the fireplace. Rest, there- 
 fore, in peace. Amen ! " 
 
 On the morning of the 17th February he complained of a feeling of 
 oppression in the chest, and had himself rubbed with warm cloths. This 
 relieved him, and he left his room to join the party at supper. "There is no 
 pleasure," said he, "in being alone." At supper he was merry with the 
 rest, and talked with his usual energy, now jocular, now intellectual ; but no 
 sooner had he returned to his own chamber, and finished his evening prayer, 
 than he became anxious and troubled. After being rubbed again with warm 
 cloths, he lay down on a leathern sofa, and slept till one o'clock. He then 
 awoke, complaining that the room was cold, and exclaimed: "Ah! Lord 
 God! How ill I am. I feel that I shall remain here at Eisleben, where I was 
 born and baptized." In this state of discomfort, he arose and walked without 
 assistance to his bedroom, and commending his soul to God, lay down 
 again. His two sons remained with him all night, and two physicians were 
 summoned, but their remedies seemed powerless to assuage Luther's anguish. 
 He broke into a sweat, and said: "It is the cold sweat of death. I shall yield 
 up my spirit." Then he began to give thanks to God, who had revealed to 
 him His Son, whom he had confessed and loved, and whom the Pope and 
 the godless had blasphemed and insulted, saying: "Take Thou my poor 
 soul into Thy hands; although I know that I must leave this body, I shall 
 be ever with Thee." He then three times repeated the text from St. John: 
 "God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son." Then after 
 the doctor had given him a spoonful of medicine : "I am about to render up 
 
 43
 
 44 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 my spirit to Him who gave it." Then three times in Latin he repeated : 
 " Father, into Thy hands I commend my soul, for Thou hast redeemed me, 
 O Lord God of Truth." From that time he remained silent and still, with 
 his eyes closed, returning no answer when spoken to. The doctor said 
 loudly to him : "Reverend Father, wilt thou stand by Christ and the doctrine 
 thou hast preached?" He uttered an audible " Yes," and then turned on his 
 right side: lying thus for a quarter of an hour, they found his feet growing 
 cold. Between two and three in the morning of Thursday i8th February 
 1546, he fetched one deep, even breath, and was gone. 
 
 Carlyle says: "Kranach's portraits show the true Luther. A rude plebeian 
 face, with huge crag-like brows and bones, the emblem of rugged energy. 
 At first almost a repulsive face; yet in the eyes especially, there is a wild 
 silent sorrow, an unnameable melancholy. Laughter also was in this Luther, 
 but tears also were there. Tears and hard toil were appointed him in this 
 life. In his last days, after all his triumphs and victories, he says he is weary 
 of living: he considers that God alone can, and will, regulate the course of 
 events, and that perhaps the Day of Judgment is not far off. For himself he 
 longs for one thing; that God would release him from his labours, and let 
 him depart and be at rest. I will call Luther a true Great Man : a right 
 spiritual Hero and Prophet; once more a true Son of Nature, for whom 
 many that are yet to come will be thankful to Heaven." 
 
 Authorities: Carlyle; Kostlin; Blographie Universelle.
 
 
 ^^'t • 
 
 A >' 
 
 
 Francis Xavikr. 
 
 ftom ail eiiii7-a7'i>iti.
 
 No. 19 
 
 The Death of Francis Xavier, Apostle of the Indies. 
 Born 1506. Died 1552. 
 
 ON the 20th November 1552 the fever again attacked him, and those 
 about him witness that he was given to know that the day and hour 
 of his departure drew near and that God did not intend to give to 
 the Chinese the gift of His salvation through this His servant, who had 
 prayed so earnestly that even as a prisoner or a slave he might be permitted 
 to preach the Gospel among them. But his sickness gained upon him, and in 
 the middle of November he had himself moved on to the vessel which served 
 as a hospital to the Portuguese of San Chan. Soon he begged to be again 
 taken to the hut whence a distant view of China gladdened his eyes. Here he 
 lingered for two weeks, suffering terrible pain from weakness and fever but 
 with peace written upon his wasted features. On Friday the 2nd December 
 1552 his earthly toil and projects ceased for ever. The Angel of Death 
 appeared with a summons for which, since death first entered the world, no 
 man was ever more triumphantly prepared. 
 
 The agony of the fever still tortured his feeble frame, but his uplifted 
 crucifix reminded him of a more awful woe endured for his deliverance. His 
 eyes saw blessed ministers of peace and consolation, and his dying ears heard 
 strains more beautiful than any he could have imagined. Tears burst from 
 his eyes, tears of emotion too great for utterance, and his features were 
 irradiated as with the first beams of approaching glory. He raised himself, 
 and crying: " In thee. Lord, is my hope! " he bowed his head and died. 
 
 The Portuguese among whom he had worked assembled round his life- 
 less body, and, clothing it in his canonicals, buried it beside his poor hut, to 
 wait till pious hands should transport it across the sea. Coming to him was 
 a letter commanding him to return to Europe in order to succeed Loyola as 
 head of the Company of Jesus — but the Saint existed no longer on earth when 
 this evidence of his chiefs regard for him reached its destination. 
 
 The next year the remains of Xavier were taken from San Chan and 
 finally deposited in St. Paul's Church at Goa. 
 
 He died in the forty-seventh year of his age and the twelfth year of his 
 mission in the East. 
 
 Note. — The characteristics of St. Francis Xavier may be summed up in a few words. 
 His ascetic spirit; his constant assertion of the unbounded power of the Church; absence of 
 austerity ; the terms of even affectionate intercourse with which he lived not only with the 
 lowest but witli the higliest temporal dignitaries of the countries where he lived ; his profound 
 humihty; his extraordinary power of conciliating all classes and the facility of access to his 
 person, all marked him out as a man among men. "Take heed ofyourselves," he said, "Take 
 heed ofyourselves, my dearest brethren. .Many ministers of the Gospel who have opened the 
 way of heaven to others are tormented in hell for want of true humility, and from being 
 carried away by a vain opinion of themselves; while on the contrary there is not found in 
 hell one single soul which was sincerely humble." Zeal for the glory of God and the love of 
 his fellow creatures were the animating influences of his life as of his death. 
 
 Authorities: "Life of St. Francis Xavier," by M. H. McClean; H. J. Coleridge. 
 
 45 Q
 
 
 
 V^.'-i 
 
 High Laiimkr. 
 
 Dravn atiti cn^ra^'ed by 11 , B. Hall.
 
 TmiMAs Cranmkr. 
 
 /•'ront an i-»^raz'i»£.
 
 # 
 
 NiriiiiiAs RiiiiKV. 
 
 Pravniuid cngjavcd I'y 1 1 ■ A. Hall.
 
 No. 20 
 
 The Deaths of Bishops Latimer and Ridley, Odlober 
 1555, and of Archbishop Cranmer, 1556. 
 
 ON the i6th October 1555 Ridley and Latimer were led to the stake 
 without Cranmer, who remained in prison five months longer. In 
 the ditch on the north side of the pleasant town of Oxford, and over 
 against Balliol College, a great stake was erected. Ridley was brought up to 
 the spot between the Mayor of Oxford and a worshipful alderman. Latimer 
 came after him with what speed he could, but by reason of great age was 
 slow. Ridley ran to meet him, and kissing his cheek, said: "Be of good heart 
 brother, for God will either assuage the fury of the flame or strengthen us to 
 bear it." When the sermon was over, Ridley stripped himself for the fire, 
 giving away his apparel among bystanders, many of whom were only too 
 happy to get any rag of his. In the helplessness of old age, Latimer left it to 
 his keeper to strip him, but when he stood up in his shirt, erect and fearless, 
 by the side of the faggots, he seemed in the eyes of some of the beholders to 
 be no longer the withered and decrepit old man but as comely a father as one 
 might lightly behold. Ridley was tied first to the stake and a kindled faggot 
 was laid at his feet. As they were chaining Latimer to the reverse side of the 
 stake, the hardy old man exclaimed: "Be of good comfort. Master Ridley, 
 and play the man ; we shall this day light such a candle by God's grace in 
 England as, I trust, shall never be put out." Then the flames arose and 
 Latimer was soon seen to expire in the midst of them, but Ridley's sufferings 
 were long and dreadful. A multitude of Oxford scholars and gentlemen stood 
 by and witnessed the scene, for the most part, with pious and complacent 
 countenances. 
 
 It appeared that the Court calculated that when Cranmer should no 
 longer be supported by the more courageous spirits of Ridley and Latimer 
 he would in the near approach of a horrible death betray the weakness which 
 should cover himself with infamy, and bring discredit on the whole Protestant 
 party. Cranmer, who was delivered over to the secular power, trembled at the 
 near approach of a painful death and betrayed that weakness upon which 
 his enemies had calculated. He formally renounced the faith he had taught, 
 signing recantation after recantation to the number of six, and then when the 
 diabolical malice of his persecutors had thus as they conceived, loaded him 
 with eternal obloquy, they led him to the stake. The fallen Primate of 
 England learned what was intended for him, and having no longer any hope 
 of life, he summoned up resolution to meet his doom like a man. He was 
 taken to the same ditch over against Balliol College where his more fortunate 
 friends Ridley and Latimer had suffered five months before. He was stripped 
 to the shirt and tied to the stake. He made no moan nor useless prayer for 
 mercy in this world. The death which he had so long dreaded seemed less 
 dreadful when he saw it face to face. As soon as the flames began to rise, he 
 
 47
 
 48 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 thrust into them his right hand — that erring hand which had signed the 
 recantations — saying: "Ah! unworthy right hand!" and held it till it was 
 burnt. When the fire raged more fiercely, his body abided as immovable 
 as the stake whereto he was fastened, and, lifting up his eyes towards heaven, 
 he exclaimed: " Lord, receive my spirit," and soon expired. It is said that 
 his heart was found unconsumed in the ashes of the pyre. The impression 
 made by his martyrdom was immense and as lasting as it was wide and deep. 
 The Roman Church in England, with all its hopes, may almost be said to 
 have perished in the flames which consumed Cranmer. 
 
 Authorities: " History of England," Hume, Chambers, Froude.

 
 No. 2 1 
 
 Death of the Emperor Charles the Fifth. 
 Born 1500. Died 1558. 
 
 FOR the first ten months after his arrival at Juste the health of 
 Charles V of Spain, under the influence of a temperate climate, the 
 quiet of monastic life, and more than all, probably, his exemption 
 from the cares of State, had generally improved. His attacks of gout had 
 been less frequent and less severe than before, but in the spring of 1558 
 his old malady returned with renewed violence. " I was not in a condition," 
 he writes to his son Philip, "to listen to a single sermon during Lent." 
 About the middle of August symptoms of an alarming kind supervened, 
 intimating that his strong constitution was giving way. He still continued 
 to indulge his appetite for the most dangerous dishes. It is true the 
 physician stood by his side as prompt as Sancho Panza's doctor in his 
 island domain to remonstrate against his master's proceedings: but unhap- 
 pily he was not armed with the authority of that functionary, and an eel-pie 
 or a well spiced capon offered too great a fascination for Charles to heed the 
 warnings of his physician. During the month of August he conceived the 
 extraordinary idea of rehearsing his own funeral. The chapel was accord- 
 ingly hung with black; the monks in their conventual dresses and all the 
 Emperor's household clad in deep mourning, gathered round a huge cata- 
 falque which was raised in the centre of the chapel. The service for the 
 burial of the dead was performed and prayers were made for the departed 
 spirit, while the sorrowful attendants were melted to tears as the image of 
 their master's death was presented to their minds. Charles, muffled in a 
 dark mantle and bearing a lighted candle in his hand, mingled with his 
 household, the spectator of his own obsequies, and the doleful ceremony was 
 concluded by his placing the taper in the hands of the officiating priest in 
 sign of his surrendering his soul to the Almighty. On the 30th of August 
 he was affected by an indisposition which on the following day was attended 
 with most alarming symptoms. On the evening of the 31st Charles ordered 
 a portrait of the Empress his wife to be brought to him. Long he gazed on 
 its beautiful features "as if," says the chronicler, "he were imploring her 
 to prepare a place for him in the celestial mansions to which she had gone." 
 At length, rousing from his reverie, he turned to the doctor and complained 
 that he was ill. His pulse showed him to be in a high fever and the 
 physician bled him but without any good effect. It soon became evident 
 that the end was approaching. Charles received the intelligence not merely 
 with composure but with cheerfulness. It was what he had long desired he 
 said. His first care was to complete some few arrangements respecting his 
 affairs. In a codicil to his will he conjured his son Philip earnestly to 
 follow up and bring to justice every heretic in his dominions and to cherish 
 the Holy Inquisition. " So," he concludes, "shall you have my blessing and 
 
 49
 
 50 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 the Lord shall prosper all your undertakings." Such were the last words of 
 the dying monarch to his son. On the 2ist of September, about two hours 
 after midnight, the Emperor, who had remained long without speaking, 
 exclaimed " Now it is time! " The holy taper was placed lighted in his right 
 hand as he sat up leaning on the shoulder of his faithful servant Quixada. 
 With his left he endeavoured to clasp a silver crucifix. Charles fixed his 
 gaze long and earnestly on the sacred symbol which had comforted the 
 Empress, his wife, in her dying hour. To him it was the memento of earthly 
 love as well as of heavenly. The archbishop was repeating the psalm De 
 profundis " Out of the depths I cry unto thee O Lord! " when the dying man, 
 making a feeble effort to embrace the crucifix, exclaimed in tones so audible 
 as to be heard in the adjoining room, "Ay, Jesus! " and sinking back on the 
 pillow, expired without a struggle. 
 
 Authority: Prescott's "History of the Reign of Phihp the Second."
 
 Cai.vin.
 
 No. 2 2 
 
 The Death of Jean Calvin (Cauvin). Born at Noyon in 
 Picardy, France, on the loth July 1509. Died at 
 Geneva 27th May 1564. 
 
 CALVIN was sober and austere in his manners, but of a sad and 
 inflexible character. His dominating passion was the love of power, 
 and the desire to impose his opinions upon others. " I have no 
 great difficulty," he wrote to a friend, " in combating my vices, although they 
 are numberless. What I find hardest is to subdue my impatience, and that 
 ferocious beast I have not yet been able to conquer." He was pastor of the 
 Church of Geneva and sought no higher title. His annual salary was one 
 hundred and fifty francs, with a certain quantity of wheat and wine; more 
 than this he would never receive. When he died he was barely fifty-five years 
 of age. Of a feeble constitution, he was tormented all his life by various 
 maladies. Headache and fever were habitual evils, not to speak of attacks 
 of gout and at last the great pains of the "gravel." In 1540 he married a 
 widow by whom he had one only son, who died young. He lost his wife in 
 1549 and never married again. In 1560 he had come to the end of his 
 strength; his work was finished, although his intellectual and moral powers 
 were as full as ever they were. Thought and will failed him not, the body 
 only was exhausted. On the 6th February 1564 he preached his last sermon, 
 but was interrupted in the pulpit by a haemorrhage that forbade any further 
 public functions: still he worked in his study, and when his friends remon- 
 strated, said: " Do you wish then that the Lord should come and find me not 
 watching?" On the loth March 1564, the Town Council of Geneva ordered 
 public prayers to be said "for the health of Mons. Calvin, the pastor and 
 father of the Church of Geneva, who has been long indisposed, and is even 
 in danger of death." On the 27th of March he caused himself to be carried 
 to the Council House, and, with the support of two friends, he walked into the 
 hall: there, having bared his head, he returned thanks to the Council for the 
 favours he had received from them, especially for the attention they had 
 showed him during his illness. After this effort, he returned with difficulty 
 to his own house. On the 2nd of April, he received the last sacrament from 
 the hands of his friend and disciple Theodore de Beze. On the 28th of April 
 all his fellow ministers from the country round came to bid him farewell. 
 He received them with affectionate gravity and said to them: "It might 
 seem to you that I am not very ill, but I have never felt so weak as I do 
 now, and on the slightest movement a faintness overcomes me. I fear I 
 shall find it hard to die, and that I may lose my power of speech while I yet 
 retain my senses: but in spite of this I much desired to speak with you all." 
 Then he went on to recall the scenes of his stormy religious and political 
 career and what he had done and undergone for the Reformed Church. 
 "Take courage," he concluded, "for God will maintain and guard this 
 
 51
 
 52 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 church. Live, I beg of you, insincerity, loving-kindness, and unity of faith. 
 Beware of change: not that I desire out of ambition to preserve my work 
 unaltered, but that change is dangerous and sometimes hurtful." Then one 
 by one they took his hand and bade him farewell ; many of them with tears. 
 Day and night the people thronged his door for news of their beloved 
 Pastor. A few days before his death he made his will. In the first place he 
 blessed God for having called him to know the Gospel and make it known. 
 He gave to the College of Geneva ten crowns, and the like sum to "poor 
 strangers " in the town. The rest of his property, the produce of the sale of 
 his books and furniture, with two hundred and twenty-five crowns, he left to 
 his nephews and nieces, "that being all the property that God has given 
 me." His brother Antoine was left joint executor with his old friend and 
 fellow countryman, Laurent de Normandie. 
 
 " On the 27th May 1564," writes Theodore de B^ze, " he seemed strong 
 and at ease, but this was but a last effort of nature, for by eight o'clock in 
 the evening, suddenly the apparent signs of death became manifest, and in 
 a short time he quietly gave up the ghost, without any struggle, and in the 
 full possession of his sense and judgment up to the moment of departure. 
 Indeed he seemed rather to fall asleep, and we may well say that in this man, 
 it hath pleased God to show us both how to live well and how to die well." 
 
 His body was placed in a simple wooden cofiin and carried, according to 
 his directions, without pomp or ceremony to the public cemetery of Geneva 
 for interment, where such rites were performed as were customary in the 
 Reformed Church. No stone marks the spot where he rests. In the Con- 
 sistorial Register, his name is entered on the 27th May 1564, and beside it 
 " Went to God, Saturday 27th." He had no other epitaph. 
 
 Pope Pius IV on hearing of Calvin's death said: " What gave that heretic 
 so much power was that money had no value for him. If I had servants such 
 as he was, I should be master of the world." 
 
 Calvin was of middling stature, and of a pale and dark complexion ; his 
 eyes, which were clear sighted and penetrating, preserved their brilliancy 
 to the last. His memory was prodigious, and his judgment exact. He was 
 very abstemious, taking often but one meal a day, and sometimes abstaining 
 from food altogether, for as much as thirty-six hours. For him the spirit 
 was all, the body naught. Sincere in his faith, pure in his motives, austere 
 in his life, and of immovable resolution, he was one of those men who are 
 worthy of remembrance even at the distance of centuries. 
 
 His favourite text was: " To obey is better than sacrifice." Religion 
 was to him the comprehension of the relationship between God and man, 
 outwardly manifested by obedience to the duties set forth in the New Testa- 
 ment. He lived "ad majorem Dei gloriam." 
 
 Authorities : Lives by Dyer, Bungener, and Guizot ; Biographie Universelle, etc.
 
 Fioiii an cn^taviitg hy W. Hull,
 
 No. 23 
 
 The Death of John Knox. Born 1505. 
 Died 24th November 1572. 
 
 MONDAY, the 24th day of November 1572, was the last day that 
 John Knox spent on earth. That morning he could not be per- 
 suaded to stay in bed, but though unable to stand alone, rose 
 between nine and ten o'clock and put on his stockings and doublet. Being 
 conducted to a chair, he sat about half an hour, and then was put to bed 
 again. In the course of the day it became evident that his end was ap- 
 proaching. A friend asked him if he was in pain. "It is no painful pain," 
 he said, *' but such a pain I trust as will soon put an end to the battle. I 
 must leave my wife and children to you," he continued, "to whom you must 
 be a husband and father in my place." After this he fell into a slumber, but 
 at length awakened and said: " I have formerly during my frail life sustained 
 many contests, and many assaults of Satan, but at present he hath assailed me 
 most fearfully, by endeavouring to persuade me that I have merited heaven 
 and eternal life by the faithful discharge of my ministry ; but blessed be 
 God, who has enabled me to beat down and to quench the fiery dart; where- 
 fore I give thanks to my God, through Jesus Christ, who has been pleased 
 to give me the victory, and I am persuaded that the tempter shall not again 
 attack me, but within a short time I shall, without any great pain of body 
 or anguish of mind, exchange this mortal and miserable life for a blessed 
 immortality through Jesus Christ." He now lay quiet for some hours, his 
 lips being moistened from time to time with a little weak ale. About eleven 
 o'clock he gave a deep sigh, and said: " Now it is come." His friend 
 Bannatyne immediately drew near, and desired him to think upon the com- 
 fortable promises of our Saviour Jesus Christ, which he had so often declared 
 to others, and perceiving that he was speechless, besought him to give them 
 a sign that he heard what was said, and that he died in peace. Upon this 
 Knox lifted up one of his hands, pointed upwards with his finger, and 
 sighing twice, expired without a struggle. He died 24th November 1572, 
 in the sixty-seventh year of his age, three months after the massacre of 
 St. Bartholomew, not so much oppressed with years as worn out and ex- 
 hausted by his extraordinary labours of body and anxieties of mind. Few 
 men were ever exposed to more dangers or underwent greater hardship. 
 From the time he embraced the Reformed religion, till he breathed his last, 
 seldom did he enjoy a respite from trouble. He lived for years as an outlaw, 
 in apprehension of those who sought to take his life; banished from his own 
 country, he wandered in exile. He was condemned for heresy, and thrice 
 accused of high treason; a price was set on his head, and assassins were 
 hired to kill him; yet he escaped all these perils, and finished his course 
 with honour. No wonder that he was weary of the world, and anxious to 
 depart. He was buried in the churchyard of St. Giles in Edinburgh, and the 
 
 53 H
 
 54 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 newly-elected Regent, the Earl of Morton, said at his grave: "Here lies one 
 who never feared the face of man." 
 
 Carlyle says of him: "He resembles an old Hebrew prophet, the same 
 inflexibility, intolerance, rigid adherence to God's truth ; stern rebuke in the 
 name of God, to all who forsake the truth. An old Hebrew prophet, in the 
 guise of an Edinburgh minister of the sixteenth century; but an honest- 
 hearted, brotherly man; brother to the high, brother also to the low, sincere 
 in his sympathy for both. He had his pipe of Bordeaux too, we find, in that 
 old Edinburgh house of his. A cheery social man, with faces that loved him. 
 He has the power of holding his peace in many things that do not vitally 
 concern him, but the thing which does vitally concern him, that thing he 
 will speak of, and in a tone that the whole world shall be made to hear. 
 Honour to him! His works have not died. The letter of his work dies as of 
 all men's, but the spirit of it never." 
 
 Authorities: Dictionary of National Biography; Carlyle; and McCrie, "Life of John 
 Knox."
 
 Si. Tiikkksa. 
 
 iroui < tir.ii/iia (>/ Sn/ano's " Iio/ioi^i a/i/i F.s/>niwla.'"
 
 No. 24 
 
 The Death of Saint Teresa as related by her companion, 
 the lay sister Anna. Born at Avila, a city in Old 
 Castile, Spain, on 28th March 15 15. Died at Alva 
 in the same province on 4th Odlober 1582. 
 
 ST. TERESA was on a journey to her native city to attend the 
 ceremony of the taking of the veil by her niece. When on the road 
 she became very ill, and her companion, Sister Anna, speaks as 
 follows: "The same night, being the Vigil of St. Matthew, we reached Alva. 
 She was then so spent and sick, that she was persuaded to go to bed. Yet 
 the next morning she got up and went to church to hear Mass, where likewise 
 she received the blessed Sacrament. After which she passed some days, being 
 sometimes better and sometimes worse of her distemper, until the Feast of 
 St. Michael the Archangel, on which day she took to her bed, and never 
 rose out of it any more. Three days before her decease, she spent a whole 
 night in earnest prayer and devout supplication unto God. On the Vigil of 
 St. Frances, 3rd October 1582, at five in the evening, she asked for the most 
 sacred Viaticum of the body of our Lord, being by that time so weak and 
 spent that she could not stir herself in her bed, nor turn from one side to 
 the other; but by the help of her sisters, and while they were bringing the 
 Blessed Sacrament, joining her hands together, she said to the religious 
 women who were about her: 'I beseech you, for the Lord's sake, my most 
 dear daughters and ladies, to observe the ordinances and constitutions of our 
 Rule very exactly and entirely; and likewise I beg of you not to regard the 
 ill example which this negligent nun hath given you; but whatever I have 
 herein offended, I desire you would forgive me for it.' As soon as the sacred 
 pledge of our redemption came in sight, though before she was exceedingly 
 exhausted with her illness, and so oppressed with her pains that she could not 
 move at all out of her place, she sprang up without any one's help, and with 
 her face shining with unusual beauty, looking much younger than formerly 
 it was wont, and with a venerable kind of majesty, closing her hands, she 
 began out of the abundance of her heart to utter certain high sweet ex- 
 pressions: 'O my Lord,' she said, 'the desired hour I have so often 
 wished for has come. It is now time, Lord, for me to depart, and happy and 
 prosperous may the journey prove. Thy will be done. The hour is come at 
 last, wherein I shall pass out of this exile, and my soul shall enjoy in Thy 
 company that which she hath exceedingly longed for.' At nine o'clock in 
 the evening she received extreme unction, joining with the nuns in the 
 penitential psalms and the Litany. The next day, at seven in the morning, she 
 turned herself on one side, just in the posture that the blessed Magdalene is 
 represented by painters, and holding a crucifix in her hands so fast that she 
 let it not go till the nuns took it away when she was to be interred, she lay 
 
 55
 
 56 
 
 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 thus for fourteen hours in silence. Towards morning I went to take some 
 food; while I was away, our mother looked restlessly about, until I was 
 called back. When she saw that I had returned, she put her arms about me 
 with so much love, and, caressing me tenderly, laid her head in my arms, 
 and thus I held her and was embraced by her until she expired. I seemed 
 rather to die than she; for she so burned with love for her Lord that she 
 desired nothing but the hour in which the chains of the body being broken, 
 she might enjoy His presence for ever. She surrendered her spirit into the 
 hands of her Creator in the sixty-eighth year of her life, on 4th October 
 1582. Her end was so quiet and calm, that they who had seen her often in 
 prayer would have thought her now also intent on the same heavenly 
 exercise. Her sisters watched by the earthly tabernacle, which had been the 
 temple of the Holy Spirit, until ten o'clock next day. Her face, which had 
 been lined and furrowed by age, became smooth and without wrinkles, more 
 beautiful than in life. All the clergy, nobles, and people of Alva thronged 
 to her burial. She was laid in her habit on a bier covered with a pall of 
 cloth of gold, and placed in a vault between the inner and the outer chapel 
 of the Convent of Alva." 
 
 Authorities : Lives by Mrs. Cunninghani-Graham and H. Whyte; Acta Sanct. 52.
 
 William of Nassau, rRixcic of Okancil. 
 
 From an old engraving. 
 
 <\
 
 No. 2^ 
 
 The Deaths of William the Silent, Prince of Orange 
 (born 1533; died 1584), and of his assassin, Bal- 
 thazar Gerard. 
 
 ON Tuesday the loth July 1584, at about half-past twelve, Prince 
 William of Orange, with his wife on his arm, and followed by the 
 ladies and gentlemen of his family, was going to the dining-room. 
 He was dressed on that day, according to his usual fashion, very plainly, 
 wearing a wide-leaved loosely-shaped hat of dark felt, with a silken cord 
 round the crown ; a high ruff encircled his neck, while a loose surcoat of 
 gray frieze cloth, over a tawny leather doublet, with wide slashed under- 
 clothes, completed his costume. Balthazar Gerard presented himself at the 
 doorway and asked for a passport. The Princess, struck by the man's pale 
 and agitated countenance, anxiously questioned her husband concerning the 
 stranger. The Prince of Orange carelessly observed that it was merely a 
 person who came for a passport, ordering at the same time that his secretary 
 should prepare one. His wife, still anxious, observed in an undertone that 
 she "had never seen so villainous a countenance." Orange, however, not 
 at all impressed by Gerard's appearance, conducted himself at table with his 
 usual cheerfulness, conversing with the Burgomaster of Leewarden, the only 
 guest present at the family dinner, concerning the religious and political 
 aspects of Friesland. At two o'clock the company rose from the table. The 
 Prince led the way, intending to pass to his private apartments above. The 
 dining-room, which was on the ground floor, opened on to a little square 
 vestibule, which communicated through an arched passage-way with the 
 main entrance into the courtyard. This vestibule was also at the foot of the 
 wooden staircase leading to the next floor, and was scarcely six feet in 
 width. Upon its left side, approaching the stairway, was an obscure arch, 
 sunk deep into the wall, and completely in the shadow of the door. Behind 
 this arch a portal opened into the narrow lane at the side of the house. The 
 stairs themselves were lighted by a large window halfway up the flight. 
 The Prince came from the dining-room, and began leisurely to ascend the 
 stairs. He had only reached the second stair when a man emerged from the 
 sunken arch and, standing close to him, discharged a pistol into his body. 
 Three balls pierced him, one of which, passing quite through him, struck 
 the wall beyond. The Prince exclaimed: "O my God! have mercy on my 
 soul. O my God! have mercy on my poor people." These were the last 
 words he spoke, save that when his sister asked him if he commended his 
 soul to Jesus Christ, he faintly answered "Yes." He was placed on the 
 stairs for an instant, when he immediately began to swoon. He was after- 
 wards carried to a couch in the dining-room, where in a few minutes he 
 breathed his last in the arms of his wife. The fury of the people against the 
 wretch who had destroyed the Father of the country was uncontrollable, and 
 
 57
 
 58 
 
 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 William the Silent was no longer alive to intercede, as he had done before, 
 in behalf of those who assailed his life. On being interrogated by the magis- 
 trates, Gerard manifested neither despair nor contrition, but rather a quiet 
 exultation in the deed he had done. He said: "Like David, I have slain 
 Goliath of Gath." He deliberately wrote a detailed confession of his crime, 
 and of the motives and manner of its commission, taking care, however, not 
 to implicate the Prince of Parma in the transaction. After sustaining day 
 after day the most horrible tortures, during the intervals of repose from the 
 rack he conversed with ease, and even with eloquence, answering all ques- 
 tions addressed to him with apparent sincerity. His constancy in suffering 
 so astounded his judges, that they believed him to be supported by witch- 
 craft. "Ecce homo!" he exclaimed from time to time, with insane blasphemy, 
 as he raised his blood-streaming head from the bench, and avowed that he 
 would repeat his crime, if possible, were he to die a thousand deaths in con- 
 sequence. He thanked his judges for the food he received in prison, and 
 promised to recompense them for the favour: on being asked how that was 
 possible, he replied that he would serve as their advocate in Paradise. The 
 sentence pronounced against the assassin was terrible ; a crime indeed against 
 the memory of the great man whom it professed to avenge. It was decreed 
 that the right hand of Gerard should be burnt off with a red hot iron ; that his 
 flesh should be torn from his bones with pincers in six different places; that 
 he should be quartered and disembowelled alive; that his heart should be 
 torn from his bosom, and flung in his face; and that finally his head should 
 be cut off'. Not even his atrocious crime, with its endless consequences, nor 
 the natural frenzy of indignation which it had excited, could justify this 
 savage decree, to rebuke which the murdered hero might almost have risen 
 from the sleep of death. The sentence was literally executed on the 14th of 
 July, the criminal supporting its horrors with the same astonishing fortitude. 
 So calm were his nerves, crippled and half-roasted as he was when he 
 mounted the scaffold, that when one of the executioners was slightly injured 
 in the ear by the flying from its handle of the hammer with which he was 
 breaking the fatal pistol in pieces, as a preliminary to the execution (a cir- 
 cumstance which produced a general laugh in the crowd), a smile was 
 observed upon Gerard's face in sympathy with the general hilarity. His lips 
 were seen to move up to the moment when his heart was thrown in his face. 
 "Then," said an onlooker, " he gave up the ghost." 
 
 Authority: Motley's " Dutch Republic."
 
 Mary, Queen of Scots.
 
 No. 26 
 
 The Death of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots. Born 1542. 
 
 Died 1587. 
 
 QUEEN MARY'S last night was a busy one: as she said herself, 
 there was much to be done and the time was short. A few lines to 
 the King of France, her brother-in-law, were dated two hours after 
 midnight. They were to insist for the last time that she was 
 innocent of any conspiracy, that she was dying for her religion and for having 
 asserted her right to the Crown, and to beg that out of the sum which he 
 owed her, the wages of her servants might be paid and masses said for her 
 soul. After this she slept for three or four hours, and then rose and with the 
 most elaborate care prepared to encounter the end. At eight in the morning 
 the Provost-Marshal knocked at her door; a few minutes later it was opened, 
 and he was confronted with the tall majestic figure of Mary Stuart. She 
 wore a robe of black satin ; her jacket was of the same material, slashed and 
 trimmed with velvet. Her hair was arranged with a coif, and over her head 
 she wore a white veil of delicate lawn. A crucifix of gold hung from her 
 neck, and in her hand she held another of ivory; and thus, with the Sheriff 
 walking before her, she passed to the chamber of presence, where the Earls 
 of Shrewsbury, Kent, and others were waiting to receive her. She asked for 
 her chaplain: he was not present. Her ladies, who had attempted to follow 
 her, had been kept back also; missing them, she asked the reason of their 
 absence, and said she wished them to see her die. Kent said he feared they 
 might scream or faint, or attempt perhaps to dip their handkerchiefs in her 
 blood. She undertook that they should be quiet and obedient. "The Queen," 
 she said, "would never deny her so slight a request." It was indeed 
 impossible to refuse. She was allowed to take six of her own people with her 
 and selected them herself. " Allons done," she then said, " Let us go," and 
 leaning on the arm of an officer of the guard and attended by the Earls, she 
 descended the great staircase to the hall of Fotheringay Castle. About three 
 hundred knights and gentlemen of the county had been admitted to witness 
 the execution. At the upper end of the hall stood the scaffold, twelve feet 
 square and two feet and a half high. It was covered with black cloth, and the 
 SherifTs guard was ranged on its four sides to keep off the crowd. The Queen 
 of Scots as she swept in seemed as if coming to take a part in some solemn 
 pageant. Not a muscle of her face could be seen to quiver; she ascended the 
 scaffold with perfect composure, looked round her smiling, and sat down. The 
 warrant was read aloud, but in all that assembly Mary Stuart appeared the 
 person least interested in the words which were consigning her to death. 
 "Madam," said Lord Shrewsbury, "you hear what we are commanded to do? " 
 "You will do your duty," she answered, and rose as if to kneel and pray. 
 The Dean of Peterborough, Dr. Fletcher, approached her. "Madam," he began 
 with a low obeisance. "Mr. Dean," she said, "I am a Catholic and shall die 
 a Catholic. Your prayers will avail me little," and she turned her back on 
 
 ■50
 
 6o A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 him and knelt for her own devotions. When she knelt, he commenced an 
 extempore prayer, and as his voice resounded in the hall, she raised her own, 
 reciting in powerful, deep-chested tones one of the Penitential Psalms in 
 Latin, introducing English sentences at intervals so that the audience might 
 know what she was saying, and praying with especial distinctness for her 
 holy father the Pope. From time to time, with conspicuous vehemence, she 
 struck the crucifix on her bosom, and then, as the Dean gave up the struggle, 
 she left her Latin and prayed loud and clear in English : "Even as Thy arms, 
 O Jesus, were spread upon the cross, so receive me into Thy mercy and 
 forgive my sins." With these words she arose: the executioners stepped 
 forward and in the usual form begged her forgiveness. "I forgive you," she 
 said, "for now I hope you shall end all my troubles." Her ladies were then 
 allowed to come on to the scaffold to assist her. She laid her crucifix on 
 her chair. The chief executioner at once took it as a perquisite, but was 
 ordered instantly to lay it down by the Earl of Shrewsbury. The lawn veil 
 was lifted off carefully by one of her women so as not to disturb her hair. 
 The black robe was then removed ; below it was a petticoat of crimson velvet. 
 The black jacket followed, and under the jacket was a body of crimson satin. 
 One of her ladies handed her a pair of crimson sleeves, and thus she stood on 
 the black scaffold, blood-red from head to feet. Her women, whose firmness 
 had hitherto borne the trial, now began to give way. " Ne criez pas," she 
 said, " j'ai promis pour vous." Then she knelt on the cushion, and one of her 
 ladies bound a kerchief over her eyes. "Adieu!" she said, smiling, "Adieu! 
 au revoir." They stepped back and she was left alone; then she felt for the 
 block and, laying down her head, said: " In manus Domine tuas, commendo 
 animam meam." The hard wood seemed to hurt her, for she placed her hands 
 under her neck. The executioners gently removed them lest they should 
 deaden the blow, and one of them holding her slightly, the other raised the 
 axe and struck. The scene had been too trying even for the practised heads- 
 man of the Tower. His arm wandered: the blow fell on the knot of the 
 handkerchief and scarcely broke the skin. She neither spoke nor moved. He 
 struck again: this time effectively. The head hung by a shred of skin, which 
 he divided without withdrawing the axe ; and at once a metamorphosis was 
 witnessed, strange as was ever wrought by wand of fabled enchanter. The coif 
 fell off and with it the false plaits of hair. The illusion vanished. The high 
 lady who had knelt before the block was in the maturity of grace and loveli- 
 ness. The executioner, when he raised the head as usual to show it to the 
 crowd, exposed the features of a grizzled, wrinkled, care-worn old woman. 
 
 "So perish all the Queen's enemies," cried the Dean of Peterborough: a 
 loud Amen rose from the spectators in the hall. "Such end," said the Earl 
 of Kent standing over the body, " Such end be to the Queen's and Gospel's 
 enemies." 
 
 This was the last scene of the life of Mary Stuart, in which tragedy and 
 melodrama were so strangely commingled. 
 
 Authority : Froude's History.
 
 SiK RiCHAUi) Gkknxili.e. 
 
 (1541-1591.) 
 
 From an €ugi'a7>htg.
 
 No. 27 
 
 The Death of Sir Richard Grenville, of Bideford. 
 Born 1 541. Died 1591. 
 
 IN August 1591 Sir Richard Grenville commanded the " Revenge " in 
 Lord Thomas Howard's squadron, when they fell in with a Spanish 
 fleet of 53 sail off Flores in the Azores. Eleven out of the twelve 
 English ships obeyed the signal of the Admiral to cut their cables and escape 
 as best they could. The twelfth, the "Revenge," was unable to do so, as 
 some 90 of her crew of 190 were sick on shore. Sir Richard Grenville, 
 who commanded the " Revenge," was in no haste to fly. He first got all his 
 sick men on board and then weighed anchor in due form. The Spanish 
 fleet were now fast approaching, but as Raleigh says in his beautiful narra- 
 tive: "Sir Richard utterly refused to turn from the enemy, alleging that he 
 would rather choose to die than to dishonour himself, his country, and her 
 Majesty's ship, persuading his company that he would pass through their 
 two squadrons in spite of them, and enforce those of Seville to give him way: 
 which he performed on diverse of the foremost, who, as the mariners term it, 
 sprang their luff and fell under the lee of the ' Revenge.' But the other 
 course had been the better; and might right well have been answered in so 
 great an impossibility of prevailing; notwithstanding, out of the greatness of 
 his mind he could not be persuaded." The wind was light; and the "San 
 Philip," a great Spanish vessel of 1,500 tons, came up to windward of him, 
 and taking the wind out of his sails ran aboard him. The narrative goes on: 
 After the "Revenge" was entangled with the "San Philip" four others 
 boarded her. The fight thus beginning at three o'clock in the afternoon 
 continued very terrible all that evening. But the great " San Philip," having 
 received the discharge of the guns in the lower tier of the " Revenge," shifted 
 herself with all diligence from her sides, utterly misliking her first entertain- 
 ment. The Spanish ships were filled with soldiers, in some 200 besides the 
 mariners, in some 500, in others 800. In ours there were none at all, besides 
 the mariners, but the servants of the commander and some few voluntary 
 gentlemen only. After many interchanged volleys of great ordnance and small 
 shot, the Spaniards deliberated to enter the "Revenge," and made divers 
 attempts, hoping to force her by the multitude of their armed soldiers and 
 musketeers; but were still repulsed again and again, and at all times beaten 
 back into their own ships or into the sea. In the beginning of the fight the 
 "George Noble"of London, which had come to Grenville's assistance, having 
 received some shot through her by the Armadas, fell under the lee of the 
 " Revenge " and asked Sir Richard what he would command him ; but being 
 one of the victuallers and of small force, Sir Richard bade him save himself 
 and leave him to his fortune. All that night the fight continued. Fifteen 
 Spanish ships were beaten off in turn; two were sunk, two disabled, and 1,500 
 of their men slain or drowned ; but the " Revenge " was by this time a helpless 
 
 61 I
 
 62 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 wreck : her powder spent, forty out of her hundred sound men killed, and a great 
 many of the rest hurt. Sir Richard, being himself badly wounded, seeing it 
 was past hope, commanded the master gunner to split and sink the ship that 
 thereby nothing might remain of glory or victory to the Spaniards; but he 
 was overborne by the survivors of his crew, and the " Revenge" was sur- 
 rendered to the enemy on honourable terms. The Spanish Admiral sent his 
 own boat to bring Sir Richard aboard his own vessel, but Sir Richard, whose 
 life was fast ebbing away, replied that he might do with his body what he list, 
 for that he esteemed it not; and as he was carried out of the ship he swooned, 
 and, reviving again, desired the company to pray for him. In a few hours Sir 
 Richard, feeling his end approaching, showed not any sign of faintness, but 
 spake these words in -Spanish: " Here die I, Richard Grenville, with a joyful 
 and quiet mind, for that I have ended my life as a true soldier ought to do 
 that hath fought for his country, queen, religion, and honour. Whereby my 
 soul most joyfully departeth out of this body, and shall always leave behind it 
 an everlasting fame of a valiant and true soldier that hath done his duty as 
 he was bound to do." When he had finished these words, he gave up the 
 ghost with great and stout courage, and no man could perceive any sign of 
 heaviness in him. Such was the fight at Flores in that August of 1591, with- 
 out its equal in such of the annals of mankind as history has preserved to 
 us — to the glory, as I think, of Sir Richard Grenville, and to the everlasting 
 shame of Sir Thomas Howard. 
 
 Authority: Froude.
 
 Michel de Montaigne. 
 
 From an engravmg by Gauthcrot and Weber.
 
 No. 28 
 
 The Death of Michel de Montaigne (the Wise Master). 
 Born 1533. Died 1592. 
 
 THE thought of Death runs like a thread through all the writings of 
 Montaigne; he played with it, dallied with it, collected instances 
 of remarkable deaths, and even when he himself met with an ac- 
 cident, he used his experience curiously as an approach to what he called 
 "the Master Day." Thus he speaks: "I fortuned one day for recreation 
 sake to go forth and take the air about a league from my house. I was 
 mounted on a very easy-going nag, but one not very sure footed. On my 
 returning home one of my men, a strong sturdy fellow, mounted upon a 
 young horse with a desperate hard mouth, wishing to outgo his fellows, 
 set spurs to his horse and came right into the path where I was riding along, 
 and, like a Colossus, riding over me and my nag he overthrew us both, mak- 
 ing us fall with our heels upwards, so that my beast lay astonied in one 
 place and 1, in a trance, ten or twelve paces wide of him; my face all torn 
 and bruised, my sword a good way from me, and my girdle broken : there I 
 lay with no more sense in me than a stock or a stone. Those that were with 
 me, after they had assayed all possible means to bring me to myself again, 
 supposing me dead took me in their arms and with much ado were carrying 
 me home to my house, which was about a league thence. After about two 
 hours space I began to stir and breathe, and was immediately set on my feet, 
 when bending forward I presently cast up as much pure blood as a bucket 
 would hold, whereby I began to recover a little life. When I began to see, 
 it was with so dim and so troubled a sight that I could hardly discern any- 
 thing. I perceived myself all bloody. The first conceit I had was that I had 
 been shot in the head. I closed my eyes and took a kind of pleasure to 
 linger, and languishingly to let myself go from myself. It was an imagina- 
 tion not only exempted from displeasure, but rather commixed with that 
 pleasant sweetness which they feel that suffer themselves to fall into a sense- 
 entrancing sleep. I believe it is the same state they find themselves in 
 whom, in the agony of death, we see to droop and faint through weakness, 
 and I am of opinion that we plain and moan them without cause; for it was 
 ever my belief that those whom we see so overwhelmed at the approach of 
 their end, have their soul and body buried and asleep. And now, lying as in 
 a trance, I laboured with my nails to open my doublet (for I was unarmed) 
 for there are several motions in us that proceed not from our free will. When 
 I came near my house, where the tidings of my fall were already come, and 
 those of my household met me with outcries such as are used at like times, 
 I did not only answer some words to what was demanded of me, but some 
 tell me I did command my men to give my wife a horse, perceiving her to 
 be over-tired, the way being very hilly and rugged. It seemed as if this 
 consideration proceeded from a vigilant soul, yet was I clean distracted from 
 
 63
 
 64 
 
 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 it as in a cloud, being only moved by the sense of the eyes and ears, but not 
 from myself. All which notwithstanding, I knew neither whence I came, nor 
 whither I went, and in the meantime my state was very pleasant and easeful. 
 I felt no manner of care either for myself or for others. I saw my own house 
 and knew it not, but when I was laid on my bed I felt great ease and rest. 
 Many remedies were offered me, but I took none, supposing verily that I 
 had received a deadly hurt in the head, and to say the truth, it had been a 
 very happy death: — but when two or three hours afterwards I began to come 
 to life again, I presently found myself full of aches and pains all my body 
 over. This discourse of so slight and vain an accident is but frivolous, were 
 it not for the instructions I have drawn from thence for my own use; indeed, 
 for a man to acquaint himself with death, I find no better way than to 
 approach unto it. Lo! here at the last cast all our lives and actions must be 
 touched and tried. It is the Master Day that judgeth all others. I have seen 
 divers by their deaths who gave reputation to all their forepassed lives, and 
 in my time I have seen three of the most execrable people that ever I knew 
 in all abominations of life, dying very orderly and quietly, and in every 
 circumstance composed even to perfection." 
 
 On the loth September 1592 the Master was suddenly seized at Montaigne 
 with a quinsy, which from the first threatened to be fatal. For three whole 
 days he lay, perfectly conscious, but unable to utter a word. The proper 
 arrangement of his worldly affairs occupied him a good deal. He had 
 already made his will, but now got up from bed in his shirt, put on his morn- 
 ing gown, opened his cabinet, sent for his servants and others to whom he 
 had left legacies, and paid them in ready cash, foreseeing the difficulties 
 which his heirs would raise. At last, feeling his end approaching, he 
 begged his wife, writing on a slip of paper, to send for certain gentlemen, 
 his friends and neighbours, that he might take leave of them; when they 
 had arrived, and just as the priest was elevating the Host, "this poor gentle- 
 man," says Pasquier, "leaped forward as well as he was able, on his bed, 
 with his hands clasped, and in this last act, gave up his soul to God." The 
 date of his death was the 13th September 1592, and his exact age was fifty-nine 
 years, six months and three days. His body lies buried in the Chapel of the 
 Feuillans at Bordeaux. The tomb is still in good preservation. 
 
 In the eighteenth chapter of John Florio's translation of "The Essays of 
 Montaigne," in the first book, which is entitled, "That we should not judge 
 of our happiness until after our death," it is written: " When I judge of other 
 men's lives, I ever respect how they have behaved themselves in their end; 
 and my chiefest study is, I may well demeane myself at my last gaspe, that 
 is to say, quietly and constantly." 
 
 Authorities: B. St. John; Montaigne's " Essays," tr. J. Florio, ed. W. E. Henley; 
 
 Biographie Universelle.
 
 Queen Elisabeth. 
 
 From an cns'avhtg by Bcrolini of the picture by /. D. SchUnen.
 
 No. 29 
 
 The Death of Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England. 
 Born 7th September 1533. Died 24th March 1603. 
 
 LORD BACON said of Queen Elizabeth: "Some of the graver sort 
 may perhaps aggravate her levities in loving to be admired and 
 courted ; nay, to have love poems made on her, and continuing this 
 humour longer than was decent for her years," and so it was in the decline 
 of her life, when saddened by the death of her favourite Leicester, that the 
 young Earl of Essex, of a character congenial to her own, became a candidate 
 for her favour. In the waning of her womanhood, her passion for him was to 
 be the Nemesis following her lifelong levity and misprision of Love. It was 
 indeed the immediate cause of her death. Happier would it have been for 
 the Queen and her ill-fated favourite, had they listened to Bacon's warning 
 voice. Essex paid the forfeiture of his unrestrained temper by the stroke of 
 the axe: but Elizabeth suffered the lingering torture of a broken heart. Her 
 ardent and unappeasable affection for this young man brought her constant 
 misery, but his pride and presumption at last hardened her heart. Her two 
 ruling passions were personal vanity and love of dominion: both these were 
 outraged by Essex, who proclaimed that "he would serve no one with base 
 obsequiousness," and that "he was thrust down into private life by an old 
 woman no less crooked in mind than she was in body." This was repeated 
 to the Queen, who then at last realized that she had not been loved for herself. 
 The Earl of Essex carried his rash imprudence to such a point at last as to 
 raise the standard of rebellion against his sovereign, and he was arrested and 
 condemned to death. The dangerous position of her favourite caused a 
 renewal in the Queen's heart of all the tender sentiments of old times. She 
 experienced the most real agitation, the most painful irresolution. Resentment 
 and love, pride and compassion, the care of her own safety, her affection for 
 the offender, all raised a fearful combat in her mind. She was perhaps more 
 worthy of pity than Essex himself. She signed the death-sentence, she 
 countermanded it, but what finally closed her mind to pity was the resolute 
 manner in which the Earl refused to ask for mercy from her. On a previous 
 occasion she had given him a ring which she begged him always to wear as 
 a mark of her affection, assuring him that whatever offence he might commit 
 and no matter how angry she might be with him, if he sent her the ring she 
 would pardon him. Now Essex, after his condemnation to death, had confided 
 the ring to the Countess of Nottingham to carry to Elizabeth: the Earl of 
 Nottingham prevented his wife from doing this, and Essex was executed in 
 the Tower on the 25th February 1601 : but the Queen loved him still and 
 mourned his loss. The same year the Ambassador of France, in a letter to 
 his master Henri IV, reported that he had had a strange conversation with 
 the Queen of England about the late Earl of Essex, and that her Majesty, 
 after railing at her dead favourite, had opened a casket and shown the very 
 
 65
 
 66 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 head of Essex which had been embalmed and preserved by her orders. Two 
 years afterwards, when the Countess of Nottingham on her death-bed avowed 
 the fact that her husband had forced her to keep bacli the ring which had 
 been sent by her hands to the Queen from Essex, as a token of his repentance 
 and the pledge of her clemency, Elizabeth was not mistress of her emotion. 
 "God may pardon you," she said to the dying Countess, " but I never will." 
 From that moment she seemed to have received a fatal blow. In the beginning 
 of June 1602, the French Ambassador reported another conversation with the 
 Queen in which, after owning herself to be weary of life, with sighs and tears 
 in her eyes she touched upon the subject of the death of the Earl of Essex, 
 and said that having been apprehensive from the impetuosity of his temper 
 and his ambition that he would plunge himself into destruction by some ill 
 design, she had advised him two years before to content himself by pleasing 
 her on all occasions, and not to show rude and insolent contempt for her as 
 he had done, but to take care not to touch her sceptre lest she should be 
 obliged to punish him according to the law of England, and not according 
 to her own wishes which had always been mild and favourable to him ; but 
 that her advices, however salutary and affectionate, could not prevent his ruin. 
 The Ambassador reported later that the Queen's health grew worse, and that 
 she appeared in a manner insensible to all around her, holding her finger 
 continually in her mouth with her eyes open and fixed upon the ground, 
 where she sat upon cushions without rising or resting herself, being greatly 
 emaciated by her long watching and fasting. In his last letter on the subject 
 he says that the Queen draws to her end and had been given up by the doctors. 
 She had at last been persuaded to go to bed, but it was evident she had not 
 long to live. The Council, being assembled, sent the Lord Keeper, the Lord 
 High Admiral, and the Secretary to know her will as regards her successor. 
 She answered in a faint voice that, as she had held a royal sceptre, so she 
 desired no other than a royal successor. Cecil begged her to explain her 
 wishes more particularly, and she then indicated the King of Scots as her 
 heir. Being then advised by the Archbishop of Canterbury to fix her thoughts 
 on God, she replied that she did so nor did her mind in the least wander from 
 Him. After that she seemed to grow a little better and asked for some broth, 
 but soon after lost her power of speech and from that time refused all nourish- 
 ment, lying on her side motionless, without speaking or looking at any one, 
 until she fell into a lethargy which continued for some hours, when she expired 
 gently, without a struggle, in the seventieth year of her age and forty-fifth 
 of her reign, on 24th March 1603 at Richmond, Surrey. 
 
 Authorities: Froude's " History "; " Lite of Bacon " by Montagu; Biographic Universelle.
 
 Sir Wai.tkk I\at.ku;h. 
 
 From an engraving by l\ '. Sharp.
 
 No. 30 
 
 The Death of Sir Walter Raleigh. Bom 1552. 
 Died 29th Od:ober 161 8. 
 
 IN 1603, in the time of King James the First, Sir Walter Raleigh had 
 been charged, along with other English noblemen and gentlemen, with 
 carrying on a treasonable correspondence with the Court of Spain, hav- 
 ing for its end the subversion of the monarchy and the deposition of the 
 King; and on wholly insufficient evidence, by a base subserviency on the 
 part of the jury, and owing also to the enmity of Robert Cecil, he had been 
 found guilty of high treason and had been committed to the Tower. Here 
 he made use of his enforced leisure to compose and write his celebrated 
 " History of the World." After some twelve years of close imprisonment he 
 was released in 1616, at the instance of Villiers, for whose intercession he had 
 to pay what was to him a relatively large sum of money. Thankful at 
 regaining his freedom, and anxious to re-establish himself, if possible by 
 success, in the King's good graces, he undertook an expedition to Guiana, 
 where his men, tempted by the hope of finding gold, broke from his control 
 and destroyed a Spanish settlement, although Raleigh had been warned to 
 avoid hostilities, our nation being at that time nominally at peace with Spain. 
 Gondomar, the Spanish ambassador, whose brother had been killed in 
 resisting Raleigh's men, demanded justice from King James. The King, in 
 order to retain a power over Sir Walter Raleigh, had not granted him a 
 pardon, so that he was still under sentence from his previous condemnation ; 
 and on his return to England in July i6i8 he was arrested, and, after a brief 
 enquiry, hardly to be called a trial, James signed the warrant for his execu- 
 tion on the former sentence. John Aubrey, in his " Lives of Eminent Men," 
 says of Sir Walter Raleigh: " In his speeche on the scaffold I heard it said 
 that he spake not one worde of Christ, but of the great and incomprehensible 
 God with much zeale and adoration, so that it is concluded that he was an 
 a-Christ and not an atheist. He tooke a pipe of tobacco a little while before 
 he went to the scaffolde, which some formall persones were scandalized at, 
 but I thinke it was well and properly done to settle his spirits." 
 
 Raleigh's behaviour on the scaffold was perfectly calm and collected, 
 and after addressing the people briefly in his own justification, he turned to 
 the block and meditatively took the axe from the executioner, trying its edge 
 with his thumb; then turning to the sheriff, who was standing by, he said: 
 "This is a sharp medicine, Sir, but methinks it is one that will cure all 
 diseases." Then he submitted himself to the stroke of death with perfect 
 composure. His body was buried privately under the high altar at St. 
 Margaret's Church, Westminster, and near him lies the body of James 
 Harrington, the author of "Oceana." John Aubrey describes Raleigh as 
 follows: " He was a tall handsome bold man, but his fault was that he was 
 most damnably proud. Notwithstanding his so great mastership in style 
 
 67
 
 68 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 and his converse with the most learned and polite persons, yet he spoke 
 broad Devonshire to his dying day. His voice was small. He was scandal- 
 ized with atheisme. He was a bold man, and would venture on discourse 
 which was unpleasant to the churchmen." The night before his execution 
 he wrote the following lines: 
 
 " Even such is Time, that takes in trust 
 Our youth, our joys, our all we have, 
 And pays us but with earth and dust; 
 Who, in the dark and silent grave. 
 When we have wandered all our ways, 
 Shuts up the story of our days: 
 But from this earth, this grave, this dust, 
 My God will raise me up I trust." 
 
 Authorities: P. F. Tytler; E. Edwards, " History of England " ; J. Aubrey.
 
 I ACQ 11 BOKHMK. 
 From an t:ngraving by C. Phillips.
 
 No. 31 
 
 The Death of Jacob Bohme (Shoemaker and Mystic). 
 Born 1575, at Old Seidenberg, a village near 
 Gorlitz. Died 21st November 1624. 
 
 WHILE Jacob Bohme was staying in Silesia, at the house of one 
 of his noble friends, to whose estate he had journeyed in order to 
 spend a few weeks there, he fell into a burning fever from which 
 developed a mortal gastric disease. He had a presentiment of his approach- 
 ing end, and at his own request was carried back to Gorlitz, where he was 
 attended by Dr. Kober. After an illness of about a fortnight he asked for 
 the sacrament, which the new clergyman would only administer on condition 
 that Bohme subscribed the Lutheran Confession of Faith, a demand with 
 which Bohme was able in all sincerity to comply. He awaited death with com- 
 posure. On Sunday 21st November 1624, shortly after midnight, he called his 
 son Tobias, and asked him if he did not hear that sweet harmonious music. 
 As Tobias heard nothing, his father begged him to set wide the door that he 
 might better hear it. He then asked what was the hour, and being told that 
 it had just struck two, he said: " My time is not yet; three hours hence is 
 my time." After a silence he exclaimed: "O Thou strong God of Sabaoth, 
 deliver me according to thy Will!" and immediately afterwards: "Thou 
 crucified Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me and take me to Thyself into 
 Thy Kingdom." A little later he gave instructions where some of his manu- 
 scripts would be found, and expressed the hope that the noble friend he had 
 visited in Silesia would provide for his widow, but also assured her that she 
 would speedily follow him ; as indeed took place, for she died of the plague 
 in the following year. At six in the morning he suddenly bade them farewell 
 with a smile, saying: "Now I go hence to Paradise." Whereupon he 
 yielded up his spirit. 
 
 His bodily appearance was mean ; he was small of stature, had a low 
 forehead but prominent temples, a rather aquiline nose, a scanty beard, 
 gray eyes sparkling into blue, and a feeble but genial voice. He was modest 
 in his bearing, unassuming in conversation, lowly in conduct, patient in 
 suffering, and gentle-hearted. 
 
 Authorities: Frankenburg; and "Life of Jacob Bohme" by Martensen. 
 
 69
 
 JOHANXF.S DON.NK. 
 From an engraving by IV, Sketton.
 
 No. 32 
 
 The Death of Dr. John Donne, Poet and Divine. 
 Born 1573. Died 1631. 
 
 IT is observed that a desire of glory or commendation is rooted in the 
 very nature of man; and that those of the severest and most mortified 
 lives, though they may become so humble as to banish self-flattery, yet 
 have they not been able to kill this desire of glory, but that, like our radical 
 heat, it will both live and die with us; and many think it should do so; and 
 we want not sacred examples to justify the desire of having our memory out- 
 live our lives. This I mention because Dr. Donne yielded at this time to 
 have a monument made for him. 
 
 A monument being resolved on, Dr. Donne sent for a carver to make for 
 him in wood the figure of an urn, and to bring with it a board of the just 
 height of his body. These being had, then a choice painter was got to draw 
 his picture. Several charcoal fires being first made in his large study, he 
 brought with him into that place his winding sheet, and having put off his 
 clothes, had this sheet put on him, and so tied with knots at his head and feet, 
 and his hands so placed, as dead bodies are usually shrouded and put into 
 their coffin. Upon the urn he then stood, with his eyes shut, and with so 
 much of the sheet turned aside as might show his lean, pale, and death-like 
 face. In this posture he was drawn, and when the picture was fully finished 
 he caused it to be set by his bedside, where it continued till his death. His 
 dearest friend and executor. Dr. Henry King, then chief Residentiary of St. 
 Paul's, caused him to be thus carved in one entire piece of white marble, as it 
 now stands in that church. Upon the Monday, after the drawing of this 
 picture, he took his last leave of his beloved study; and, being sensible of his 
 hourly decay, retired himself to his bed-chamber; and that week sent at several 
 times for his most considerable friends, of whom he took a solemn and 
 deliberate farewell, and then dismissed them, as good Jacob did his sons, with 
 a spiritual benediction. The Sunday following he appointed his servants, 
 that if there were any business yet undone that concerned him or themselves, 
 it should be prepared against Saturday next; for after that day he would not 
 mix his thoughts with anything that concerned this world. Nor did he ever; 
 but, as Job, so he "waited for the appointed day of his dissolution." 
 
 He did much contemplate (especially after he entered into his sacred 
 calling) the mercies of Almighty God, the immortality of the soul, and the 
 joys of Heaven : and would often say in a kind of sacred ecstasy : " Blessed 
 be God that He is God, only and divinely like himself." 
 
 Authority : Izaak Walton. 
 
 71
 
 (iL'.ST.WUS AlJOLl'IlUS, Kl.Ni; ul SWIlDKN.
 
 No. 33 
 
 The Death of Gustavus Adolphus, King of Sweden. 
 Born 1594. Died 6th November 1632, at the 
 Battle of Liitzen. 
 
 A 
 
 T last the dreaded morning dawned; but a thick fog which lay 
 brooding over the field delayed the attack till noon. Kneeling in 
 front of his lines, the King offered up his devotions; the whole army 
 at the same moment, dropping on their knees, uplifted a morning hymn. 
 The King then mounted his horse, dressed in a buff jerkin (for his wound 
 hindered him from puttingon armour), and rode through the ranks, rousing the 
 courage of his troops to a cheerful confidence. " God with us " was the battle 
 word of the Swedes; that of the Imperialists was "Jesus, Maria." About eleven 
 o'clock the fog began to lift and Wallenstein's lines became visible. At the 
 same time, too, were seen the flames of Liitzen which the Duke had ordered to 
 be set on fire in order that he might not be outflanked on that side. At length the 
 trumpets sounded and the battle was joined. The right wing, led by the King 
 in person, fell upon the left wing of the Friedlanders: the first onset of the heavy 
 Finland Cuirassiers scattered the light mounted Poles and Croats, and their 
 flight spread disorder over the rest of the enemy's cavalry. At this moment 
 tidings reached the King that his infantry were losing ground, and that his left, 
 exposed to a tremendous fire from the windmills behind Liitzen, could no 
 longer keep their place. With quick decision he committed to Van Horn the 
 task of pursuing the routed left wing of the enemy, and he himself at the 
 head of Steinbock's regiment hastened to restore the confusion on his own 
 left. With impetuosity he pushed on ahead, and none but a few horsemen, 
 among whom was Franz Albert, Duke of Sachsen-Lauenburg, could keep up 
 with him. He galloped straight to the place where his own infantry were sorely 
 pressed, and a sergeant on the Imperial side seeing him, ordered one of his 
 musketeers to fire on him, saying: "Aim at that man there, he must be a man 
 of some consequence." The soldier fired and the King's arm was shattered 
 by the ball. At that instant his cavalry came up and a cry arose: "The King 
 bleeds! the King is shot!" which spread dismay among the ranks. "It is 
 nothing," said the King, "follow me," but finding his strength was failing 
 he desired the Duke of Lauenburg in French to take him quietly out of the 
 tumult. The Duke turned the King's horse to the right, making a circuit to 
 conceal the accident from the desponding infantry, but as they rode along a 
 second bullet struck the King in the back. " I have got enough, brother," 
 said he in a dying voice, " haste and save thyself." With these words he fell 
 from his horse and breathed out his life. His horse flying on without a rider 
 announced to the Swedish cavalry the fall of their King, and with wild yells 
 they rushed to the spot to snatch his sacred body from the enemy. A deadly 
 fight ensued around the corpse, which was soon buried beneath a mound of 
 slain men and horses. The dreadful tidings spread quickly over the Swedish 
 
 73
 
 74 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 army, but did not deaden the courage of those hardy North men. With grim 
 fury the Upland, Smaland, Finnish, and Gothland regiments dashed on the 
 enemy and drove them from the field. But how dear a victory, how sad a 
 triumph! After long searching they found the royal corpse not far from the 
 great stone which had stood for centuries between Liitzen and the Messeburg 
 Canal, which stone has since borne the name of Schwedenstein — the stone of 
 the Swede. Defaced with wounds and blood, trodden under the hoofs of 
 horses, stripped of his ornaments, the King's body was drawn from out 
 the heap of bodies and brought to Weissenfels, and there delivered to the 
 lamentations of his troops and the last embraces of his Oueen. Individual 
 grief was drowned in universal sorrow. Astounded by this overwhelming 
 stroke, the generals in blank despondency stood round his bier, and none 
 yet ventured to conceive the full extent of their loss. 
 
 On his return to Saxony in 1632, shortly before the battle of Liitzen, the 
 people had received him with such extraordinary acclamations, that he said 
 to his chaplain: '* I fear lest God should punish me for the madness of the 
 people. Would not one think that they look upon me as a divinity? He who 
 is called 'a jealous God ' might well bring it home to them that I am but a 
 weak mortal." His presentiment did not deceive him. 
 
 Authority ; Schiller, translated by Cailyle.

 
 No. 34 
 
 The Death of Mr. George Herbert, Poet and Divine. 
 Born 1593. Died 1633. 
 
 T 
 
 HE Sunday before his death, he rose suddenly from his couch, called 
 for one of his instruments, took it into his hand and said: 
 
 «< My God, my God, 
 My music shall find Thee, and ev'ry string 
 Shall have his attribute to sing." 
 
 And having tuned the instrument he played and sang: 
 
 " The Sundays of man's life, 
 Threaded together on time's string, 
 Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
 Of the eternal glorious King; 
 On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope, 
 Blessings are plentiful and rife. 
 
 More plentiful than hope." 
 
 Thus he sang on earth such hymns and anthems as the angels. Thus he 
 continued meditating, praying, and rejoicing till the day of his death, and on 
 that day said to Mr. Woodnot: "My dear friend, I am sorry I have nothing 
 to present to my merciful God but sin and misery; but the first is pardoned, 
 and a few hours will now put a period to the latter, for I shall suddenly go 
 hence and be no more seen." After this discourse he became more restless, 
 and his soul seemed to be weary of hsr earthly tabernacle ; and this uneasiness 
 became so visible that his wife and Mr. Woodnot, standing constantly about 
 his bed, beheld him with sorrow. As they stood thus beholding him, his wife 
 observed him to breathe faintly and with much trouble, and observed him fall 
 into a sudden agony; which so surprised her that she fell into a passion, and 
 required of him to know how he did. To which he made answer that " he 
 had passed a conflict with his last enemy and had overcome him by the 
 merits of his master Jesus." After which he looked up, and seeing his wife 
 and nieces weeping to an extremity he charged them, " if they loved him, to 
 withdraw into the next room and there pray for him; for nothing but their 
 lamentations could make his death uncomfortable." To which request their 
 sighs and tears would not suffer them to make any reply; but they yielded 
 him a sad obedience, leaving only with him Mr. Woodnot and Mr. Bostock. 
 Immediately after they had left him, he said to Mr. Bostock: "Pray, Sir, 
 open that door, then look into that cabinet in which you may easily find my 
 lastwill, and give it into my hand." Which being done, Mr. Herbert delivered 
 it into the hand of Mr. Woodnot and said: " My old friend, I here deliver to 
 you my last will, in which you will find that I have made you my sole executor 
 for the good of my wife and nieces; and I desire you to show kindness to 
 
 75
 
 76 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 them, as they shall need it. I do not desire you to be just, for I know you 
 will be so for your own sake; but I charge you, by the religion of our friend- 
 ship, to be careful of them." And having obtained Mr. Woodnot's promise to 
 be so, he said: " I am now ready to die." After which he said: " Lord, 
 forsake me not now my strength faileth me; but grant me mercy for the merits 
 of my Jesus. And now, Lord — Lord, now receive my soul." And with these 
 words he breathed forth his divine soul, without any apparent disturbance, 
 Mr. Woodnotand Mr. Bostock attending his last breath and closing his eyes. 
 
 " Your heads must come 
 
 To the cold tomb: 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust." 
 
 Authority : Izaak Walton.
 
 Cakijinal KiLinci.uui.
 
 No. 35 
 
 The Death of Armand Jean du Plessis, Cardinal, Due de 
 Richelieu. Born 1585. Died 1642. 
 
 THE conspiracy of Cinq Mars was the last episode of importance in 
 the life of Richelieu. The excitement of the struggle renewed for a 
 moment his fading powers, but with its subsidence the process of 
 decline became more rapid than ever. Unable to leave his litter, he was 
 carried slowly from Lyons to Paris, travelling whenever it was possible by 
 water. Everywhere he was received with the respect due to royalty. In some 
 towns the gates were too narrow to admit the spacious litter, and the wall 
 was promptly demolished to make room for its entry. At Fontainebleau the 
 King, Louis XIII, came to meet him, and tried to atone for past coldness by 
 the warmth of his greeting. On 4th November 1642 he reached the Palais 
 Cardinal in Paris, which he was never to quit alive. The death struggles of 
 the man who had so long controlled the destinies of France absorbed the 
 attention of the Court and the City. On 2nd December prayers were offered 
 up in the churches for the restoration of the Cardinal to health. On the same 
 day King Louis again visited the minister whom he had supported so faith- 
 fully and loved so little. The Cardinal bade his Master adieu, and asked that 
 in memory of his services the interests of his family might be cared for, 
 recommending the King to appoint Mazarin as his successor. On 29th 
 November he began to spit blood, and had great difficulty in breathing. The 
 doctors tried to relieve him by copious blood letting, but, as might have been 
 expected, this only aggravated his sufferings. He awaited the end, however, 
 with courage and composure, his intellect and resolution being unaffected by 
 the approach of death. Growing rapidly worse he asked his physician how 
 long he had to live. The answer was that it was impossible to say, but that 
 doubtless God would prolong a life so necessary to France. "Tell me 
 frankly," said the Cardinal, "not as a physician but as a friend." "You 
 will be dead or cured in twenty-four hours," was the reply. " That is what I 
 call talking," rejoined Richelieu, " I understand you." A little after midnight 
 he received the Sacrament, and at three in the morning, extreme unction. 
 "Do you pardon all your enemies?" asked the priest. "I have had none, 
 save those of the State," answered the dying man. He met his end calmly 
 and with confidence. The chamber in which he lay was thronged with people, 
 for in those days a great man was not allowed to die in peace and privacy. 
 " His assurance appals me," said a Bishop, as he noted the perfect confidence 
 and calmness with which the Cardinal approached death. He lingered a day 
 longer. Feeling his end approaching he turned to his niece, the Duchesse 
 d'Aiguillon, whom he had loved best in the world, and said: " I beg you to 
 retire. Do not allow yourself to suffer the pain of seeing me die." She left 
 the room accordingly, and in a few minutes he was no more. He died on 
 4th December 1642, in the fifty-eighth year of his age, in the great palace he 
 
 77 L
 
 78 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 had built for himself, and surrounded by the power and splendour for which 
 he had toiled so long and so assiduously. Save to his family and his dependents 
 his death caused no sorrow. "The Iron Cardinal was no more." 
 
 Authorities: Hanotaux; J. B. Perkins; Michelet; R. Lodge.
 
 Ei)\VAK]>, LoKT) Hf.rk:-:rt, of Ciikriu'ry. 
 
 Oi\ 16-8. 
 
 From an cnj^rnz'ing hy li '. I foil of the original in the cotUxtioii oj the 
 
 Rt. Honble. Lord I'iscouut Clive.
 
 No. 36 
 
 The Death of Edward Herbert, Lord Herbert of 
 Cherbury. Born 1582. Died 1648. 
 
 LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY was the opponent of Hobbes, 
 protesting against the materialism of his day. He taught the existence 
 in men of a faculty above sense and human understanding, to which 
 they are subordinate and from which all our knowledge is derived. He boldly 
 asserted the supremacy in all things of this spiritual faculty, especially its 
 right and capacity to judge of all claims to revelation. John Aubrey, in his 
 "Lives of Eminent Men," thus describes the death of Lord Herbert of 
 Cherbury: — 
 
 Lord Primate Usher of Ireland was sent for by Lord Herbert when on 
 his death-bed, as he would have received the Sacrament: he said indifferently 
 of it, that if there was good in anything, 'twas in that, and if it did no good, 
 'twould do no hurt. The Primate refused him, for which he was blamed by 
 many. Lord Herbert dyed in his house in Queen Street in the Parish of 
 St. Giles, London, very serenely. He asked what was o'clock, and then sayd 
 he, "an hour hence I shall depart." He then turned his head to the other 
 side and expired. In his will he left orders to have his white horse, which he 
 loved, to be well fed and carefully looked after as long as it should live. I 
 have seen him several times with Sir John Danvers; he was a black man. In 
 Brecknockshire, about three miles from Brecknock, is a village called Penkelly, 
 [Anglice: Hazelwood] where is a little castle. It is an ancient seat of the 
 Herberts. Mr. Herbert of this place, came by the mother's side of Wigan. 
 The Lord Cherbury's ancestor came by the second venter, who was a miller's 
 daughter. The greatest part of the estate was settled on the issue by the 
 second venter, viz.: Montgomery Castle and Aberystwith. Upon this match 
 with the miller's daughter are to this day recited or sung by the Welsh these 
 verses, to this sense in English: 
 
 "O God! Woe is me miserable! 
 My father was a miller 
 And my mother a milleresse, 
 And I am now a ladie ! " 
 
 Authority: Aubrey's "Lives of Eminent I\Ien." 
 
 79

 
 No. 37 
 
 The Death of Arthur, Lord Capel. Born 1610. 
 
 Died 1649. 
 
 A 
 
 RTHUR, LORD CAPEL brought before a High Court of Justice 
 (as it was called), having offered brave arguments from the law? of 
 the land, the government of the nation, the nullity of their Court, 
 the benefit of his Peerage, and the law that governed the world, meaning 
 that he was promised quarter for his life; heard his sentence with a noble 
 spirit, telling the judges that they needed not to have used such formalities 
 in order to murder him. On March gth, the day appointed for his execution, 
 he wrote to his Lady wife " That, as she had always hearkened to his advice, 
 so she would then for his sake, and for his dear children's sake, especially to 
 moderate her sorrows and apprehensions for him." " I beseech thee," he 
 wrote, "take care of thy health, sorrow not unusually but preserve thyself for 
 the benefit of our dear children, to whom the occasion of my death will be as 
 much honour as my death itself is now sadness." He kept himself in a very 
 cheerful and well composed temper of mind, till his parting with his dear 
 Lady, "which indeed was the saddest spectacle (writes a reverend man) that 
 ever I beheld." Yet even then he did not forget to comfort and counsel her, 
 particularly in blessing the young Lord, his son, whom he commanded not 
 to revenge his death though it should be in his power, adding to this a 
 legacy out of David's Psalms: " Lord, lead me in a plain path," for " Boy," 
 said he, " I would have you to hate dissimulation and be a plain honest man." 
 (Such indeed all the family were observed to be; for it is told that one day a 
 Lord's man coming to his door at Buckfastley, Devon, desired Sir Arthur to 
 hold his horse until he had waited on Sir Arthur Capel, which he did till the 
 servants came out and discovered the error.) This being over, which he said 
 was the hardest part of his life in this world, he dealt seriously with a Reverend 
 Minister about his heart and his sins, reflecting much upon his cowardly 
 complaisance and fear of a prevailing party in voting my Lord of Strafford's 
 death ; he then addressed himself to the blessed Sacrament, and after that he 
 desired the Reverend person that administered to pray for him that he might 
 behave himself as might be most for God's glory, for the endearing of his 
 dead master's memory, and that he might avoid saying or doing anything 
 that might savour of vanity or sullenness. Whence ascending the scaffold 
 in the Palace Yard, Westminster, and forbidding all effeminate tears about 
 him, he very Christianly forgave his enemies and the executioner; very 
 resolutely declared his faith, dying as he said in the blessed profession of the 
 Church of England and his hope, protesting that he loved good works well, 
 for which he had been suspected of being a Papist. He very courageously 
 owned his late Master's cause and person, whom he declared there (after a 
 consideration he had, being a very excellent scholar), of all the Images of 
 Princes that ever were, that he was the most virtuous and sufficient Prince 
 
 81
 
 82 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 known in the world; he very heartily prayed for the restoration of his then 
 Sovereign, that his people might be obedient and enjoy peace and prosperity, 
 and solemnly desired the people's earnest but secret prayer that God Almighty 
 would quench this issue of blood, adding "This will not do the business, but 
 God Almighty will find some way to do it." He then encouraged the execu- 
 tioner to strike boldly, with noble expressions and a generous reward, and 
 having ordered his body to be delivered to his servant, unstripped, he died 
 with one blow, doing his Majesty much service in his life and more in his 
 heroic death. 
 
 From " Memoirs of the Lives and Deatlis of Noble, Reverend and Excellent Persons who 
 suffered for the Protestant Religion in tlie late internecine Wars." By Dr. Lloyd, A.M., some- 
 time of Oriel College, Oxon Printed in i568, London.

 
 No. 38 
 The Death of King Charles I. Born 1600. Died 1649. 
 
 ON the fatal day, 30th January 1649, King Charles came cheerfully 
 from St. James's to Whitehall, often calling on his slow guards that 
 kept not pace with him to move faster, and with extraordinary alacrity 
 ascended the stairs leading to the Long Gallery and so to the Cabinet chamber, 
 whence, his supplications being ended, he went through the Banqueting 
 House to the adjoining scaffold, showing no fear of death. He thought it to 
 as little purpose to harangue the soldiers as to compliment a mastiff or a tiger, 
 and the people were kept at such a distance that they might see but not hear: 
 he therefore spoke shortly to those who stood near him. Dr. Juxon, who 
 accompanied him on the scaffold, said: " Will your Majesty, for the world's 
 satisfaction, say somewhat on the matter of Religion?" The King: " I thank 
 you heartily, my Lord, for that I had almost forgotten it. In truth, Sirs, my 
 conscience in Religion I think is very well known to all the world, and I 
 declare before you all that I die a Christian, according to the profession of 
 the Church of England, as I found it left me by my Father; and this honest 
 man," pointing to Bishop Juxon, "will witness it." Then turning to Colonel 
 Hacker he said: "Take care they do not put me to pain." Then one of the 
 gentlemen coming near the axe, the King said: "Take heed of the axe. 
 Hurt not the axe that may hurt me," meaning that they should not blunt 
 the edge of the axe. Then speaking to the executioner he said: " I shall say 
 
 but very short prayers and when I thrust out my hands ." Then the King 
 
 asked Bishop Juxon for his nightcap, and having put it on said to the 
 executioner: "Does my hair trouble you?" who desired him to put it all 
 under his cap, which the King did accordingly by the help of the executioner 
 and the Bishop. Then the King, turning to Dr. Juxon, said : "I have a good 
 cause and a gracious God on my side. " And the Bishop answered : ' * You go 
 from a temporal to an eternal crown: a good exchange." The King then 
 said to the executioner: " Is my hair well?" He then took off his cloak and 
 "George," and giving his "George" to Dr. Juxon said: "Remember." 
 Then the King put off his doublet, and being in his waistcoat put his cloak 
 on again, and looking on the block said to the executioner: " You must set it 
 fast." " It is fast," was the reply. The King: "When I put out my hands 
 
 this way, stretching them out, then ." After that, having said two or three 
 
 words as he stood to himself, with hands and eyes lifted up, he stooped down 
 and laid his neck upon the block, and the executioner putting his hair under 
 the cap the King thought he was going to strike, and cried out: " Stay for 
 the sign." Executioner: "Yes, I will, an it please your Majesty," Then the 
 King, after making some private ejaculations at the block as before a desk of 
 prayer, submitted his sacred head to the one stroke of the axe which severed 
 it from the body. The Duke of Richmond, the Marquis of Hertford, the Earl 
 of Southampton, and the Lord Bishop of London obtained an order to bury 
 
 as
 
 84 
 
 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 the corpse, which four of the King's servants, Herbert, Miidmay, Preston, 
 and Joyner, had carried to Windsor in a mourning coach; which they did in 
 St. George's Chapel in a vault with Henry the Eighth and Jane Seymour 
 his wife, whose coffins those were supposed to be that were found there, the 
 officers of the garrison carrying the bier and the four Lords bearing up the 
 corners of the velvet pall, about three in the afternoon, silently and sorrowfully 
 and without any other solemnity than sighs and tears, the Governor refusing 
 the use of the Common Prayer. Thus they committed the great King to the 
 grave with the velvet pall over the coffin, upon which was fastened an in- 
 scription in lead, of these words "King Charles 1648." 
 
 " That thence the Royal actor borne 
 The tragic scaffold might adorn. 
 
 While round the armed bands 
 
 Did clap their bloody hands. 
 He nothing common did or mean 
 Upon that memorable scene ; 
 
 But with his keener eye 
 
 The axe's edge did try; 
 Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, 
 To vindicate his helpless right; 
 
 But bow'd his comely head 
 
 Down, as upon a bed." 
 
 A ndreiv Marvel/. 
 
 From the " Memoirs of the Life and Death of King Charles I," by Dr. Lloyd of Oriel 
 College, Oxon, 1668. Also Wood's " Athenae Oxonienses," vol. ii, p. 703.
 
 \V. Hak\i-.v, M.D. 
 
 ^ by E. Scriven of the original picture hy C. Janscn, in the 
 P ossession of the Royal Society.
 
 No. 39 
 
 The Death of Dr. William Harvey, distinguished Phy- 
 sician and Discoverer of the Circulation of the 
 Blood. Born ist April 1578, at Folkestone, Kent. 
 Died 3rd June 1657. 
 
 WILLIAM HARVEY lies buried in a vault at Hempstead in Essex 
 which his brother Eliab Harvey built. He is lapped in lead and on 
 his breast in great letters is written: " Doctor William Harvey." 
 I was at his funeral and helped to carry him into the vault. He died worth 
 twenty thousand pounds, which he left to his brother Eliab. In his will he 
 left his old friend Master Thomas Hobbes ten pounds as a token of his love. 
 He was wont to say that " man was but a mischievous baboon." He was not 
 tall in stature but short, round faced and of an olivaster-like wainscot com- 
 plexion: he had small eyes, round, very black but full of spirit; his hair was 
 as black as a raven, but quite white twenty years before he died. I have 
 heard him say, that after his book "On the Circulation of the Blood" came 
 cut, he fell mightily in his practice, and it was believed by the vulgar that he 
 was crack-brained. All the physicians were against his opinion and envied 
 him; with much ado at last, in about twenty or thirty years' time, his opinions 
 were received in all the Universities of the world ; and, as Master Hobbes 
 says in his book " De Corpore," he is the only man, perhaps, that ever lived 
 to see his own doctrine established in his lifetime. He was much and often 
 troubled with the gout, and his way of cure was thus: he would sit with his 
 legs bare, if it were frosty, on the leads of his house, putting his feet in a pail 
 of water until he was almost dead with cold, then he would hastily betake 
 him to his stove and lo! the gout was gone! He was hot-headed, and his 
 thoughts working would oft-times keep sleep from him ; and he told me that 
 then his way was to rise out of his bed and walk about the chamber in his 
 shirt till he was pretty cool, and then returning to his bed he would sleep 
 comfortably. It is now fit and just that I should endeavour to undeceive the 
 world in a scandal that I find strongly runs of him, which I have met amongst 
 some learned young men, viz.: that he made away with himself and put him- 
 self out of his pain by opium; not but that, had he laboured under great pains, 
 he had been ready enough to have done so, for I do not deny that it was 
 according to his principles, upon certain occasions, to prevent pain ; but the 
 manner of his dying was really and bond fide thus. On the morning of his 
 death, about ten o'clock, he tried to speak and found he had a dead palsy in 
 his tongue; then he knew what was to become of him, he felt there was then 
 no hope of his recovery ; so presently he sends for his young nephews to come 
 up to him, and gives to one of them his watch (a minute-watch with which 
 he made experiments); to another, some other remembrance; then he signed 
 to Sambroke his apothecary, to let him blood in the tongue, which did little 
 or no good, and so he ended his days. The palsy did give him an easy 
 passport. 
 
 Authority: John Aubrey's "Lives of Eminent Men." 
 
 85 M
 
 Oliver Cromwkll. 
 
 From the tfif^raznfi^ by G. Scoit oj the picture l<y Harding.
 
 No. 40 
 
 The Death of OHver Cromwell, Lord Protedlor of 
 England. Born 25th April 1599. Died 3rd Sept- 
 ember 1658. 
 
 IN the year 1658 the difficulties against which Cromwell had contended 
 for more than seven years, with manful faith and heroic persistency, 
 were about to come to an end, for him at least. Already in this year 
 Death had been busy in his home. Rich, who a few months before had 
 married his daughter Frances, died in February. In June the youngest son of 
 his dear daughter Elizabeth Claypole died ; and the poor mother, borne down 
 by grief and a cruel malady besides, succumbed two months later, in August, 
 at Hampton Court. At the bedside of this best loved daughter Cromwell 
 watched with ceaseless devotion, regardless alike of public calls and of his 
 own increasing ailments. After her death he was consumed by melancholy. 
 An attack of gout followed by fever and ague shook his iron constitution. 
 The fever never left him. George Fox, the mystic, who met him riding near 
 Hampton Court, surrounded by his Guards, wrote: " Before I came to him, 
 as he rode at the head of his Life Guards, I felt a waft of death go forth 
 against him." 
 
 A few days later the Protector left Hampton Court for Whitehall, where 
 he remained until the end. We are told that " he had great discoveries of the 
 Lord to him in his sickness, and some assurances of being restored and made 
 further serviceable." He called one day for the Bible and made his Groom of 
 the Chamber read the fourth chapter of the Epistle to the Philippians, where 
 the words occur: " in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." Then 
 he said : "This scripture did once save my life when my eldest son died, which 
 went as a dagger to my heart; indeed it did." 
 
 When the great warrior knew that his end was at hand, he faced it with 
 confident resignation. Chaplains and godly persons attended in the adjoining 
 room to read the Bible or pray with him. To one of them he put the question : 
 " Tell me, is it possible to fall from grace?" " No, it is not possible," answered 
 the minister. " Then," said the dying man, " I am safe, for I know that I was 
 once in grace." In broken murmurs of prayer he besought the favour of 
 Heaven for the people of England. "Thou hast made me," he prayed, 
 " though very unworthy, a mean instrument to do some good, and many have 
 set too high a value on me, though others would be glad of my death. Pardon 
 such as desire to trample on the dust of a poor worm, for they are Thy people 
 too." 
 
 On Monday, 30th August, a wild storm raged over land and sea, and, 
 while Cromwell was slowly sinking, the day broke upon houses shattered, 
 mighty trees torn up by the roots, foundered ships and drowning men. All 
 the night of the and September he was very restless, and there being some- 
 thing to drink offered him, he was desired to take the same and endeavour to 
 
 87
 
 88 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 sleep, to which he answered: " It is not my design to drink or to sleep. My 
 design is to make what haste I can to be gone and depart hence." 
 
 Friday the 3rd of September was the anniversary of two of his most 
 famous victories, Dunbar and Worcester; now he lay in the stupor of helpless 
 death; the conqueror had met a greater conqueror than himself, and about 
 four o'clock in the afternoon his days came to their end. 
 
 Worthy Mr. John Maidstone, Cofferer and Gentleman-in-Waiting to 
 the Lord Protector, describes him thus: "A body well-compact and strong, 
 his stature under six feet, his head so shaped you might see it a storehouse 
 and vast treasury of natural parts; his temper exceeding fiery, but the flame 
 of it kept down for the most part; naturally compassionate, though God had 
 given him a heart in which was left little room for fear. A larger soul hath 
 seldom dwelt in a house of clay." 
 
 Authorities: Carlyle; Chambers' "History of England," etc.
 
 
 
 
 
 1' 
 
 f 
 
 8["'"^"-K^ 
 
 <^- ':;\iy^r ^^^1 
 
 
 
 * , wii 
 
 -aH 
 
 
 I'KINCIiSS llKNRIKTTE OF ENC.I.AM), Ul'CilESS ill- (.JRLEANS AM> 
 SISTER OK CirARl.ES II.
 
 No. 41 
 
 The Death of the Princess Henrietta of England, 
 daughter of Charles I and Duchess of Orleans. 
 Born 1644. Died 1670. 
 
 THE heat was very great in the summer of 1670, and on the 27th June 
 Madame bathed in the Seine contrary to the advice of her Doctor, 
 M. Yvelin. Afterwards she felt very unwell and complained of sharp 
 pains in her side. On the 28th her ladies noticed that she looked very ill and 
 that she stopped now and then to take breath, complaining of the pain in her 
 side. A glass of iced chicory water was handed to her by one of her ladies, 
 but hardly had she drunk the water than she cried out: "Ah! what a pain! 
 What shall I do ! I must be poisoned I " Her ladies hastened to her assistance ; 
 they unlaced her clothes and put her to bed, but still she complained of terrible 
 pains, saying that she had been poisoned, and asking that the chicory water 
 might be examined. Mme. Desbordes, her oldest and most attached servant, 
 said that she herself had mixed the chicory water, and taking the bottle from 
 the shelf drank a cupful in Madame's presence. She had now been ill more 
 than three hours and showed no sign of improvement. M. Yvelin and the 
 King's doctor, M. Vallot, held a consultation together and agreed that there 
 could be no danger. At this moment the King and Queen arrived. The news 
 of Madame's illness had reached Versailles, and Louis XIV had ordered his 
 carriage at once to go to his sister-in-law. "You see the state I am in," she 
 said as the King entered the room. Louis spoke tenderly to her and tried 
 to cheer her with hopes of recovery, but she shook her head and said she was 
 dying. Never before had the halls of St. Cloud witnessed so strange a scene; 
 the doors crowded with courtiers, with princes and princesses, ministers and 
 ladies of rank, all waiting anxiously for the latest news. In the darkened 
 chamber within, the King, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, was 
 clasping Madame in a last farewell. " Kiss me, sire," she said, " for the last 
 time. You are losing a good servant, who feared the loss of your affection 
 more than death itself." 
 
 Bossuet, Bishop of Condom, had been sent for; and in the meanwhile 
 M. Feuillet, a Jansenist Canon of St. Cloud, was in attendance, and as he 
 entered the room the King and Queen retired. " You see, M. Feuillet," said 
 Madame, "the state to which I am reduced." "A good state, Madame," 
 replied the austere priest. "You will now confess that there is a God in 
 heaven whom you have never really known." "It is true," said Madame 
 sadly, "till now, my God, I have never known Thee." Even the stern 
 Jansenist priest was moved by her gentleness and humility. "God gave 
 her," he wrote afterwards, " sentiments which surprised me, and made her 
 speak in language altogether unlike that of the world to which she belonged." 
 The Cure of St. Cloud now arrived bringing the Host with him. Madame 
 received the viaticum with the greatest devotion. After that she wished to see 
 
 89
 
 90 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 her husband, Monsieur d'Orleans, who had left the room, but who now came 
 back weeping bitterly and embraced her for the last time. Almost immediately 
 Bossuet arrived. " L'esperance, Madame, I'esperance," were his first words, 
 as he flung himself on his knees and placed the crucifix in her hands. "I 
 put my whole trust in His mercy," she replied, joining her hands together. 
 "You see, Madame," said Bossuet after praying with her, "you see what 
 this life is. Thank God who calls you to Himself." "You die, Madame," 
 he continued, "in the Catholic Apostolic and Roman Faith?" "I have lived 
 in that faith and I die in it," she answered in a clear voice. " Madame," said 
 the great Bishop, "you believe in God, you hope in God, you love God?" 
 "With all my heart," she murmured, and never spoke again. The crucifix 
 dropped from her hands, and as Bossuet uttered the last prayer, " In manus 
 tuas," she died. It was three o'clock on the morning of the 30th June. 
 " Thus," writes the Bishop of Valence, "this great and royal-hearted princess 
 passed away, without having shown even the least sign of trouble or weak- 
 ness in this awful surprise." " I pray that God may receive her in His 
 mercy," added the Jansenist priest Feuillet, "and all of you who read these 
 words pray for her also." 
 
 It is now the generally accepted medical opinion that the Princess died 
 of peritonitis, brought on by bathing in the River Seine. 
 
 Authorities: Martin's " History of France " ; and Julia Cartwright, "Life."
 
 From the engraving ^'y G. S/tcficin.
 
 No. 42 
 
 The Death of King Charles the Second. 
 Born 1630. Died 1685. 
 
 AT the beginning of the year 1685 the King's usual gaiety forsook 
 him, and he became morose, gloomy, and dejected: this arose 
 probably from his declining health. On Monday, the 2nd February, 
 after passing a restless night, his countenance was observed to be pale and 
 ghastly. Dr. King, an eminent physician, who was in waiting that day, 
 observed to the Earl of Peterborough, that his Majesty was in a strange 
 humour, for he did not speak a word of sense. On entering the King's 
 chamber they found him stretched on the floor as if dead. The doctor 
 resolved to bleed him at all hazards, which restored consciousness. For 
 Dr. King's prompt action, the Council ordered that he should receive a 
 reward of ;^ 1,000, but this was never paid. At the news of the King's 
 illness, crowds thronged the churches, praying that God would raise him up 
 again to be a father to his people. The bishops round his bed fell on their 
 knees and implored his blessing, and Charles, with outstretched hands, 
 solemnly blessed them. But while his subjects were praying, and his bishops 
 seeking a blessing, the one anxiety of the King was to die reconciled to the 
 Catholic Church. When his chamber was cleared, a priest named Huddleston, 
 who had saved his life after the battle of Worcester, received his confession, 
 and administered the last sacraments. Charles died as he had lived, brave, 
 witty, and cynical, even in the presence of death. Tortured as he was with 
 pain, he begged his courtiers to forgive him for being " such an uncon- 
 scionable time a-dying." One mistress, the Duchess of Portsmouth, hung 
 weeping over his bed. His last thought was for another mistress, Nell 
 Gwynn. " Do not," he whispered to his brother James, ere he sank into 
 the last fatal stupor, "do not let poor Nelly starve." Charles was perfectly 
 sensible the night before his death, and spoke on all things with great calm- 
 ness. At six o'clock on the morning of 6th February, he asked what hour 
 it was, and said: "Open the curtains, that I may once more see daylight." 
 He was then suffering great pain, and at seven o'clock the doctors bled him, 
 which seemed to give him some relief; but this did not continue. His pains 
 returned, and he began to speak with great difficulty, struggling for breath. 
 At ten o'clock he sank into a stupor, and he died half an hour before twelve, 
 without any struggle, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. 
 
 The picture of the fourteen bewildered physicians, and their endless 
 prescriptions, gives a graphic picture of the medical ignorance of that 
 time. 
 
 As Macaulay says, they tortured the King as if he had been an Indian 
 tied to the stake. No fewer than ten revolting mixtures were ordered the first 
 day of his illness, in addition to bleeding him profusely, applying the actual 
 cautery, and putting blisters on his shaven head. 
 
 91
 
 92 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 Sneezing powders, Goa stone, bezoar stone, and spirit of human skull, 
 were among the ingredients prescribed. 
 
 It is clear now that the convulsions which began and ended the King's 
 illness were urasmic, and his disease has been correctly diagnosed as 
 " granular kidney, with consequent uraemia or blood poisoning." 
 
 John Evelyn went to kiss hands on the accession of James II, and writes 
 thus: "The face of the whole court was exceedingly changed into a more 
 solemn and moral behaviour, the new King affecting neither profaneness nor 
 buffoonery. I can never forget the inexpressible luxury and profaneness, 
 gaming and all dissoluteness, and, as it were, total forgetfulness of God (it 
 being Sunday evening), which this day se'nnight I was witness of; the King 
 sitting and toying with his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland, Mazarine, 
 etc.; a French boy singing love songs in that glorious gallery, whilst about 
 twenty of the great courtiers and other dissolute persons were at basset round 
 a large table, a bank of at least ;^2,ooo in gold before them ; upon which 
 two gentlemen who were with me made reflections with astonishment. Six 
 days after was all in the dust." 
 
 Authorities: Chambers' " History of England " ; Evelyn's "Diary"; and R. Crawford's 
 " Last Days of Charles II."
 
 Alki'-\i;zebe.
 
 No. 43 
 
 The Death of the Emperor Aurungzebe, third son of 
 Shah Jehan. Born 1618. Died 1707. 
 
 WE have a picture of the Emperor Aurungzebe when, in the seventy- 
 sixth year of his age, his court was visited by the Italian traveller 
 Gemelli. He says: "Soon after, the King came in, leaning on a 
 staff, forked at the top; abundance of courtiers and servants went before 
 him. He had on a white vest, a turban of white muslin, tied with a gold web, 
 on which an emerald of vast bigness appeared amidst four smaller ones. A 
 silk sash was round his waist in which, on the left side, was stuck an Indian 
 dagger. His shoes were after the Moorish fashion, and his legs naked without 
 hose. Two servants kept away the flies from him with long white horse-tails 
 on silver sticks, while another held a green silk umbrella over his head to 
 shield him from the sun. The King was of low stature, slender and bowed 
 by age, with a large nose. The snowy whiteness of his beard was the more 
 apparent by contrast with his olive-coloured skin. He took his seat on a sort 
 of throne, and his servants then handed to him his sword and shield, which 
 he then laid down on his left hand." 
 
 When Aurungzebe reached the advanced age of ninety years, having 
 reigned fifty years, his death hour approached. " Carry this creature," he 
 thus gave directions, " Carry this creature of dust quickly to the first burial- 
 place, and consign him to the earth without any useless coffin." His funeral 
 expenses he ordered to be paid out of money that he had himself earned by 
 transcribing the Koran: a red stone, three yards in length, and two in width, 
 was to be laid over his body ; this stone was to be hollowed out on its upper 
 surface to form a receptacle for flowers and odoriferous herbs that might be 
 placed upon his tomb. One of his great nobles has left on record the 
 following account of the Emperor's death. " My attachment to his Majesty," 
 he writes, " was so great, that observing his life to be drawing to a close, I 
 did not wish to quit the presence. The Emperor called me to him, and said: 
 ' Separation must now take place between us, and our meeting again is 
 uncertain. Forgive, then, whatever wittingly or unwittingly I may have done 
 against thee, and pronounce the words " I forgive " three times with sin- 
 cerity of heart. As thou hast served me long, I also forgive thee whatever 
 knowingly or otherwise thou mayest have done against me.' Upon hearing 
 these words the sobs became like a knot in my throat, and I had no power 
 to speak. At last, after his Majesty had repeatedly pressed me, I made shift 
 to pronounce the words ' I forgive ' three times, interrupted as I was by my 
 tears. The Emperor also wept, and having blessed me, he ordered me to 
 retire." To his youngest and best beloved son, Kam-buksh, he wrote: "My 
 son, thou nearest to my heart, now I depart as a stranger, lamenting my 
 own insignificance. What profit has my life been to me? I carry with me the 
 fruit of my own sins and imperfections. Surprising are the ways of the Most 
 
 93 N
 
 94 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 High! I came into the world alone, and alone I depart. Be cautious, my 
 son, that none of the faithful are slain, lest their miseries fall upon my head. 
 The agonies of death come fast upon me. I am going. Whatever good or 
 evil I have done, it was for you. No one has seen the departure of his own 
 soul, but I know that mine is departing." One who knew Aurungzebe well 
 wrote of him: "Of all the sovereigns of the house of Timour, none have 
 been so distinguished for devotion to God, for justice and austerity of life. 
 In courage, endurance, and sound judgment he was unrivalled, but from 
 reverence of the law he did not punish, and witliout punishment the admin- 
 istration of the country cannot be maintained." He was the last of the Mogul 
 Emperors of Hindustan who can be called great. 
 
 Authority : Holden.
 
 iiriiiiitlBBiBliSui»H«olMU"illliiWi«"i^ 
 
 Lmi is \I\ . 
 From an engraving i'y S. /•'. KaT'cnoi after the picture hy S. Ciaeiiiie,
 
 No. 44 
 
 The Death of King Louis the Fourteenth of France 
 (le Grand Monarque). Born 1638. Died at Versailles 
 I St September 171 5. 
 
 ON Saturday evening the 24th of August, the King supped in his 
 dressing-gown. It was noticed that he could only swallow liquids 
 and was troubled if looked at. He had several black marks on his 
 leg, which had given him much pain. 
 
 On Sunday the 25th of August no more mystery was made of His 
 Majesty's dangerous condition; nevertheless it was expressly commanded 
 that nothing should be changed in the order of the day, it being the fete of 
 St. Louis; that is to say, the drums and hautbois assembled beneath the 
 royal windows were to play as soon as he awoke, and the twenty-four violins 
 would play in the ante-chamber during the King's dinner. Madame de 
 Maintenon sent for the ladies of the Court, and the musicians came at seven 
 o'clock in the evening; but the King fell asleep during the conversation, and 
 when he awoke his brain was confused, which frightened them all, and the 
 doctors were sent for. The musicians, who had first prepared their books and 
 instruments, were dismissed, and the ladies also. The King made confession 
 to Pere Tellier and received the Holy Sacrament. 
 
 On Monday the 26th of August the King sent for the Cardinals and 
 protested to them that he died in the faith, and that it was for them to answer 
 to God for whatsoever he had done by their advice. This was a frightful 
 thunderbolt for the Cardinals, but their calm was superior to all trial. They 
 praised him and said he had done well, and that he might be at ease as to 
 the result. After the Cardinals had left the room, the King addressed those 
 of his courtiers who were privileged to enter in these words: "Gentlemen, 
 I ask your pardon for the bad example I have given you. I have much to 
 thank you for the manner in which you have served me. I ask for my 
 grandson the same fidelity you have shown to me. I feel that I am moved, 
 and that I move you also. I ask your pardon. Adieu, gentlemen! I hope 
 you will sometimes remember me." Sometime after the King requested 
 Mme. de Ventadour to bring the little Dauphin to him. He made the child 
 approach and then said to him: "My child, you are going to be a great 
 King. Do not imitate me in the taste I have had for building, or in that I 
 have had for war. Try to live at peace with your neighbours; try to comfort 
 your people, which I unhappily have not done. Never forget your obliga- 
 tion to Madame de Ventadour. Madame (addressing her), let me embrace 
 him : (and while embracing him) my dear child, I give you my blessing 
 with my whole heart." 
 
 On Tuesday the 27th of August the King said to Madame de Maintenon 
 that it was hard to die, but for himself, being at the point of death, he did 
 not find it so difficult. The night was agitated. The King was seen at al'
 
 96 
 
 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 moments striking his breast and repeating the prayers to which he was 
 accustomed. 
 
 On Wednesday the 28th of August he paid a compliment to Madame de 
 Maintenon whicli pleased her but little. He said that what consoled him 
 in quitting her was that considering her age they must soon meet again. 
 To this she replied not one word. 
 
 On Thursday the 29th of August the King's brain appeared confused, 
 and he said that he felt very ill. The gangrene was found to be in the foot 
 and knee. He perceived with much pain that Madame de Maintenon was no 
 longer with him: she had in fact gone off on the previous evening not 
 intending to return. He asked for her several times; her departure could 
 not be hidden. The King sent for her to St. Cyr, and she came back in the 
 afternoon. 
 
 Friday August the 30th was a bad day, preceded by an equally bad 
 night. The King continually lost his reason. About five o'clock in the 
 evening Madame de Maintenon left him, gave away her furniture to the 
 domestics, and went to St. Cyr for good and all. 
 
 On Saturday the 31st of August things went from bad to worse. The 
 gangrene had spread from the knee and reached the thigh. Towards eleven 
 o'clock prayers for the dying were said. This restored the King to himself. 
 He repeated, several times, "Nunc et in hora mortis" and then "O my 
 God! come to my aid. Hasten to succour me." These were his last words. 
 All the night he lay, without consciousness, in a long struggle that finished 
 on Sunday the ist of September 1715, at a quarter past eight in the morning. 
 Three days before, he had completed his seventy-seventh year and the 
 seventy-second of his reign. He had survived all his sons and grandsons 
 except the King of Spain and the Dauphin. Europe never had seen so long 
 a reign, nor France so old a King. 
 
 Authority: " Memoirs of the Due de Saint Simon."
 
 Tean.mc Mahik IkiuviERKs 0'\i'\^ii'- OUVON).
 
 No. 45 
 
 The Death of Jeanne Bouvieres de la Motte Guyon. 
 Born 13th April 1648. Died 9th June 1717. (A 
 Quietist and follower of Molinos.) 
 
 IN the beginning of the month of March, 1717, Madame Guyon had a 
 severe attack of illness from which she never recovered. During her 
 sickness she conversed with her friends and wrote a few letters, but she 
 had no doubt, as she wrote to her brother, that the time of her departure was 
 at hand. She went on to say: " For a considerable time past I have had it 
 on my mind to tell you this, and if you can come and see me before my last 
 hour arrives, I shall receive you with joy." Her labours indeed were over; 
 that hour to which she had long looked forward, God's hour, was rapidly 
 approaching. Already most of those with whom she had associated, as 
 friends or enemies, had departed. Fenelon, Beauvilliers, the great Bossuet, 
 all had been called hence. At last the summons came to her also, and she 
 received it without surprise or repugnance, passing away in perfect resig- 
 nation and peace. She had given her soul to God: no clouds obscured her 
 vision, no doubts perplexed the fulness of her hope and joy. She died at 
 half past eleven o'clock on the night of 9th June 1717, aged sixty-nine years. 
 Her will, written shortly before her death, is as follows: "In the name of 
 the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, this is my last Will and Testament 
 which I request my executors to see executed. It is to Thee, O Lord God, 
 that I owe all things, and it is to Thee that I now surrender up all that I am. 
 Do with me, O my God, whatsoever Thou pleasest. To Thee in an act of 
 irrevocable donation I give up both my body and my soul to be disposed of 
 according to Thy will. Thou knowest that there is nothing either in heaven 
 or on earth that I desire but Thee alone. Within Thy hands, O God, I leave 
 my soul, not relying for my salvation on any good that is in me, but relying 
 solely on Thy mercies and the merits and sufferings of my Lord Jesus." Then 
 followed directions for her burial and for the disposal of her worldly property. 
 She was buried in the Church of the Cordeliers at Blois, and a monument 
 was erected there by her executors to her memory. 
 
 Madame Guyon professed to be guided through life entirely by "divine 
 impulses," thereby implying a complete renunciation of self, the silence of 
 the soul, and the annihilation of all earthly cares and emotions — a condition 
 which has since obtained the name of "Quietism," which was, however, 
 only a return to the doctrines of the Gnostics of the third century. She was 
 characterized by an extreme sweetness of language and manners, by a tender 
 and affectionate piety, and an exaggerated desire for a perfection unattain- 
 able by humanity. 
 
 Authorities: "Life" by T. C. Upham ; and Biographie Universelle. 
 
 97
 
 biR Isaac Akwton. 
 From an engraving.
 
 No. 46 
 
 The Death of Sir Isaac Newton. Born at Woolsthorpe, 
 Lincohishire, on the 25th of December 1642. 
 Died at Kensington, London, on 20th March 
 
 1727. 
 
 IN the year 1722, when Sir Isaac Newton had reached the eightieth year 
 of his age, he was inconvenienced by an attack of the stone, a disease 
 which at that time was considered incurable. By means of strict regimen, 
 however, he regained for a time a measure of health, but in August 1724, the 
 bad symptoms returned, and again by an effort of nature, which took the form 
 of a sharp attack of gout, he was able to throw off his trouble; but the inevit- 
 able inconveniences of his condition compelled him to resign his ofhce as 
 Master of the Mint in 1725. He still remained President of the Royal Society ; 
 and on Tuesday, 2Sth February 1727, he went to London from Kensington, 
 where his house was situated, and presided for the last time at a meeting of 
 the Royal Society. He was greatly fatigued by this effort, and suffered in 
 consequence from a violent return of his old malady: violent paroxysms of 
 pain ensued with only short intermissions, but although the sweat stood on 
 his brow with agony, he uttered no sound of complaint, and during the short 
 intervals of relief from pain, he smiled and conversed cheerfully with those 
 around him. At six p.m. on the i8th March 1727 he became unconscious, and 
 remained in that condition till Monday the 20th of March, when, between one 
 and two a.m., he expired, in the eighty-fifth year of his age, full of years and 
 of honours. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, near the entrance to the 
 Choir, on the left hand. The pall was borne by the Lord High Chancellor, 
 two Dukes, and four Earls, all Fellows of the Royal Society. In personal 
 appearance Sir Isaac Newton was of a comely and gracious aspect, with a 
 bright and piercing glance full of penetrating sagacity: he was not above the 
 middle height, and in the latter part of his life was inclined to corpulence. 
 His hair was thick and bright like silver, although on ceremonial occasions 
 he wore a wig, as was then the fashion. He never had to use spectacles, nor 
 lost a tooth to the day of his death. In the Library at Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge, is preserved a cast taken from his face after death, and with it a long 
 curled lock of his silver white hair. He was a posthumous child and so small 
 at birth that the nurse said: "he might have been put in a quart jug." 
 Oliver Cromwell died during the great storm of 3rd September 1658, and it 
 is recorded that, as the great Lord Protector lay in the agony of death, Isaac 
 Newton, at that time a boy of sixteen, living at his natal house of Woolsthorpe, 
 went out into the storm and endeavoured to measure the force of the wind by 
 leaping, first with and then against the mighty current of air. Pope's well- 
 known epitaph is inscribed on a marble tablet in the room at Woolsthorpe 
 where he was born : 
 
 99
 
 loo A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 " Nature and nature's laws lay hid in night. 
 God said, Let Newton be — and all was light." 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton was a great advocate of religious toleration, and always 
 expressed his abhorrence of any form of religious persecution. No true 
 estimate of this great man's life and character can be formed without reading 
 the closing lines of his great work, " Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathe- 
 matica," presented to the Royal Society 28th April 1686, where he enumerates 
 the qualities and attributes of God, the Maker of the Universe. They are as 
 follows: "This intricate network of phenomena cannot have arisen save by 
 the will and governance of an all-wise omnipotent Being, who rules all things, 
 not as an immanent spirit but as Governor of the Universe, and Him we call 
 God Almighty. He is a Being eternal, infinite and wholly perfect. Such an 
 one however perfect, but without Lordship or Governance, is not and cannot 
 be the Lord God Almighty. Him we apprehend solely by his properties and 
 attributes, and these we discern from what we know and see, namely, the wise 
 and excellent structure of this world and the final causes of things. Him we 
 marvel at as being perfect; Him we venerate and worship as being Lord! " 
 
 Authorities: Dictionary of National Biography; Brewster; and De Morgan.
 
 ■ //</.\('/:S. 
 
 ~//j/./:s ■ 
 
 
 (^UHKN Caroline ok Anspacii. Wife oi-' George II.
 
 No. 47 
 
 The Death of Queen CaroHne, wife of George II. 
 Born 1683. Died 20th November 1737. 
 
 THE Queen's health had long been delicate from an internal disorder 
 which she had kept secret so as not to annoy her husband — for the 
 King hated sickness and never would admit that he was incapacitated 
 by ill-health. No matter how ailing the Queen might be, he never excused 
 her attendance at a Court ceremonial. As long as it was possible she resisted 
 bravely the pain and inconvenience of disease, but a time came when she had 
 to yield. She was put to bed and given snake root with Sir Walter Raleigh's 
 cordial, and was bled freely, but these remedies afforded little relief. " I have 
 an ill," she said, " which nobody knows of." It was then discovered that her 
 Majesty was suffering from a rupture which she had carefully concealed from 
 her husband, knowing his dislike to all physical imperfections. An operation 
 was performed, but mortification set in and there was soon no hope of saving 
 her life. She was quite calm and aware that her end was approaching. She 
 declared, however, that she should not die before Wednesday, as all the 
 remarkable occurrences of her life had happened on that day: she had been 
 born on Wednesday, married on a Wednesday, crowned on a Wednesday, 
 and she believed that she would die also on that day. Still, in spite of this 
 conviction, she thought it prudent to take farewell of her family while she 
 retained her senses. After a few words of advice to her children the Queen 
 turned to her husband, took a ruby ring off her finger and placed it upon his. 
 " This is the last thing I have to give you," she said, " naked I came to you 
 and naked I go from you. All that I possessed came from you, and to you 
 whatever I have I return. My will you will find a very short one. I give all 
 I have to you. Do not weep," she added, "you know you can marry again." 
 "Non, non," replied the King, "j'aurai des mattresses, j'aurai desmaitresses." 
 •'Mais, mon Dieu!" answered the fond but easy wife, " cela n'empeche 
 pas!" During the whole of the Queen's illness, the conduct of the King 
 exhibited that extraordinary mixture of affection and harshness which was so 
 characteristic of the man. He wept profusely, declaring that he was losing 
 the best wife, the best mother, the best friend, and the best woman that ever 
 was born. Then he would enter the sick room, and snub and quarrel with the 
 very woman whose praises he had been sounding in the ante-chamber. If 
 the poor Queen turned uneasily in her bed, he rapped out: " How the devil 
 should you sleep when you never lie still a moment? You want rest, and the 
 doctors tell you that nothing is so good for you, and yet you are always 
 moving about!" The Archbishop of Canterbury came and prayed with the 
 dying woman morning and evening, but as she declined either to see or to 
 forgive her eldest son, he could not administer the last Sacrament. About 
 ten o'clock on Sunday night the end came. The King was sleeping on the 
 floor at the foot of the Queen's bed; the Princess Emily on a couch in the 
 
 lOI o
 
 I02 A book: of life and death 
 
 corner of the room. Suddenly the death rattle sounded in the Queen's throat. 
 Everybody in the room hastened to the bed. " I have now got an asthma," 
 said the Queen softly. " Open the window." Then after a pause she added, 
 " Pray!" The Princess Emily began to read the prayer for the dying, but 
 before she had repeated ten words the Queen expired. The Princess Caroline 
 held a looking-glass to her mother's lips, and finding no dimness of breathing 
 upon it cried out, " 'Tis over! " 
 
 Authority: " Memoirs of John, Lord Hervey."
 
 hKlCIiKKiCK WlI.I.lAM. KiNi; OV TkUSSIA. 
 
 Father of Fkedekick the Great, and Husband ok Soi-hia Dorothea, 
 Daughter ok George I. 
 
 From an engraving by IS. Ficart.
 
 No. 48 
 
 The Death of Frederick William, first King of Prussia, 
 and Father of Frederick the Great. Born 25th 
 August 1688. Died 31st May 1740. 
 
 AT his hunting seat, Wusterhausen, there is game in abundance, but 
 little hunting for the King. He sits drearily within doors, listening 
 to the rustle of the falling leaves this autumn. In the beginning of 
 November he returned to Berlin, was worse there and again better. One night 
 he attended an evening party that General Schulenberg was giving, and 
 returned home chilled and shivering. It was the last evening party he ever 
 attended. He is indeed now very ill: tosses about all day in and out of 
 bed, suffering much. His old Generals sit round his bed smoking, his wife 
 and children much about him, and so the weary hours roll on. He is worse 
 at night, sleeps badly, and on his restless mind ennui sits heavily. He tries 
 to paint or do a little carpentering: often at night the sound of his mallet is 
 audible on the Palace Esplanade, and the Berlin townsfolk pause to listen with 
 thoughts of a sympathetic nature. Ah! Your Majesty, pale Death knocks with 
 impartial rap at the huts of poor men and the Palaces of Kings. The chief 
 clergyman, the Rev. Herr Roloff, gives spiritual counsel now and then, for it 
 is the King's private thought that death itself is in this business. 
 
 With the bright spring weather he seemed to revive, and towards the end 
 of April determined to go to Potsdam. It was hoped that the crisis of the 
 illness was over, but he himself knew otherwise. It was on the 27th of April 
 that he went. " Farewell, then, Berlin," said the King, " for I am to die at 
 Potsdam." He sends for chief preacher Roloff to Potsdam, and in his 
 demeanour at this time we see him strong in simplicity and veracity. He 
 wishes to know what the chances are for him in the other world. He had 
 never, he said, taken or coveted what was not his; he had kept true to his 
 marriage vow ; he believed the Bible, went to church and tried to follow God's 
 commandments. To all this Roloff, a courageous pious man, answers with 
 discreet words and shakings of the head ; the poor King must repent and 
 forgive his enemies. "Your Majesty is bound to forgive all men or how can 
 you ask to be forgiven?" "Well, well, I will, I do; Sophie [to his wife] 
 write to your brother, after I am dead [King George II of England], that I 
 forgave him and died in peace with him." " Better her Majesty should write at 
 once," suggests Roloff. "No, no," said the King. "After I am dead, that 
 will be safer." At parting he said to Roloff: " You do not spare me: but it is 
 right, you do your duty like an honest Christian man." On Thursday, the 
 26th May, an express goes to the Crown Prince that he must come quickly if he 
 would see his Father again alive. At the sight of his son Friedrich Wilhelm 
 threw out his arms ; the son, kneeling, sank upon his breast and they embraced 
 with tears. That same day he dictated to one of his ministers the instructions 
 for his funeral. He was to be buried in his uniform, the Potsdam Grenadiers 
 
 103
 
 I04 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 to be his escort; all to be done with military decorum, three volleys to be 
 fired over his grave, " and take care they be well fired." His coffin, which he 
 has had ready beside him a good while, is a stout good piece of carpentry with 
 leather straps and other improvements. This he views with satisfaction. " I 
 shall sleep right well there," he says. His condition was now uncertain, 
 restless. He was heard murmuring prayers, and more than once said in deep 
 tone: "Lord, enter not into judgment with Thy servant, for in Thy sight 
 shall no man living be justified." In a German hymn which was sung to 
 him are these words: " Naked I came into the world, and naked I shall go." 
 " No," said he with vivacity, " not quite naked, I shall have my uniform on." 
 To the doctor he said: " Feel my pulse and tell me how long this will last." 
 "Alas! not long," was the reply. "Say not alas! How do you know?" 
 " The pulse is gone." " Impossible ! " said the King, lifting his arm. " How 
 could I move my fingers thus if the pulse were stopped?" — then " Herrjesu, 
 to Thee I live; Herr Jesu, to Thee I die." These were the last words of 
 Friedrich Wilhelm. He fainted, and the faint deepened into death. He rested 
 from his labours, 31st May 1740. 
 
 Authority: Carlyle's " Frederick the Great."
 
 GEORGt 11. 
 From an £ngrauing by Ravfttct.
 
 No. 49 
 
 The Death of King George II, 25th 06lober 1760. 
 
 SATURDAY 25th October 1760, George II suddenly died. He was in 
 his seventy-seventh year: feeble, but not feebler than usual. On the 
 Monday of that week he had reviewed some of his troops from a tent 
 in Hyde Park, and on Thursday he had stood in the portico at Kensington 
 Palace to see his Coldstream Guards march past on their way to Portsmouth 
 for foreign service. He was always full of zeal in military matters. On the 
 Saturday he was on foot by sunrise ; took his usual morning cup of chocolate ; 
 inquired about the wind ; and said he would take a walk in the gardens as the 
 weather was so mild; he inquired particularly as to the arrival of the mail. 
 It was now between seven and eight, and his body-servant withdrew from 
 the room carrying away the chocolate apparatus. As he closed the door he 
 heard a sound as of something falling in the room he had just quitted; 
 thinking that perhaps a billet of wood had fallen from the fireplace, he 
 hurried back and found it was the King himself, who had slipped from his 
 seat to the ground as if in attempting to ring the bell. The King said faintly: 
 "Call the Princess Amelia," and thereupon instantly died. 
 
 *' What dost thou fear? To-day is thy life: 
 
 To-day I know and yesterday, and the days that were, 
 
 But for to-morrow mine eyes are sightless. 
 
 For I have seen Doom in the dark, like a blind camel; 
 
 Those it struck died, and those it missed lived to grow old." 
 
 From the Arabic of " Zuheyr." 
 
 Authorities : Histories of England. 
 
 105
 
 
 
 Tin. llnMii.i,. Emanl. S\\ i:i)K.\RoK(;, 
 
 From an tu_^r,iThii^ by luiitoshy.
 
 No. 50 
 
 The Death of Emanuel Swedenborg. Bom 1688. 
 
 Died 1772. 
 
 IN August 1771 Swedenborg came from Amsterdam to London, and took 
 up his abode with one Shearsmith, a wig-maker, at 26 Great Bath Street, 
 Coldbath Fields. Towards the end of the year, a stroke of apoplexy 
 deprived him of speech, and he lay in a lethargic condition for more than 
 three weeks, taking no sustenance but a little tea and cold water. At the end 
 of that time he recovered his speech, and his health seemed re-established 
 as he was able to eat and drink as usual. He had no medical advice during 
 his illness. From the time of this seizure until his death he was visited by 
 very few friends, and appeared unwilling to see any one. In February 1772 
 the Rev. John Wesley received the following letter from him: 
 
 "February i8th 1772. Sir, I have been informed in the world of Spirits, 
 that you have a strong desire to converse with me. I shall be happy to see 
 you if you will favour me with a visit. Your humble servant, Emanuel 
 Swedenborg." Wesley acknowledged that he had a great desire to see 
 Swedenborg, but that he had mentioned this to no one. He replied saying 
 that he was starting on a journey, but would call on his return to London. 
 Swedenborg replied saying that it would then be too late as he was to join the 
 world of spirits on the 29th of March. The result was that these two celebrated 
 men never met. 
 
 A Mr. Bergstrom calling on Swedenborg about this time, Swedenborg 
 told him that since it had pleased God to deprive him of the use of an arm, his 
 body was good for nothing but to be put underground. A Swedish clergyman 
 also came to see him, and, offering to administer the Sacrament, asked 
 Swedenborg whether he would recant the doctrines he had advanced, since 
 he had now nothing to expect from this world. On hearing these words, 
 Swedenborg raised himself half upright in his bed, and, placing his sound 
 hand on his breast, said with emphasis: " As true as you see me before you 
 now, so true is everything that I have written. I could have said much more 
 had it been permitted. When you enter Eternity you will find all things as 
 I have described them." Then with deep devotion and with folded hands, 
 confessing his own unworthiness, he received the last Sacrament. He had 
 told the people of the house what day he should die. Shearsmith, his 
 landlord, said: "He seemed as pleased to depart as if he were going to a 
 merry-making." His faculties were clear to the last. On Sunday, 29th March 
 1772, hearing the clock strike, he asked what time it was, and being told that 
 it was five o'clock he said: "It is well. I thank you. God bless you," and 
 then in a little moment after he gave up the ghost. He was buried in the 
 Swedish church at Ratcliffe Highway. His remains were later exhumed and 
 taken to Sweden. 
 
 He was about five feet nine inches in height; rather thin, and of a dark 
 
 107
 
 io8 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 complexion. His eyes of a brownish gray. His appearance was dignified and 
 venerable. He wore a full-bottomed wig, with lace ruffles at his wrists, and 
 carried a gold-headed cane. His habits were very frugal and he abstained 
 from animal food. The writings of Swedenborg, which fill sixty octavos of 
 five hundred pages each, show no symptoms of mental aberration; the last, 
 finished a few months before his death, being singularly clear, logical, and 
 free from undue enthusiasm. He was always regarded as a pious and learned 
 man ; he was never married ; and his habits and mode of life were remarkable 
 for their simplicity. 
 
 Authorities: Lives by J. G. Wilkinson and W. White; Chambers's Biographical Dic- 
 tionary; and Biographic Universelle.
 
 Louis XV. 
 
 )^
 
 No. 51 
 
 The Death of Louis XV of France. Born 17 10. 
 Died loth May 1774. 
 
 IT is the fourth evening of May, year of Grace 1774. Such a whispering in 
 the CEil de Boeuf! Is he dying then? Louis sends for his Abbe Moudon 
 in the course of next night; is confessed by him, some say for the space 
 of seventeen minutes, and demands the sacraments of his own accord. Nay, 
 already in the afternoon, behold, is not this your Sorceress Dubarry, with the 
 handkerchief at her eyes, mounting into d'Aiguillon's chariot? rolling off 
 in his Duchess's consolatory arms. She is gone, and her place knows her 
 no more. Vanish, false Sorceress, into space! Thou unclean, yet unmalignant 
 not unpitiable thing. Louis, meanwhile, is in considerable impatience for 
 his sacraments, sends more than once to the window to see whether they 
 are not coming. Towards six in the morning they arrive. Cardinal Grand 
 Almoner Roche Aymon is here in pontificals, with his pyxes and his tools; 
 he approaches the royal pillow, elevates his wafer; mutters, or seems to 
 mutter, somewhat — and so has Louis made the amende honorable to God. 
 Grand Almoner Roche Aymon accordingly has no sooner seen his pyxes 
 and gear repacked, than he is stepping majestically forth again as if 
 the work were done! But King's Confessor, Abbe Moudon, starts forward, 
 twitches him by the sleeve, whispers in his ear. Whereupon the poor 
 Cardinal has to turn round and declare audibly: "That his Majesty repents 
 of any subjects of scandal he may have given, and purposes, by the strength 
 of Heaven assisting him, to avoid the like for the future." 
 
 Alas! the chapel organs may keep going; the shrine of Sainte Genevieve 
 be let down and pulled up again — without effect. In the evening the whole 
 Court, with Dauphin and Dauphiness, assist at the chapel; priests are hoarse 
 with chanting their Prayers of Forty hours, and the heaving bellows blow. 
 Almost frightful! for the very heaven blackens, battering rain torrents dash, 
 with thunder almost drowning the organ's voice, and electric fire-flashes 
 make the very flambeaux on the altar pale. So it has lasted for the better 
 part of a fortnight; all the world was getting impatient que cela Jinisse ; 
 that poor Louis would have done with it. It is now the loth May 1774. He 
 will soon have done now. 
 
 This tenth May day falls into the loathsome sick bed ; but dull, un- 
 noticed, there Life, like a spent steed, is panting towards the goal. In their 
 remote apartments Dauphin and Dauphiness stand road-ready; all grooms 
 and equerries booted and spurred, waiting for some signal to escape the 
 house of pestilence. And hark! across the CEil de Bceuf, what sound is 
 that, sound terrible and absolutely like thunder? It is the rush of the whole 
 Court, rushing as in wager to salute the new sovereigns. Hail to your 
 Majesties! The Dauphin and Dauphiness are King and Queen. Over- 
 powered with many emotions, they two fall on their knees together, and, 
 
 109 P
 
 no A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 with streaming tears, exclaim: "O God, guide us, protect us; we are too 
 young to reign." 
 
 But thus has the Horologe of Time struck, and an old Era passed away. 
 The Louis that was lies forsaken, a mass of abhorred clay; abandoned to 
 some poor persons and priests of the Chapelle Ardente, who make haste to 
 put him in two lead coffins, pouring in abundant spirits of wine. The new 
 Louis, with his Court, is rolling towards Choisy, through the summer after- 
 noon; the royal tears still flow, but a word mispronounced by Monseigneur 
 d'Artois sets them all laughing, and they weep no more. 
 
 Light mortals, how ye walk your light life-minuet, over bottomless 
 abysses, divided from you by a film. 
 
 Authority: Carlyle's " French Revolution."
 
 Rajah N'u.ncoomar and his Wife.
 
 No. 52 
 
 The Death of Maharajah Nanda Kumar (Nuncomar). 
 Temp. Warren Hastings, 1775. 
 
 THE following is the account of the execution written by Alexander 
 Mackrabie, the sheriff whose distasteful duty it was to see it carried 
 out: 
 " Hearing that some persons had supposed Maharajah Nuncomar would 
 make an address to the people at his execution, I have committed to writing 
 the following minutes of what passed both on that occasion, and also upon 
 my paying him a visit in prison the preceding evening, while both are fresh 
 in my remembrance. Friday evening, 4th August. Upon my entering his 
 apartments in the jail, he arose and saluted me in his usual manner. After 
 we were both seated, he spoke with great ease and such seeming unconcern, 
 that I really doubted whether he was sensible of his approaching fate. I 
 therefore bid the interpreter inform him that I was come to show him this 
 last mark of respect, and to assure him that every attention should be given 
 the next morning which could afford him comfort on so melancholy an 
 occasion ; that I was deeply concerned that the duties of my office made me 
 of necessity a party to it, but that I would attend to the last to see that every 
 desire that he had should be gratified; that his own palanquin and his own 
 servants should attend him ; and that such of his friends, who, I understood, 
 were to be present, should be protected. He replied that he was obliged to 
 me for this visit; that he thanked me for all my favours, and entreated me 
 to continue it to his family; that fate was not to be resisted; and put his 
 finger to his forehead — ' God's will ' must be done. He desired that I would 
 present his respects and compliments to the General, Colonel Monson, and 
 Mr. Francis, and pray for their protection of Rajah Gourdass; that they 
 would please to look upon him now as the head of the Brahmins. His com- 
 posure was wonderful; not a sigh escaped him ; nor the smallest alteration 
 of voice or countenance, though I understood he had not many hours before 
 taken a solemn leave of his son-in-law, Roy Radhika. I found myself so 
 much second to him in firmness, that I could stay no longer. Going down- 
 stairs, the jailor informed me that since the departure of his friends he had 
 been writing notes, and looking at accounts in his usual way. I began now 
 to apprehend that he had taken his resolution, and fully expected that he 
 would be found dead in the morning; but on Saturday the 5th, at seven, I 
 was informed that everything was in readiness at the jail for the execution. 
 I came there about half an hour past seven. The bowlings and lamentations 
 of the poor wretched people who were taking their last leave of him are not 
 to be described. I have hardly recovered the first shock while I write this 
 about three hours afterwards. As soon as he heard I was arrived, he came 
 down into the yard, and joined me in the jailor's apartment. There was no 
 lingering about him, no affected delay. He came cheerfully into the room, 
 
 III
 
 112 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 made the usual salaam, but would not sit till I took a chair near him. Seeing 
 somebody look at a watch, he got up and said he was ready, and immediately 
 turning to three Brahmins, who were to attend and take care of his body, 
 he embraced them all closely, but without the least mark of melancholy or 
 depression on his part, while they were in agonies of grief and despair. I 
 then looked at my own watch, told him the hour I had mentioned was not 
 arrived, that it wanted above a quarter to eight, but that I should wait his 
 own time, and that I would not rise from my seat without a motion from 
 him. Upon its being recommended to him that at the place of execution he 
 would give some signal when he had done with the world, he said he would 
 speak. We sat about an hour longer, during which he addressed himself 
 more than once to me; mentioned Rajah Gourdass, the General, Colonel 
 Monson, and Mr. Francis, but without any seeming anxiety; the rest of the 
 time, I believe, he passed in prayer, his lips and tongue moving, and his 
 beads hanging upon his hand. He then looked to me and arose, spoke to 
 some of the servants of the jail, telling them that anything he might have 
 omitted Rajah Gourdass would take care of, then walked cheerfully to the 
 gate and seated himself in his palanquin, looking around him with perfect 
 unconcern. As the Deputy-Sheriff and I followed, we could make no obser- 
 vation upon his deportment till we all arrived at the place of execution. The 
 crowd there was very great, but not the least appearance of a riot. 
 
 "The Rajah sat in his palanquin upon the bearers' shoulders, and looked 
 around at first with some attention. I did not observe the smallest discom- 
 posure in his countenance or manner at the sight of the gallows, or any of 
 the ceremonies passing about it. He asked for the Brahmins, who were not 
 come, and showed some earnestness as if he apprehended the execution 
 might take place before their arrival. I took that opportunity of assuring 
 him I would wait his own time; it was early in the day, and there was no 
 hurry. The Brahmins soon after appearing, I offered to remove the officers, 
 thinking that he might have something to say in private; but he made a 
 motion not to do it, and said he had only a few words to remind them of 
 what he had said concerning Rajah Gourdass, and the care of his Zenana. 
 He spoke to me and desired that the men might be taken care of, as they 
 were to take charge of his body, which he desired repeatedly might not be 
 touched by any of the bystanders; but he seemed not the least alarmed or 
 discomposed at the crowd round him. There was some delay in the necessary 
 preparations, and from the awkwardness of the people. He was in no way 
 desirous of protracting the business, but repeatedly told me he was ready. 
 Upon my asking him if he had any more friends he wished to see, he 
 answered he had many, but this was not a place, nor an occasion to look for 
 them. I then caused him to be asked about the signal he would make, which 
 could not be done by speaking on account of the noise of the crowd. He 
 said he would make a motion with his hand, and when it was represented
 
 MAHARAJAH NANDA KUMAR 113 
 
 to him that it would be necessary for his hands to be tied, I recommended 
 him making a motion with his foot, and he said he would. Nothing now 
 remained except the last painful ceremony. I ordered his palanquin to be 
 brought close under the gallows, but he chose to walk, which he did more 
 erect than I have generally seen him. At the foot of the steps which led to 
 the stage, he put his hands behind him to be tied with a handkerchief, 
 looking round at the same time with the greatest unconcern. Some difficulties 
 arising about the cloth which should be tied over his fece, he told the people 
 that it must be done by one ot us. I presented to him a subaltern sepoy 
 officer, who was a Brahmin, and came forward with a handkerchief in his 
 hand, but the Rajah pointed to a servant of his own, who was lying prostrate 
 at his feet, and beckoned him to do it. He had some weakness in his feet, 
 which, added to the confinement of his hands, made him mount the steps 
 with difficulty; but he showed not the least reluctance, scrambling rather 
 forward to get up. He then stood erect on the stage, while I examined his 
 countenance as steadfastly as I could till the cloth covered it, to see if I could 
 observe the smallest symptom of fear or alarm, but there was not a trace of 
 it. My own spirits sank, and I stept into my palanquin, but before I was 
 seated he had given the signal, and the stage was removed. I could observe, 
 when I was a little recovered, that his arms lay back in the same position in 
 which I saw them first tied ; nor could I see any contortion on that side of 
 his mouth and face which was visible. In a word, his steadiness, composure, 
 and resolution throughout the whole of this melancholy transaction were 
 equal to any examples of fortitude I have ever read or heard of. The body 
 was taken down after hanging the usual time, and delivered to the Brahmins 
 tor burning." 
 
 Note. — The writer, Mr. Alexander Mackrabie, died on 29th November 1776. See entry 
 in the journal of his brother-in-law, Mr. Philip Francis (" Echoes," p. 163). 
 
 Authorities: Busteed's "Echoes from Old Calcutta," and Stephen's "Story of Nuncomar."
 
 David Uumi.. 
 
 /■'roiii an engraving by II '. Holt after a picture by Allen Ramsay.
 
 No. 53 
 
 The Death of David Hume. Bom 26th April 171 1. 
 Died 25th August 1776. 
 
 WRITING in April 1776, giving an account of his life's work, 
 David Hume recorded as follows: 
 " In the spring of 1775 I was struck with a disorder of the 
 bowels [diarrhcEa] which at first gave me no alarm, but has since, as I 
 apprehend it, become mortal and incurable. I now reckon upon a speedy- 
 dissolution. I have suffered very little pain from my disorder and what is 
 more strange have, notwithstanding the great decline in my person, never 
 suffered a moment's abatement of my spirits; insomuch that were I to name 
 the period of my life which I should most choose to pass over again, I might 
 be tempted to point to this latter period. I possess the same ardour as ever 
 in study, and the same gaiety in company. I consider besides, that a man of 
 65 by dying, cuts off only a few years of infirmities, and though I see many 
 symptoms of my literary reputation's breaking out at last with additional 
 lustre, I know that I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to 
 be more detached from life than I am at present." 
 
 Almost the last letter he wrote touches the same theme: "Edinburgh 
 12 Aug. 1776. Dear Sir, Please to mark with your pen the following correc- 
 tion in the second volume of my philosophical pieces (page 245, lines i and 2). 
 Eraze these words ' that there is such a sentiment in human nature as benevo- 
 lence.' This, dear Sir, is the last correction I shall probably trouble you with, 
 for Dr. Black has promised me that all shall be over with me in a very little 
 time. This Promise he makes by his power of Prediction, not that of Prescrip- 
 tion; and indeed I consider it as good news, for of late within these few weeks 
 my Infirmities have so multiplyed that Life has become rather a Burthen to 
 me. Adieu then my good old Friend. David Hume." 
 
 Mr. Hume expired about four o'clock in the afternoon of Monday, 
 25th August 1776. The near approach of his death became apparent in the 
 night of Friday, when his disease became excessive and soon weakened him 
 so much that he could not rise from his bed. Some time before the Doctor 
 said that he was much better. " Doctor," said he, "as I believe you would 
 not choose to tell anything but the truth, you had better say that I am dying 
 as fast as my enemies (if I have any) could wish, and as easily and cheerfully 
 as my best friends could desire." 
 
 He continued to the last perfectly sensible and free from much pain or 
 feelings of distress. He never dropped the smallest expression of impatience, 
 but when he had occasion to speak to the people about him, always did so 
 with affection and tenderness. When he became very weak it cost him an 
 effort to speak, and he died in such a happy composure of mind that nothing 
 could exceed it. 
 
 David Hume looked upon Life as a booth in Vanity Fair, with all the 
 
 115
 
 ii6 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 foolish crowdings and elbowings, for which indeed it was not worth while to 
 quarrel, as the whole would break up and be at liberty so soon. He died 
 with a factitious sort of gaiety, taking leave lightly of that which he held to 
 be a deception and a lie. He was by principle and habit a Stoic, and his 
 influence has been widely spread among the civilized nations of Europe. A 
 methodic, clear-minded man, with a certain rugged humour showing through 
 his earnestness. 
 
 Authority: Hume's " Essays," edited by T. H. Green and T. H. Grose. London, 
 Longmans, 1S82.
 
 h'roiii an engraving ^'y J- ■^*' ^cviu;
 
 No. 54 
 
 The Death of Jean- Jacques Rousseau. Born 17 12. 
 Died 1778, aged sixty-six. 
 
 CE fut en le voyant dans cet etat de deperissement, que M. de Girardin 
 lui offrit une retraite dans sa charmante habitation d'Ermenonville. 
 Son medecin le pressa d'accepter cette offre. II partit pour aller 
 visiter la demeure qu'on lui destinait, avec le dessin de revenir faire ses derniers 
 arrangements a Paris. Mais tout ce qu'il vit a Ermenonville lui plut tellement, 
 qu'il ecrivit aussitot a Therese de venir I'y rejoindre. II avait choisi pour s'y 
 loger I'un des pavilions qui sent separes du chateau par des fosses remplis 
 d'eau. II entreprit aussitot I'herbier complet du pare; et dans ses excursions, 
 il se faisait accompagner par le fils aine de M. de Girardin qui n'avait alors 
 que dix ans. Telle etait la vie paisible qu'il menait dans cet agreable sejour 
 depuis le 20 Mai, jour de son arrivee, lorsque le 2 Juillet, il se plaignit de 
 quelques douleurs; elles se dissiperent promptement. II soupa et passa la 
 nuit fort tranquillement. Le lendemain, il se leva de bonne heure, se promena 
 dans le pare, suivant son usage, et revint dejeuner. II prit son cafe; sa femme 
 et sa servante en prirent en meme temps que lui. II se sentait si bien qu'il 
 voulut s'habiller pour aller faire une visite au chateau. Au moment ou il se 
 disposait a sortir, il fut saisi d'un grand froid, et se plaignit d'un violent mal 
 de tete. Sa femme lui faisait prendre quelques calmants; tout-a-coup il tomba 
 le visage contre terre, et il expira sans prononcer une seule parole, le 3 Juillet, 
 1778. Rousseau avait alors soixante-six ans et quelques jours: il n'avait 
 habite Ermenonville que six semaines. Ces details sont extraits de la relation 
 de M. Lebegue de Presle, son medecin. EUe differe, en quelques points, de 
 celle que redigea son indigne veuve vingtans apres, pour contredire certains 
 faits publics par Corancez. Le respect du a la verite veut que Ton compare 
 toutes ces versions, afin d'apprecier a leur juste valeur les bruits qui ont 
 attribue la fin de cet homme celebre a un suicide. L'opinion qu'il mourut 
 empoisonne, a perdu la plupart de ses partisans: il n'en est pas de meme de 
 la circonstance du coup de pistolet. Ceux qui croient que c'est avec cette 
 arme que Rousseau mit un terme a son existence, s'appuient sur un trou 
 sanglant, ouvert, disent-ils, dans la partie anterieure du front. Cette blessure 
 aurait pu provenir de la chute violente qui fit Jean-Jacques en expirant. 
 Therese dit, en effet, qu'elle fut couverte de son sang; tout en ayant soin 
 d'ajouter qu'il ne peril pas plus d'un coup de pistolet que de poison. " Mais," 
 replique Corancez, " le trou a la tete etait si profond que M. Houdon, qui a 
 moule la figure de Rousseau apres sa mort, m'a dit a moi qu'il avait ete 
 embarrasse pour remplir le vide." Nous tenons nous-memes de M. Houdon, 
 que nous avons eu soin de consulter, que si une blessure recente frappa ses 
 regards, elle ne lui donna nullement lieu de penser qu'elle provint d'un coup 
 de pistolet. Le masque moule sur la tete de Rousseau par cet habile artiste, 
 existe encore entre ses mains. II ne porte d'autre marque qu'une cicatrice 
 
 "7 Q
 
 ii8 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 legere, qui resultait probablement de la chute de Jean-Jacques lors de sa 
 derniere defaillance. En un mot M. Houdon qui, non content de voir par lui- 
 meme, a pris des renseignements de toutes les personnes temoins de la fin du 
 philosophe de Geneve, rejette avec une entiere conviction toute idee de 
 suicide. C'est ce qu'on a deja pu voir dans une lettre de ce statuaire publiee 
 par Petitian, I'un des editeurs de Rousseau. Le docteur de Presle que nous 
 avons cite plus haut et qui presida a I'ouverture et a I'inspection du corps, 
 faites en presence de dix personnes, a ecrit ces propres mots: " Je suis assure, 
 par I'examen le plus scrupuleux de toutes les circonstances qui ont precede, 
 accompagne et suivi la mort de Rousseau, qu'elle a ete naturelle et non 
 provoquee. L'ouverture de la tete (ou il n'est pas question de trou) et I'examen 
 des parties renfermees dans le crane, nous ont fait voir une quantite tres 
 considerable (plus de huit onces) de serosite, epanchee entre la substance du 
 cerveau et les membranes qui la couvrent. Ne peut-on pas attribuer la mort 
 de Rousseau a la pression de cette serosite, a son infiltration dans les en- 
 veloppes ou la substance de tout le systeme nerveux? " On s'appuie beaucoup 
 du sentiment de Corancez pour etablir la realite du suicide: mais cet ami de 
 Jean-Jacques ne dit-il pas lui-meme dans sa relation qu'il refusa de voir le 
 corps et que M. de Girardin se montra etonne et choque, lorsqu'il I'entendit 
 parler de mort violente? Nous ne pouvons, au moins, passer sous silence 
 I'opinion d'un ecrivain qui a consacre ses travaux sur la personne et les 
 ouvrages de Rousseau. "Nous croyons," dit M. de Musset-Pathay, "que 
 pour accelerer le moment fatal Jean-Jacques employa les deux moyens; c'est- 
 a-dire qu'il prit du poison, et que pour abreger la lenteur des effets et la duree 
 des souffrances, il les termina par un coup de pistolet." Rousseau futenterre 
 le jour meme de sa mort dans I'lle des Peupliers a Ermenonville. Le 
 II octobre, 1794, ses cendres en furent enlevees, pour etre deposees au 
 Pantheon. 
 
 From the Biographie Univeiselle, Paris, Michaud, 1825.
 
 MaKIA riil.KI'>A. KMl'KK-Sh i'| At'MKlA AM' (^I'KKN > H- llr.NllAKY.
 
 No. S5 
 
 The Death of Maria Theresa, Empress of Austria. 
 
 Born 17 17. Died 29th November 1780. 
 
 THE noble Kaiserin Maria Theresa died in Vienna on the 29th of 
 November 1780, after a short illness. Her end was beautiful and 
 exemplary, even as her course through life had been. She caught 
 cold, and this rapidly developed into inflammation of the lungs. At the point 
 of death she was sitting upright in her chair, it being impossible for her to 
 breathe otherwise, when she leaned her head back a little as if going to sleep. 
 One of her women hastened to arrange the pillows which supported her 
 head, and, stooping down, whispered: "Will your Majesty sleep a little?" 
 "No," answered the dying Empress, " I could indeed sleep, but I must not 
 give way. Death is too near, and he must not steal upon me unawares. 
 These fifteen years I have been making ready for him and now I will meet 
 him awake." 
 
 Fifteen years before, her beloved husband had been snatched from her 
 suddenly, and ever since then she had worn widow's weeds and had looked 
 upon herself as having done with the world. He had died on the i8th ot the 
 month, and the 18th of every month following had been for her a day of 
 solitary prayer. On the i8th of every August, that being her husband's 
 death-day, she had descended into the vaults of the Stephan's Kirche and 
 prayed beside his tomb there. On the last occasion something had broken 
 or given way in the apparatus by which she descended, and she had regarded 
 this as an omen of her coming end — an omen now fulfilled. She died with 
 a smile on her face. Across the dark river she thought she saw the spirit of 
 her husband, awaiting her with outstretched arms. 
 
 Authorities: T. Carlyle; J. F. Bright. 
 
 119
 
 Diderot. 
 
 Fi-otit nn i:ngra7'in,^ I'v Ryder.
 
 No. 56 
 
 The Death of Denis Diderot. Born at Langres in 
 
 Champagne, 15th Odlober 17 13. Died in Paris 
 
 30th July 1784. 
 
 IN 1773 Diderot undertook a journey to St. Petersburg to thank the 
 Empress Catherine for the many benefits she had heaped upon him. 
 He had hoped to return to France by way of Berlin, but Frederick the 
 Great offered him no inducement or welcome. That monarch indeed was no 
 appreciator of Diderot's undoubted talents. In a letter to Mons. d'Alembert 
 he wrote: " On dit qu'a Petersbourg on trouve Diderot raisonneur ennuyeux. 
 II rabache sans cesse les memes choses. Ce que je sais, c'est que je ne 
 saurais soutenir la lecture de ses livres, tout intrepide lecteur que je suis. 
 II y regne un ton suffisant et une arrogance qui revoke I'instinct de ma 
 liberte." 
 
 Diderot was indeed a professed atheist, and loved to sustain his opinions 
 with vehement enthusiasm, with an intellectual arrogance that could not but 
 revolt a great thinker like Frederick. In September 1774 he returned home, 
 and on the eve of his journey thither wrote: "I shall gain my fireside, 
 never to quit it again for the rest of my life." He returned to Paris not over- 
 pleased with his journey, and his health began to give way. His infirmities 
 increased and he soon retired from society, seeing only a few of his more 
 intimate friends: the company of his wife and daughter, with his beloved 
 books, formed his last resource. His wife was a good woman, and he had 
 not interfered with her religion or in the education of his daughter. Voltaire, 
 writing to a friend, said: "I am not pleased with Diderot, I hear that he 
 allows his daughter to read the Bible and has had her educated on principles 
 which he himself detests." 
 
 In the spring of 1784 Diderot felt himself to be very ill; dropsy set in, 
 and he lingered in much suffering through the summer. The parish priest 
 visited him hoping for the semblance of a conversion, and in their conversa- 
 tions, finding they had a common ground of morality, ventured to hint that 
 some written retractation of his published views might be for the public 
 benefit. " I daresay it would," replied Diderot, " but confess, M. le Cure, that 
 I should be telling an impudent falsehood" ; and no retractation was ever 
 made. On the evening of the 30th July 1784, he was at table with his wife 
 and daughter, and at the close of the meal took an apricot as " dessert." His 
 wife remonstrated, but he answered: " Mais quel diable de mal veux tu que 
 cela me fasse? " and he ate the fruit. Then he rested his elbow on the table and 
 put his head on his hand. Madame Diderot again spoke to him, and, getting 
 no answer, rose and went to him. He was dead. So fell the curtain on this 
 strange man of genius. His own words form the best commentary on his 
 death. He wrote: "We fix our gaze on the ruins of a palace or a temple. 
 All perishes, passes away. It is only time that endures. I walk between 
 
 121
 
 122 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 two eternities. To whatever side I turn my eyes, the objects that surround 
 me tell of an end and teach me resignation. What is my ephemeral existence 
 compared with that of the crumbling rock or the decaying forest? and yet I 
 cannot bear to die. Shall I repine that this feeble tissue of flesh and fibre is 
 subject to the universal law, that executes itself inexorably on the very 
 bronze itself?" 
 
 Diderot had always maintained that an examination of the organs after 
 death was a useful practice, and the operation took place in his own case, 
 nothing remarkable being revealed. He was buried in the vaults of the 
 church of Saint Roche in Paris. His end had come so suddenly that the 
 priests escaped the necessity of denying him the funeral rites of the church. 
 
 Authorities: Biographie Universelle; Diderot's Works; John Morley's " Diderot."
 
 UoCioR SAMLLL JUJINSO.N. 
 r (HI twi^rnv/'ti^^ by II '. Holt of a picture by Sir J. Ktynolds.
 
 No. 57 
 
 The Death of Samuel Johnson. Born 1709. Died 
 13th December 1784. 
 
 WE now have to behold Samuel Johnson preparing himself for that 
 doom from which no man is exempt. Death had always been to 
 him an object of terror, so that, though by no means happy in 
 his existence, he still clung to life with an eagerness at which many have 
 wondered. "I would give one of my legs," said Dr. Johnson, "for a year 
 more of life: I mean comfortable life, not such as that from which I now 
 suffer." At any time when he was ill he was much pleased to be told he looked 
 better. His views as to futurity were rational. " You know," he said, " I never 
 thought confidence with respect to futurity any part of the character of a brave, 
 wise, or good man. Bravery has no place where it can avail nothing." On 
 another occasion, when discussing the immortality of the soul, a friend said to 
 him: "Surely you will accept the evidence of revealed religion." "I want 
 more evidence," said Johnson. 
 
 His friend Boswell asked him: "Is not the fear of death natural to 
 man?" Johnson replied: " So much so, Sir, that the whole of life is but the 
 keeping away the thoughts of it." He then, in a low and earnest tone, talked 
 of his meditating on the awful hour of his own dissolution, and in what 
 manner he should conduct himself on that occasion. " I know not," said he, 
 "whether I should wish to have a friend by me, or have it all between God 
 and myself." 
 
 In a letter to Mrs. Thrale dated i6th June 1783 he wrote: " I perceived 
 that I had suffered a paralytic stroke and that my speech was taken from me. 
 I had no pain, and so little dejection in this dreadful state that I wondered at 
 my own apathy, and considered that perhaps death itself, when it should 
 come, would excite less horror than seems now to attend it." 
 
 Again, writing to Dr. Taylor on 12th April 1784 he wrote: " O my 
 
 friend! the approach of death is very dreadful. I am afraid to think on that 
 which I know I cannot avoid. It is vain to look round and round for that 
 help which cannot be had. Yet we hope and hope, and fancy that he who has 
 lived to-day may live to-morrow." 
 
 Amid the clouds of melancholy which hung over the dying man, 
 Johnson's character shone out on various occasions. When his physician. 
 Dr. Warren, hoped that he was better, he answered: "No, Sir. You cannot 
 conceive with what acceleration I advance towards death." A pillow having 
 been placed to support him, he said : " That will do— all that a pillow can do." 
 On opening a note that his servant brought, he remarked: " An odd thought 
 strikes me. We shall receive no letters in the grave." He requested three 
 things from his old friend Sir Joshua Reynolds, ist. To forgive him the £jp 
 which he had borrowed from him. 2nd, To read the Bible, and 3rd, Never to 
 use his pencil on Sunday. Sir Joshua readily promised these things. "Give 
 
 123
 
 124 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 me," he said to the Doctor, "a direct answer. Tell me plainly, can I recover?" 
 The Doctor answered that nothing short of a miracle could restore him to 
 health. "Then," said Johnson, " I will take no more physic — not even opiates; 
 for I have prayed that I may render up my soul to God, unclouded." He was 
 perfectly composed, steady in hope and resigned to death. He made his will 
 on tlie 9th of December, and, having settled his worldly affairs, he uttered this 
 prayer: "Almighty and most merciful Father, I am now, as to human eyes, 
 about to commemorate for the last time the death of Thy Son Jesus Christ 
 our Saviour and Redeemer. Grant, O Lord, that my whole hope and confidence 
 may be in His merits and in Thy mercy. Enforce and accept my imperfect 
 repentance; make this commemoration available to the confirmation of my 
 faith, the establishment of my hope, and the enlargement of my charity: and 
 make the death of Thy Son Jesus Christ effectual to my redemption. Have 
 mercy upon me and pardon the multitude of my offences. Bless my friends. 
 Have mercy upon all men. Support me by Thy Holy Spirit in the days of 
 weakness and at the hour of death, and receive me into everlasting happiness 
 for the sake of Jesus Christ. Amen." Having uttered this prayer he received 
 the Holy Sacrament. 
 
 At the interval of each hour they assisted him to sit up in his bed and 
 moved his legs, which were in much pain. The only sustenance he now took 
 was cider and water. He said that his mind was prepared, but that death was a 
 long time a-coming. At six o'clock on the morning of the 13th of December 
 he asked the time and said he felt that he had but a short time to live. His 
 difficulty of breathing increased till about seven o'clock in the evening, when 
 those in the room noticed that the sound of breathing had ceased, and, going 
 to the bed, found him dead. Life to him was a prison to be endured with 
 heroic constancy. He realized that the highest task of manhood was to live 
 like a man, and like a man he died, with awe-struck yet resolute and piously 
 expectant heart, taking leave of a Reality to enter a Reality still higher. 
 
 Carlyle says of him : Few men on record have had a more merciful, 
 tenderly affectionate nature than old Samuel. He was called the Bear and 
 did indeed often look and roar like one, being forced to it in his own defence ; 
 yet within that shaggy exterior of his there beat a heart warm as a mother's, 
 soft as a little child's. Nay generally his very roaring was but the anger of 
 affection ; the rage of a bear if you will, but of a bear bereaved of her whelps. 
 Touch his religion; glance at the Church of England or the divine right; 
 and he was upon you. These things were his symbols of all that was good 
 and precious for men; his very ark of the covenant; whoso laid his hand on 
 them tore asunder his heart of hearts. 
 
 Authorities: Boswell; Biiiell; Carlyle; Dictionary of National Biography,
 
 J. Flktcher. 
 
 From an engraz>in^^ by J I'. /. U'/tite.
 
 No. 58 
 
 The Death of Mr. Fletcher of Madeley, Methodist 
 Preacher. Born 1729. Died 1785. 
 
 VOLUMES have been filled by sectarians of every description with 
 accounts of the behaviour and triumphant hopes of the dying, all 
 resembling- each other, but the circumstances of Mr. Fletcher's death 
 were as peculiar as those of his life. He had taken cold, and a considerable 
 degree of fever had been induced, but no persuasion could prevail on him to 
 stay from church on Sunday, nor even to permit that any part of the service 
 should be performed for him. It was the will of the Lord, he said, that he 
 should go, and he assured his wife and his friends that God would strengthen 
 him to go through the duties of the day. Before he had proceeded far in the 
 service he grew pale, and faltered in his speech, and could scarcely keep 
 himself from fainting. The congregation were greatly affected and alarmed, 
 and Mrs. Fletcher, pressing through the crowd, earnestly entreated him not to 
 persevere in what was so evidently beyond his strength. He recovered, how- 
 ever, when the windows were opened, exerted himself against the mortal 
 illness that he felt, went through the service and preached with remarkable 
 earnestness and with not less effect, for his parishioners plainly saw that the 
 hand of death was upon him. After the sermon he walked to the communion 
 table, saying: " I throw myself under the wings of the Cherubim at the Mercy 
 Seat." The people were deeply affected while they beheld him offering up 
 the last languid remains of a life spent in their service. Groans were heard 
 and tears fell on every side. In going through this last part of his duty he 
 was exhausted again and again, but his spiritual vigour triumphed over his 
 bodily weakness. After several times sinking on the sacramental table, he 
 still resumed his sacred work and cheerfully distributed with his dying hands 
 the love memorials of his dying Lord. In the course of this concluding office, 
 which he performed by means of the most astonishing exertions, he gave out 
 several hymns and delivered affectionate exhortations to his people; and now, 
 having struggled through a service of nearly four hours' duration, he was 
 supported, with blessings in his mouth, from the altar to his chamber, where 
 he lay for some time in a swoon and from whence he never walked into the 
 world again. Mr. Fletcher's nearest and dearest friends sympathized entirely 
 v/ith him in his devotional feelings, and seem never to have entertained a 
 thought that his exertions and actions might have proved the direct cause of 
 his death. " I besought the Lord," says Mrs. Fletcher, " if it were His good 
 pleasure to spare my husband to me a little longer: but my prayer seemed 
 to have no wings." On the Sunday following he died, and that day also was 
 distinguished by circumstances not less remarkable. Prayers for his recovery 
 were offered in the church, and it is impossible to convey an idea of the 
 universal sorrow. The whole village wore an air of consternation and sadness. 
 Hasty messengers passed to and fro with anxious inquiries and confused 
 
 125 R
 
 126 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 reports, and the members of every family sat together in silence that day 
 awaiting with trembling expectation the issue of every hour. After the evening 
 service several of the poor, who came from a distance and who were usually 
 entertained under his roof, lingered about the house and expressed a wish that 
 they might see their expiring pastor. Their desire was granted : the door of 
 his chamber was set open, dii-ectly opposite to which he was sitting upright in 
 his bed with the curtains undrawn, unaltered in his usual venerable appearance, 
 and they passed along the gallery one by one pausing at the door to look 
 upon him for the last time. A few hours after this extraordinary scene he 
 breathed his last without a struggle or a groan, in perfect peace, and in the 
 fullness of faith and of hope. Such was the death of Jean Guillaume de la 
 Flechere, or, as he may be more properly designated in this his adopted country, 
 Fletcher of Madeley — a man of whom Methodism may well be proud as the 
 most able of its defenders, and whom the Church of England may hold in 
 honourable remembrance as one of the most pious and excellent of her sons. 
 
 Authority: Southey's " Life of Wesley."
 
 l-RKDEKICK THK GREAT. 
 From an engraving.
 
 No. 59 
 
 The Death of Friedrich II of Prussia, called Frederick 
 the Great. Born 171 2. Died 1786. 
 
 TUESDAY 15th August 1786. Contrary to all wont, the King did 
 not awaken till eleven o'clock. On first looking up he seemed in a 
 confused state, but soon recovered himself; called in his Generals 
 and his Secretaries, who had been in waiting so long, and gave with his old 
 precision the orders wanted; one to Rohdich, Commandant of Potsdam, 
 about a review of the troops there next day: order minutely perfectin knowledge 
 of the ground, in foresight of what and how the evolutions were to be: which 
 was accordingly performed on the morrow. The Cabinet work he went 
 through with the like possession of himself, giving, on every point, his three 
 clerks their directions in a weak voice yet with the old power of spirit. On 
 Wednesday morning General Adjutants, Secretaries, Commandant were 
 there at their old hours, but word came out: "Secretaries are to wait." 
 King is in a kind of a sleep, of stertorous, ominous character, as if it were the 
 death sleep; seems not to recollect himself when he does at intervals open his 
 eyes. After some time, on a ray of consciousness, the King bethought him of 
 Rohdich the Commandant; tried to give Rohdich the parole as usual; tried 
 twice, perhaps three times, but found he could not speak: and with a glance 
 of sorrow, which seemed to say " It is impossible then ! " turned his head and 
 sank back into the corner of his chair. Rohdich burst into tears; the King 
 again lay slumberous; the rattle of death beginning soon after and lasting at 
 intervals through the day. Towards evening the feverishness abated and the 
 King fell into a soft sleep, but on awakening complained of cold, repeatedly 
 of cold, demanding wrapper after wrapper. On examining his feet and legs one 
 of the doctors made signs that they were in fact cold nearly to the knee. 
 "What said he of the feet?" murmured the King. "Much the same as 
 before," answered some attendant. The King shook his head incredulous. 
 He drank once, grasping the goblet with both hands, a draught of fennel 
 water, his usual drink, and seemed relieved by it. Towards nine in the evening 
 there came on a continual short cough ; for the most part he was unconscious, 
 never more than half conscious. As the wall clock above his head struck 
 eleven he asked the time. "Eleven," answered they. "At four," he 
 murmured, " I will rise." One of his dogs sat on a stool near him, and about 
 midnight he noticed that it was shivering with cold. " Throw a quilt over it," 
 he said. Afterwards, in a severe choking fit, getting rid at last of the phlegm, 
 he said: "La montagne est passee, nous irons mieux." This was his last 
 conscious utterance. The attendants were in the outer room. With him only 
 Striitzki his Kammerhussar, a faithful, ingenuous man. Striitzki, to save the 
 King from sinking down in his chair, at last took the King on his knee, 
 kneeling on the ground on his other knee for the purpose — King's right arm 
 round Striitzki's neck, Striitzki's left arm round the King's back and support- 
 
 127
 
 128 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 ing his other shoulder; in which posture the faithful servant sat motionless 
 for above two hours till the end came. Within doors all is silence, except 
 the breathing; around the dark earth silent, above the silent stars. At 
 twenty minutes past two the breathing paused — wavered, ceased. Friedrich's 
 life-battle is fought out; instead of suffering and sore labour here is now 
 rest; on Thursday morning the 17th August 1786, at the dark hour just 
 named. On the 31st May last, this King had reigned 46 years; he had lived 
 74 years 6 months and 24 days. By his own express will there was no 
 embalming of the body. Two regimental surgeons washed the corpse and 
 decently prepared it for interment. At eight the same evening Friedrich's 
 body, dressed in the uniform of the First Battalion of Guards and laid in its 
 coffin, was borne to Potsdam in a hearse drawn by eight horses, twelve non- 
 commissioned officers of the Guards escorting. All Potsdam was in the 
 streets; the soldiers of their own accord formed rank and followed the hearse; 
 many a rugged face unable to restrain tears; for the rest universal silence as 
 of midnight ; nothing audible among tlie people, but here and there a sob and 
 the murmur: " Ach! der gute Konig! " All next day the body lay in state in 
 the Palace, thousands crowding from Berlin to see the King's face for the last 
 time. Wasted, worn, but beautiful in death, with the thin gray hair parted 
 into locks and slightly powdered. At eight in the evening of the i8th he was 
 borne to the garrison church of Potsdam, and laid beside his father in the 
 vault behind the pulpit there, where the two coffins are still to be seen. 
 Friedrich well knew himself to be dying, but expected perhaps that the end 
 would be a little further off. There is a stoic simplicity about him, finding 
 nothing strange in this end of all things for him. From old times Life had 
 been infinitely contemptible to him. In Death he had neither fear nor hope. 
 Atheism truly he never could abide ; to him, as to most thinking beings, it was 
 flatly inconceivable that intellect and moral emotion could have been put into 
 him by an Entity that had no such qualities; but there his Theism seems to 
 have stopped. Instinctively he believed that Right alone has any strength in 
 this World. Hope for himself in Divine Justice or Divine Providence he had 
 not practically any: that the unfathomable Demiurgus should concern himself 
 with such a set of paltry ill-conditioned animals as himself and mankind in 
 general was, in the main, incredible to him. A sad creed this of King 
 Friedrich's! He had to do his duty, without fee or reward, and to his last hour 
 concerned himself with doing that which was to him all the Law and the 
 Prophets. His death was stern and lonely, and he too was a man of deep 
 affections, and of more sensibility than most other men ; but so his whole life 
 had been stern and lonely, such was the severe law laid upon him. Here 
 follows the last letter he ever wrote : 
 
 To the Duchess Dowager of Brunswick, dated "Sans Souci," loth August 
 1786. 
 
 " My adorable Sister, The Hanover Doctor has wished to make himself
 
 FRIEDRICH II OF PRUSSIA 129 
 
 important with you, my good sister, but the truth is he has been of no use to 
 me. The old must give place to the young that each generation may find 
 room clear for it; and Life, if we examine strictly what its course is, consists 
 in seeing one's fellow creatures die and be born. In the meanwhile I have felt 
 myself a little easier for the last day or two. My heart remains inviolably 
 attached to you, my good Sister. With the highest consideration, I am your 
 faithful Brother and Servant, 
 
 " Frihdrich." 
 
 Authority: Carlyle's " Frederick the Great."
 
 
 John Wiisi.EY, A.M. 
 
 l-'t'oni an cngraTnng by R. Pa^e.
 
 No. 60 
 
 The Death of John Wesley. Born 1703. Died 2nd March 
 1 79 1, aged eighty-seven years and nine months. 
 
 UPON his eighty-sixth birthday Wesley wrote as follows: "I now 
 find I grow old. My sight is decayed so that I cannot read small 
 print unless in a strong light. My strength is diminished so that I 
 walk much slower than I did some years since. My memory of names, whether 
 of persons or places, is so bad that I have to stop a little to recollect them. 
 What I should be afraid of is, if I took thought for the morrow, that my body 
 should weigh down my mind, and create either stubbornness by the decrease 
 of my understanding or peevishness by the increase of bodily infirmities, but 
 Thou shalt answer for me, O Lord my God." His strength diminished so 
 much, that he found it difficult to preach more than twice a day, and for many 
 weeks he abstained from his five o'clock morning service because a slow 
 fever stole away his strength. Finding himself a little better he resumed the 
 practice and hoped to hold on a little longer, but at the beginning of the year 
 1790 he writes: " I am become indeed an old man. Mine eyes are dim, my 
 right hand shakes much, my mouth is hot and dry every morning. I have a 
 lingering fever almost every day, and my movements are weak and slow. 
 However, blessed be God! I do not slack my labours; I can preach and write 
 still." In the middle of the same year he closed his cash account-book with 
 the following words written in a tremulous hand: *' For upwards of 76 years 
 I have kept my accounts exactly; I will not attempt it any longer, being 
 satisfied with the continual conviction that I save all I can and give all I can, 
 that is, all I have." His strength was now quite gone and no glasses would 
 help his sight — "but I feel no pain," he says, "from head to foot, only it 
 seems nature is exhausted, and humanly speaking will sink more and more 
 till the weary springs of life stand still at last." On the 1st February 1791, 
 he wrote his last letter to America. It shows how anxious he was that his 
 followers should consider themselves as one united body. " See," said he, 
 " that you never give way to one thought of separating from your brethren 
 in Europe. Lose no opportunity of declaring to all men that the Methodists 
 are one people in all the world and that it is their full determination so to 
 continue." He expressed also a sense that his hour was almost come. " Those 
 that desire to write," said he, " or say any thing to me have no time to lose, 
 for Time has shaken me by the hand and Death is not far behind." On the 
 17th of that month he took cold after preaching at Lambeth; for some days 
 he struggled against increasing fever and continued to preach till the 
 Wednesday following, when he delivered his last sermon. From that time he 
 became daily weaker and more lethargic, and on the 2nd March he died in 
 peace, being in the eighty-eighth year of his age and the sixty-fifth of his 
 ministry. During his illness he said: " Let me be buried in nothing but what 
 is woollen, and let my corpse be carried in my coffin to the chapel. I particu- 
 
 131
 
 132 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 larly desire," said he, " that there may be no hearse, no coach, no escutcheon, 
 no pomp, except the tears of those who loved me, and are following me to 
 Abraham's bosom, and I solemnly adjure my executors in the name of God 
 punctually to observe this." At the desire of many of his friends his body 
 was carried into the chapel the day preceding the interment, and there lay, as 
 it were, in state — dressed in his clerical habit with gown, cassock, and band; 
 his clerical cap on his head and the Bible in his hand. The face was placid 
 and wore a serene and heavenly smile. The crowds who flocked to see him 
 were so great that it was thought prudent, for fear of accidents, to accelerate 
 the interment and perform it between five and six in the morning. The 
 change of time, however, could not be kept entirely secret, and several 
 hundred peopleattended at that unusual hour. Mr. Richardson, whoperformed 
 the service, had been one of his itinerant preachers for thirty years. When he 
 came to that part of the service " Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty 
 God to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother," his voice faltered and 
 he substituted the word father, and the feeling with which he did this was 
 such that the congregation, who were shedding silent tears, burst forth at once 
 in loud weeping. 
 
 Authority: Southey's " Life of Wesley."
 
 NriRAKIiAU.
 
 No. 6 1 
 
 The Death of Mirabeau. Honore Gabriel Riquetti, 
 Comte de Mirabeau. Born 1 749. Died 2nd April 
 1791. 
 
 THE fierce wear and tear of such an existence had wasted out the 
 giant oaken strength of Mirabeau. " If I had not lived with him," 
 says Dumont, "I never should have known what a man can make 
 of one day; what things may be placed within the interval of twelve hours. 
 A day for this man was more than a week or a month is for others: the mass 
 of things he guided on together was prodigious; from the scheming to the 
 executing not a moment lost." " Monsieur le Comte," said his secretary to 
 him once, "what you require is impossible." "Impossible," answered he, 
 starting from his chair, " Ne me dites jamais ce bete de mot." In January 
 last you might see him as President of the Assembly; " his neck wrapped in 
 linen cloths at the evening session": there was sick heat of the blood, 
 alternate darkening and flashing in the eyesight; he had to apply leeches 
 after the morning labour, and preside bandaged. "At parting he embraced 
 me," says Dumont, "with an emotion I had never seen in him: 'I am 
 dying, my friend; dying as by slow fire; we shall not perhaps meet again. 
 When I am gone, they will know what the value of me was. The miseries 
 I have held back will burst from all sides on France.'" And so, on the last 
 day of March 1791, endless anxious multitudes beset the Rue de la Chaussee 
 d'Antin, incessantly inquiring; within doors there, in that house numbered 
 in our time forty-two, the over-wearied giant has fallen down, to die. The 
 King sends publicly twice a day to inquire. The people spontaneously keep 
 silence, mute, heart-stricken ; to all it seems as if a great calamity were nigh. 
 On Saturday, the and of April, Mirabeau feels that the last of the days has 
 risen for him ; that on this day he has to depart and be no more. At times 
 comes a beam of light from him on the world he is quitting. " I carry in 
 my heart the death dirge of the French Monarchy ; the dead remains of it will 
 now be the spoil of the factious." He gazes forth on the young spring, which 
 for him will never be summer: the sun has risen, and he says: "Si ce n'est 
 pas la Dieu, c'est du moins son cousin germain." Death has mastered the 
 outworks; the power of speech is gone, the citadel of the heart still holding 
 out. The moribund giant passionately, by signs, demands paper and pen; 
 writes his passionate demand for opium to end these agonies. The sorrow- 
 ful doctor shakes his head. " Dormir," writes the dying man, pointing at 
 the word. So dies a gigantic Heathen and Titan; stumbling blindly, undis- 
 mayed, down to his rest. At half-past eight in the morning Dr. Petit, 
 standing at the foot of the bed, says: "II ne souffre plus." His suffering 
 and working are now ended. 
 
 Mirabeau ranks among the great men of the eighteenth century. Burly, 
 bull-necked, strong in body as in mind, built like his old father the Marquis; 
 
 133 S
 
 134 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 •Tami des peuples " — "a fond gaillard." A blusterous, noisy, pushing- 
 forward, unresting man. His characteristic veracity, power of insight, clear- 
 ness of vision made his words worth remembering. Of raging passions, but 
 capable of the tenderest, noble affection. Full of wit, wild laughter, energy, 
 directness, and sincerity. 
 
 Authority: Carlyle's "French Revolution."
 
 Woi.Fr.ANG Amadkns Mozart.
 
 No. 62 
 
 The Death of Mozart. Wolfgang Amadeus Chrysostom 
 Mozart was born in Salzburg 27th January 1756, 
 and died in Vienna 5th December 1791. 
 
 WRITING to his father not long before he died he spoke touchingly 
 of death. Rewrote: " As Death, strictly speaking, is the true end 
 and aim of our lives, I have made myself well acquainted with 
 this true best friend of mankind, so that his image no longer terrifies, but 
 calms and consoles me, and I thank God for giving me the opportunity of 
 learning to look upon death as the key which unlocks the gate of true bliss. 
 I never lie down to rest without thinking that, young as I am, before the 
 dawn of another day I may be no more; and yet nobody who knows me 
 would call me morose or discontented. For this blessing I thank my Creator 
 every day, and wish from my heart that I could share it with my fellow 
 men." 
 
 In July 1791 he had undertaken to compose a Requiem for an unknown 
 client, the price being fixed at one hundred ducats, but his work on this was 
 interrupted by his having to go to Prague to direct the music necessary on 
 the coronation of Leopold II. On his return to Vienna in September he felt 
 very unwell. One beautiful day he and his wife, Constance, had driven to 
 the Prater, and were sitting alone together, when he began to speak of death, 
 and, with tears in his eyes, said to his wife: "I feel sure I am writing this 
 Requiem for myself. My end is drawing near; I almost think I have been 
 poisoned." Not long after this his hands and feet began to swell, and partial 
 paralysis set in accompanied by violent sickness. During his confinement 
 to his bed his consciousness never left him : he was tranquil and resigned, 
 not manifesting the smallest impatience. The Requiem still continued to 
 occupy his thoughts, and he had the score brought to him in bed, and tried 
 it over with some friends, he himself taking the alto part, but when they 
 reached the first bass of the Lagrimoso it suddenly came over him that he 
 would never finish it, and bursting into tears he put the score away. To his 
 sister-in-law, who came to see him in the evening, he said: "I have the 
 flavour of death on my tongue. I taste death! who will support my dear 
 Constance if you do not stay with her?" Even in his latest fancies he was 
 busy with the Requiem. To his friend Siissmayer, who came to bid him 
 farewell, he said: "Did I not tell you I was writing my own Requiem?" 
 and as he lay with his eyes closed he would blow out his cheeks to imitate 
 the trumpets and drums. Towards midnight of 4th December 1791 he raised 
 himself on his pillows, opening his eyes wide and gazing fixedly as if he saw 
 something; then he turned his face to the wall and seemed to fall asleep. 
 By one o'clock on the morning of 5th December 1791, his spirit had fled. 
 The next day the body was removed to St. Stephen's Church, and at three 
 o'clock in the afternoon the benediction was pronounced over his coffin. The 
 
 135
 
 136 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 bier was then carried for interment to the churchyard of St. Mark's. A violent 
 storm raged so fiercely that all the mourners turned back, and not a friend 
 stood by when Mozart's body was lowered into the grave. No stone marks 
 his resting-place. When the widow visited the churchyard she found a fresh 
 grave-digger had been appointed, who was unable to show her the grave 
 she sought. All her inquiries were fruitless, so that to this day the last 
 resting-place of the great musician is unknown. The city of Vienna, in 1859, 
 erected a monument to his memory on the probable spot, as the site of the 
 grave had been forgotten. 
 
 Authorities: Jalin's "Life"; Groves' Dictionary; Nohl, Correspondence.
 
 Louis XVI.
 
 No. 63 
 
 The Death of Louis XVI of France. Born 1754. 
 
 Died 1793. 
 
 DEPUIS I'aube du jour, les abords de I'echafaiid, le pont Louis XI V, 
 les terrasses des Tuileries, les parapets du fleuve, les toits des 
 maisons de la rue Royale, les branches meme depouillees des 
 arbres des Champs Elysees, etaient charges d'une innombrable multitude qui 
 attendait I'evenement dans I'agitation, dans le tumulte et dans le bruit d'une 
 ruche d'hommes, comme si cette foule n'efit pu croire au supplice d'un roi 
 avant de I'avoir vu de ses yeux. Les abords immediats de I'echafaud avaient 
 ete envahis, grace aux faveurs de la commune et a la connivence des com- 
 mandants des troupes, par les hommes de sang des cordeliers et des jacobins 
 incapables de pitie. A I'approche de la voiture du roi, une immobilite 
 solennelle surprit cependant tout a coup cette foule et ces hommes eux- 
 memes. La voiture s'arreta a quelques pas de I'echafaud. Le trajet avait 
 dure deux heures. Le roi en s'apercevant que la voiture avait cesse de rouler, 
 leva les yeux et se penchant a I'oreille de son confesseur lui dit a voix basse : 
 " Nous voila arrives, je crois." Un des trois freres Samson, bourreaux de 
 Paris, ouvrit la portiere. Les gendarmes descendirent, mais le roi refermant 
 la portiere et pla9ant sa main droite sur le genou de son confesseur d'un 
 geste de protection: "Messieurs," dit-il aux bourreaux qui se pressaient 
 autour des roues, "je vous recommande monsieur que voila! Ayez soin 
 qu'apres ma mort il ne lui soit fait aucune insulte. Je vous charge d'y veiller." 
 Personne ne repondit. Le roi voulut repeter avec plus de force cette recom- 
 mandation aux executeurs. L'un d'eux lui coupa la parole. " Oui, oui," lui 
 dit-il avec un accent sinistre, " sois tranquille; nous en aurons soin; laisse 
 nous faire." Louis descendit. Trois valets du bourreau I'entourerent et 
 voulurent le deshabiller au pied de I'echafaud. II les repoussa, ota lui-meme 
 son habit, sa cravate, et depouilla sa chemise jusqu'a la ceinture. Les 
 executeurs se jet^rent alors de nouveau sur lui: "Que voulez-vous faire? " 
 murmura-t-il avec indignation. "Vous lier," lui repondirent-ils, et ils lui 
 tenaient deja les mains pour les nouer avec leurs cordes. "Me lier!" repliqua 
 le roi avec un accent ou toute la gloire de son sang se revoltait contre 
 I'ignominie. "Non! non! Je n'y consentirai jamais! Faites votre metier, 
 mais vous ne me lierez pas; renoncez-y." Les executeurs insistaient, elevaient 
 la voix, preparaient la violence. Une lutte corps a corps allait souiller la 
 victime au pied de I'echafaud. Le roi, par respect pour la dignite de sa mort, 
 regarda le pretre comme pour lui demander conseil. " Sire," dit le conseiller 
 divin, " subissez sans resistance ce nouvel outrage comme un dernier trait 
 de ressemblance entre vous et le Dieu qui va etre votre recompense. Le 
 roi leva les yeux au cicl: "Assurement," dit-il, "il ne faut rien moins que 
 I'exemple d'un Dieu pour que je me soumette k un pareil affront." Puis se 
 tournant, en tendant de lui-meme les mains vers les executeurs: " Faites ce 
 
 137
 
 138 
 
 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 que vous voudrez," leur dit-il, "je boirai le calice, jusqu'a la lie." II monta, 
 soutenu par le bras du pretre, les marches hautes et glissantes de I'echafaud. 
 Le poids de son corps semblait indiquer un affaissement de son ame; mais 
 parvenu a la derniere marche, il s'elan9a des mains de son confesseur, 
 traversa d'un pas ferme toute la largeur de I'echafaud, regarda en passant 
 rinstrument et la hache, et se tournant tout a coup a gauche, en face de son 
 palais, et du cote ou la plus grande masse de peuple pouvait le voir et 
 I'entendre, il fit aux tambours le geste du silence. Les tambours obeirent 
 machinalement. " Peuple!" dit Louis XVI, d'une voix qui retentit dans le 
 silence, "Peuple! je meurs innocent de tous les crimes qu'on m'impute! 
 Je pardonne aux auteurs de ma mort, et je prie Dieu que le sang que vous 
 allez repandre ne retombe jamais sur la France!" II allait continuer; un 
 fremissement parcourait la foule. Le chef d'etat major des troupes ordonna 
 aux tambours de battre. Un roulement immense et prolonge couvrit la voix 
 du roi et le murmure de la multitude. Le roi revint de lui-meme a pas lents 
 vers la guillotine et se livra aux executeurs. Au moment ou on I'attachait a 
 la planche, il jeta encore un regard sur le pretre qui priait a genoux au bord 
 de I'echafaud. La planche chavira, la hache glissa, la tete tomba. Un des 
 executeurs, prenant la tete par les cheveux, la montra au peuple et aspergea 
 de sang les bords de I'echafaud. Des federes et des republicains fanatiques 
 monterent sur les planches; tremperent les pointes de leurs sabres et les 
 lances de leurs piques dans le sang, et les brandirent vers le ciel en poussant 
 le cri de " Vive la Republique! " 
 
 Authority: " L'Histoire des Girondins," by Lamartine.
 
 .MAkAT.
 
 No. 64 
 
 The Death of Jean Paul Marat. Born in Switzerland 
 24th May 1743. Died 15th July 1793. 
 
 MARAT lived on the first floor of an old house in the Rue des 
 Cordeliers, Paris. The accommodation comprised an ante-room, a 
 small study, a bedroom and a bath-room, with one reception 
 room. The rooms were very bare and scantily furnished. In the study, 
 books, printer's proof-sheets, and masses of papers littered the tables and 
 chairs, spreading out even over the floor. The dirty staircase and ill-swept 
 rooms testified to the constant coming and going of visitors, which his 
 business as a journalist and politician involved. The squalid carelessness of 
 the whole place seemed even boastful, as if the owner would say: *' Here is 
 the home of the People's Friend; here is no aristocratic luxury; all is the 
 simplicity of the true republican." Indeed, the establishment of Marat was 
 but what might be found in the home of any artisan. One woman lived with 
 him, Simonne Evrard, formerly his mistress, but to whom, later, he had 
 given his name, taking her as his wife "one fine day, in the face of the 
 sun," a la mode de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, without any civil or religious cere- 
 mony. She was assisted by a girl and by a man named Laurent Basse, who 
 acted as messenger. The feverish activity of Marat was in no way diminished 
 by his bad health. He wrote for the press, ever and always; in his bed, in 
 his bath, in his study; pouring forth a turbid tide of hatred and invective, 
 inciting the Convention and the People to kill, always to kill, the enemies of 
 the Republic. He took no rest himself, nor granted rest to others. Living 
 always in fear of assassination, his house was closely guarded, and he was 
 difficult of access. Charlotte Corday knew nothing of this, but must have 
 suspected it. She was stopped at the entrance of the house by the porter's 
 wife, but swiftly passing the lodge, she was ascending the stairs when 
 Marat's wife appeared on the floor above, and barred her further progress. 
 The altercation between the two women reached the ears of Marat, and he 
 called out to let the woman come in. Marat was in his bath ; a wooden board 
 placed in front of him was covered with letters and papers, while beside him, 
 on a stool, was a large pewter inkstand. His body was wrapped in a bath 
 sheet, and he sat writing, with his head, shoulders, and arms out of the water. 
 Charlotte Corday entered, and stood beside him with her eyes modestly cast 
 down, waiting till he should interrogate her. He demanded news of Nor- 
 mandy, whence she had come, and which she had promised to give him in a 
 letter she had sent to him that morning; and he wrote down from her lips the 
 names of the Girondist deputies who had fled from the National Convention, 
 and taken refuge in the city of Caen. When he had finished: "It is well," 
 he said, "before eight days shall have passed, they will all have gone to 
 the guillotine." His hour had come. Plucked suddenly from her bosom, a 
 bright blade flashed up and down, striking Marat once in the chest under the 
 
 139
 
 I40 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 clavicle, piercing the lungs, and cutting the carotid artery. He gave one cry 
 for help: "A moi, chere amie, a moi!" and fell back. Charlotte Corday 
 let the bloody knife fall to the ground, and drew back into the shadow of the 
 window curtains. At the cry of Marat, his wife and the man-servant, Laurent, 
 rushed into the room, and the latter, seizing a chair, struck a blow at 
 Charlotte Corday which felled her to the ground. At the noise, people in 
 the street stopped and entered the house, which soon became full of people. 
 The National Guards arrived, a surgeon was sent for. They placed the body 
 of Marat on his bed, but he never moved or spoke again. For an instant he 
 turned his glazing eyes on Simonne Evrard, who was weeping at his side, 
 and then they closed for ever. 
 
 Authorities: Carlyle's "French Revolution"; Girardin, " Histoire des Girondins."

 
 No. 65 
 
 The Angel of Assassination 
 The Death of Charlotte Corday (Marie-Anne-Charlotte 
 Corday d'Armans). Born at St. Saturnin, near Seez, 
 in Normandy in 1768. Died 17th July 1793. 
 
 A 
 
 FTER the death of Marat by her hand, Charlotte Corday was taken 
 to the Abbaye Prison, and on Wednesday morning following the 
 crime, the thronged Palais de Justice and the Revolutionary Tribunal 
 saw her appear before them. A strange murmur passed through the Hall at 
 the sight of her calm, beautiful face. Fouquier-Tinville, the Public Prosecutor, 
 was ready with all his documents, the cutler of the Palais Royal was there to 
 testify that he had sold her the fatal knife. " Do you recognize this knife?" 
 asked the President of the Tribunal of the accused. "Yes," she answered. 
 " What made you commit this crime?" She replied: " I saw my country on 
 the point of being overwhelmed by civil war: I was persuaded that Marat 
 was the chief cause of the perils and calamities of France, and I gave my own 
 life in order that I might take his and save my country." " Name the persons 
 who induced you to commit this act." " No one knew of my purpose. I 
 deceived my Father and my Aunt as to the object of my journey to Paris. 
 No one influenced me. The thought, the design, the action were mine alone." 
 Question: " Did you come from Caen with the express intention of killing 
 Marat." Answer: "I came solely for that purpose." There was no more to 
 be said. The sentence of the court was death as a murderess. 
 
 On the same evening at about half-past seven o'clock, the whole city was 
 alive with curiosity and terror. A cart issued forth from the gate of the 
 Conciergerie. Seated in it was a young, fair maiden dressed in the red smock 
 of murder: beautiful, calm, and full of youthful life, journeying to her death. 
 Alone in the world. Many of the crowd bared their heads as the cart passed. 
 Others of the baser sort yelled and screamed foul abuse at her. The cart could 
 progress but slowly, and Sanson the executioner heard her sigh. " You find it 
 alongjourney?" heasked. "Ah yes,"she answered serenely, " but weare sure 
 to get there at last." As they approached the scaffold Sanson stepped in front 
 of her to prevent her seeing the guillotine, but she bent forward saying: " I 
 have a good right to be curious for I have never seen one before." The red 
 sun dipped behind the Champs Elysees as she mounted the steps of the 
 scaffold. The executioners were proceeding to bind her feet and she resisted, 
 thinking it was meant as an insult, but on a word of explanation she sub- 
 mitted with a cheerful apology. At the last, all being now ready, one of the 
 men roughly removed the handkerchief from her neck, and she hastened 
 herself to place her neck beneath the axe. The head was struck off, rolled 
 and rebounded. One of the executioner's assistants (whose shameful name 
 was Legros) thinking to please the people took the fair pale head and slapped 
 
 141 X
 
 142 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 it on the check. " It is most true," wrote an EngHshman who was present, 
 "he struck the cheek insultingly. I saw it with my eyes, but the Police 
 imprisoned him for it." Thus she died at the age of nearly twenty-five. Her 
 body was first interred at the Madeleine, but was afterwards removed to the 
 Cemetery of Montparnasse. 
 
 "Tout comprendre, c'est tout pardonner" (Mme. de Stael). 
 
 " Ah! judge her gently who so grandly erred. 
 
 So swiftly smote and so serenely fell; 
 When the wild Anarch's hurrying drums were heard. 
 
 The frenzy fired the finer souls as well." 
 
 " La France a la hache abandonne ta tete. 
 C'est au monstre egorge qu'on prepare une fete 
 
 Parmi ses compagnons, tous dignes de son sort. 
 Oh ! quel noble dedain fit sourire ta bouche, 
 Quand un brigand, vengeur de ce brigand farouche, 
 
 Crut te faire palir aux menaces de mort. 
 
 "Belle, jeune, brillante, aux bourreaux amenee, 
 Tu semblais t'avancer sur le char d'hymenee; 
 
 Ton front resta paisible et ton regard serein. 
 Calme sur I'echafaud, tu meprisas la rage 
 D'un peuple abject, servile, et fecond en outrage, 
 
 Et qui se croit encore et libre et souverain." 
 
 Andre Ch^nier. 
 
 Authorities: Lamartine, " Histoire des Girondins " ; Carlyle's "French Revolution."
 
 Marie Anhhnktii:. 
 
 {From a print,) 
 liy permission of I.onl Ronald Sutherland Goivcr
 
 No. 66 
 
 The Death of Marie Antoinette, Queen of France. 
 Born 1755. Died 1793. 
 
 THE so-called trial was over. "Have you anything to say?" asked 
 the President of the Revolutionary Court. The Queen shook her 
 head. What indeed was there to say? Her death was determined on. 
 Her crime was, that she was the daughter of a powerful monarch and had 
 been Queen of France. Such things were incompatible with the existence of 
 a free and fraternal Republic. It was four o'clock on Wednesday morning, 
 i6th October 1793, as she went down the stone steps, lighted by the torches 
 of the guard, to the prison of the Conciergerie beneath the Palais de Justice, 
 where she had been arraigned. There in the condemned cell she asked for 
 paper, pen, and ink, and wrote her last letter, an appeal to her sister-in-law, 
 the Princess Elizabeth, to be a mother to her children. This letter never 
 reached its destination. The poor Princess Elizabeth, a short time after, 
 herself mounted the steps of the scaffold, and the letter was found after the 
 Terror among the papers of Couthon, to whom it had been given by Fouquier- 
 Tinville as a literary curiosity. Constitutional priests attended to offer her 
 religious consolation, but she refused their services, since to her thinking 
 they were not priests. "I thank you," she said, "but my religion forbids 
 me to receive God's pardon through any priest who is not of the Roman 
 Communion." By order, however, one of these Constitutional priests accom- 
 panied her to the scaffold. She is said to have received benediction and 
 absolution from one of the non-juring priests of her own communion from a 
 window in the Rue St. Honore, which she passed on her way to the place of 
 execution. At five o'clock a.m. the "assembly " was beaten in all the Sections. 
 At seven the whole force of the National Guard was under arms. Cannon 
 were placed on the bridges and on all the cross roads between the Palais 
 de Justice and the Place de la Revolution, where her husband, Louis XVI, 
 had suffered before her. By ten o'clock patrols were circulating through the 
 streets, and all traffic was stopped on the road by which the Queen would 
 pass. Marie Antoinette left the Conciergerie at eleven o'clock and entered 
 the tumbril which was to take her to the scaffold, accompanied by the official 
 priest and surrounded by a guard of cavalry. She had on a morning gown 
 of white "pique." She had herself cut short her long hair, and wore on her 
 head a white cap confined by a black ribbon. Her hands were tied behind 
 her back. She regarded with indifference the armed force which, to the number 
 of some thirty thousand men, formed a double hedge in the streets through 
 which she passed. There could be perceived in her expression neither pride 
 nor humiliation. She was quite calm and paid no heed to the cries of "Vive 
 la Republique," and "a bas la tyrannic," which greeted her progress. She 
 paid no attention to the priest by her side, but anxiously scanned the windows 
 of the Rue St. Honore, from one of which she hoped to receive the last blessing 
 
 '43
 
 144 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 and absolution of the Church. On arriving in the Place de la Revolution, 
 where the scaffold was erected, she turned her eyes on the Tuileries Gardens 
 where in olden times she had been so happy, and it was noticed that she then 
 became pale and showed signs of emotion. The priest and the executioner 
 helped her to descend from the tumbril by supporting her elbows, but she 
 ascended alone the steps that led to the guillotine with undaunted courage. 
 For a few moments she knelt in prayer: then rising, "Adieu," she said, 
 "Adieu, my dear children, for the last time." At a quarter past twelve her head 
 fell. The executioner held it up and showed it to the people, amid cries from 
 a thousand throats of "Vive la Republique." After the head was displayed 
 by the executioner three young women were observed dipping their handker- 
 chiefs in the streaming blood of the deceased Queen. They were instantly 
 arrested. The corpse was afterwards buried in a grave filled with quicklime 
 in the churchyard of the Madeleine, where her husband's body had been 
 buried in like manner. 
 
 The last letter of Marie Antoinette, Queen of France, to Princess 
 
 Elisabeth, 1793. 
 
 16 Octobre 4^ du matin. C'est h. vous ma Soeur que j'ecris pour la 
 derniere fois. Je viens d'etre condamnee non pas a une mort honteuse, elle 
 ne Test que pour les criminels, mais a aller rejoindre votre frere; comme lui 
 innocente, j'espere montrer la meme fermete que lui dans ces derniers 
 moments. Je suis calme comme on Test quand la conscience ne reproche 
 rien; j'ai un profond regret d'abandonner mes pauvres enfants; vous savez 
 que je n'existois que pour eux, et vous, ma bonne et tendre sceur: vous qui 
 avez par votre amitie tout sacrifie pour etre avec nous; dans quelle position 
 je vous laisse! J'ai appris par le plaidoyer meme du proces que ma fille etoit 
 separee de vous. Helas! la pauvre enfant, je n'ose pas lui ecrire, elle ne 
 receveroit pas ma lettre. Je ne sais meme pas si celle-ci vous parviendra; 
 recevez pour eux deux ici ma benediction. J'espere qu'un jour, lorsqu'ils 
 seront plus grands ils pourront se reunir avec vous, et jouir en entier de 
 vos tendres soins, qu'ils pensent tous deux a ce que je n'ai cesse de leur 
 inspirer; que les principes et I'execution exacte de ses devoirs sont la premiere 
 base de la vie; que leur amitie et leur confiance mutuelle, en feront le bonheur; 
 que ma fille sente qu'a I'age qu'elle a, elle doit toujours aider son frere par les 
 conseils que I'experience qu'elle aura de plus que lui et son amitie pourront 
 lui inspirer: que mon fils a son tour, rende a sa sceur tous les soins, les 
 services que I'amitie peut inspirer; qu'ils sentent en fin tous deux que dans 
 quelque position ou ils pourront se trouver, ils ne seront vraiment heureux 
 que par leur union; qu'ils prennent exemple de nous, combien dans nos 
 malheurs notre amitie nous a donne de consolations, et dans le bonheur on 
 joint doublement quand on peut le partager avec un ami, et ou en trouver de
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE 145 
 
 plus tendre, de plus cher que dans sa propre famille? que mon fils n'oublie 
 jamais les derniers mots de son pere que je lui repete expressement; qu'il ne 
 cherche jamais a venger notre mort. J'ai a vous parler d'une chose bien 
 penible a mon coeur: je sais combien cet enfant doit vous avoir fait de la 
 peine; pardonnez-lui, ma chere soeur; pensez a I'age qu'il a, et combien il 
 est facile de faire dire a un enfant ce qu'on veut, et meme ce qu'il ne comprend 
 pas; un jour viendra j'espere ou il ne sentira que mieux tout le prix de vos 
 bontes, et de votre tendresse pour tous deux. II me reste a vous confier encore 
 mes dernieres pensees, j'aurois voulu les ecrire des le commencement du 
 proces, mais, outre qu'on ne me laissoit pas ecrire, la marche en a ete si rapide 
 que je n'en aurois reellement pas eu le terns. Je meurs dans la religion 
 catholique, apostolique et romaine, dans celle de mes peres, dans celle ou j'ai 
 eteelevee, etquej'ai toujours professee; n'ayantaucune consolation spirituelle 
 a attendre, ne sachant pas s'il existe encore ici des pretres de cette religion, et 
 meme le lieu ou je suis les exnoseroit trop s'ils y entroient une fois. Je 
 demande sincerement pardon a Dieu de toutes les fautes que j'ai pu commettre 
 depuis que j'existe. J'espere que dans sa bonte il voudra bien recevoir mes 
 derniers voeux, ainsi que ceux que je fais depuis longtems, pour qu'il veuille 
 bien recevoir mon ame dans sa misericorde et sa bonte. Je demande pardon 
 k tout ceux que je connois et a vous, ma soeur en particulier, de toutes les 
 peines que sans le vouloir j'aurois pu vous causer. Je pardonne tous mes 
 ennemis le mal qu'ils m'ont fait. Je dis ici adieu a mes tantes et a tous mes 
 freres et soeurs. J'avois des amis ; I'idee d'en etre separee pour jamais, et leurs 
 peines, sont un des plus grands regrets que j'emporte en mourant, qu'ils 
 sachent du moins que jusqu'a mon dernier moment j'ai pense a eux. Adieu ! 
 ma bonne et tendre soeur: puisse cette lettre vous arriver! pensez toujours a 
 moi; je vous embrasse de tout mon coeur ainsi que ces pauvres et chers 
 enfants: Mon Dieu! qu'il est dechirant de les quitter pour toujours. Adieu! 
 Adieu ! je ne vais plus m'occuper que de mes devoirs spirituels. Comme je ne 
 suis pas libre dans mes actions on m'amenera peut-etre un pretre, mais je 
 proteste ici que je ne lui dirai pas un mot et que je le traiterai comme un etre 
 absolument etranger. 
 
 Authorities: Carlyle's "French Revolution"; and a pamphlet "Compte rendu aiix sans 
 culottes de la R^publique Francjaise par tr^s haute, tres puissante, et trfes expeditive Dame 
 Guillotine, Dame du Carrousel de la place de la Revolution, de la Grive et autres-lieux."
 
 iMaiiame Roland.
 
 No. 67 
 
 The Death of Marie Jeanne Phlipon, Madame Roland 
 de la Platiere. Born 1754.. Died 8th November 
 
 1793- 
 
 MADAME ROLAND is shown to us during her confinement in 
 the Conciergerie by Riouffe in his " Memoires sur les Prisons." 
 He says: "Jeanne Marie Phlipon spoke to me often at the grate; 
 we were all attentive round her in a sort of astonished admiration. She ex- 
 pressed herself with a purity of language, with a harmony, such that the ear 
 could never have enough. Her conversation was serious, but not cold; 
 coming from the mouth of a beautiful woman, it was as frank and courageous 
 as the words of a great man." And yet her maid said: " Before you she 
 collects her strength, but in her own room she will sit for hours, leaning on 
 the window and weeping." For five months she was kept in prison, uncertain 
 as to her fate, and it was during this time that she wrote the Memoirs which 
 are so well known. " But now," says Riouffe, "on the 8th November 1793, 
 clad in white, with her long black hair hanging down to her girdle, she is 
 gone to the judgment-bar." Her sentence of death was soon pronounced. 
 " I thank you," she said to her judges, with a slight inclination of the head, 
 " I thank you, for having found me worthy to share the fate of those great 
 men whom you have previously assassinated." On her way back to the 
 prison she passed some friends and fellow prisoners in the crowd, and, 
 smiling on them, she made a gesture with her finger round her neck, to 
 convey to them that she was condemned to execution. Short space was 
 allotted her. On that same day she had to travel her last road. Along with 
 her in the cart was old Monsieur Lamarque, who had formerly been em- 
 ployed in the making of assignats, and she did her best to cheer him. The 
 scaffold had been erected close to a great clay statue of Liberty, which had 
 been erected by the Republic; arriving there, Madame Roland got out of 
 the cart, and the executioner took her by the arm to make her mount the 
 steps first. "Grant me a favour," she said. "Let this gentleman, 
 M. Lamarque, die before me. The sight of my blood would cause him to 
 suffer twice over." Sanson, the executioner, somewhat reluctantly consented. 
 After the execution of Lamarque, she lightly mounted the steps of the scaffold 
 and stood besides the guillotine. Then gazing at the statue : "O Liberty," 
 she said, "what crimes are committed in thy name!" (" O Liberte, que de 
 crimes on commet en ton nom!") She delivered herself to the executioners, 
 and in another minute her beautiful head fell into the sack. On the i6th day 
 of the same month, some four leagues from Rouen, near Bourg Baudoin, in 
 Monsieur Normand's Avenue, there was found leaning against a tree, in a 
 sitting posture, with a sword cane run through his heart, the body of a 
 vigorous, wrinkled old man, stiff in death. On his breast this writing : 
 "Whoever thou art that findest me lying here, respect my remains; they 
 
 H7
 
 148 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 are those of a man who consecrated his whole life to being of use to his 
 fellow creatures, and who has died as he lived, virtuous and honest. Not 
 fear, but indignation has led me to this end, on learning that my wife had 
 been murdered; I wished to remain no longer on an earth polluted with such 
 crimes, jean Marie Roland de la Platiere." 
 
 "To die is landing on some silent shore. 
 Where billows never beat nor tempests roar. 
 Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 'tis o'er." 
 
 Aulhorities: Carlyle's " French Revolution"; Le Notre

 
 No. 68 
 
 The Death of Madame du Barry. Born i yth August 
 174.3. Died November 1793. 
 
 ARRIVE au Pont-au-Change, j'y trouvai une assez grande foule 
 rassemblee. Je n'eus pas besoin de demander I'explication de ce 
 rassemblement; elle ne se fit pas attendre. J'entendis au loin des 
 cris dechirants, et aussitot je vis sortir de la cour du Palais de Justice cette 
 fatale charrette que Barrere dans un de ces acces de gaiete qui lui etaient si 
 familiers, avait appelee "la biere des vivants." Une femme etait sur cette 
 charrette qui approcha lentement de I'endroit ou je m'etais arrete. Sa figure, 
 son attitude, ses gestes, exprimaient le desespoir arrive au plus haut 
 paroxysme. Alternativement d'un rouge fonce et d'une paleur effrayante, se 
 debattant au milieu de I'executeur et de ses deux aides, qui avaient peine a 
 la maintenir sur son banc, et poussant de ces cris affreux que je disais tout 
 a I'heure, elle invoquait tour a tour leur pitie et celle des assistants. C'etait 
 Madame du Barry que Ton conduisait au supplice. 
 
 Entierement vetue de blanc, comme Marie-Antoinette qui I'avait, quel- 
 ques semaines auparavant, precedee sur la meme route, ses cheveux, du 
 plus beau noir, formaient un contraste pareil a celui que presente le drap 
 funeraire jete sur un cercueil. Coupes sur la nuque, ainsi que cela se pratique 
 en pareil cas, ceux de devant etaient ramenes a chaque instant sur le front 
 par ses mouvements desordonnes, et lui cachaient une partie du visage. 
 "Au nom du ciel, mes amis," s'ecriait-elle au milieu des sanglots et des 
 larmes: "Au nom du ciel, sauvez-moi; je n'ai jamais fait de mal a personne; 
 sauvez-moi!" 
 
 La frayeur delirante de cette malheureuse femme produisait une telle 
 impression parmi le peuple qu'aucun de ceux qui etaient venus la pour 
 I'insulter a ses derniers moments ne se sentit le courage de lui adresser une 
 parole d'injure. Autour d'elle tout semblait stupefait, et Ton n'entendait 
 d'autres cris que les siens; mais ses cris etaient si per9ants qu'ils auraient, 
 je n'en doute pas, domine ceux de la multitude, si elle en eut profere. J'ai 
 dit tout k I'heure, je crois, que personne ne s'etait senti le courage de I'in- 
 jurier. Si fait. Un homme, un seul, vetu avec une certaine recherche, eleva 
 la voix au moment ou, la charrette passant vis-a-vis de moi, la malheureuse, 
 toujours s'adressant au peuple, s'ecriait: "La vie, la vie! qu'on me laisse 
 la vie et je donne tous mes biens a la nation." " Tu ne donnes a la nation 
 que ce qui lui appartient," dit cet homme, " puisque le tribunal vient de les 
 confisquer, tes biens." Un charbonnier, qui etait place devant lui se retourne 
 et lui donne un soufilet. J'en eprouvai un sentiment de plaisir. On salt que 
 pendant toute la route elle continua a pousser les memes cris, et a s'agiter 
 dans des convulsions frenetiques pour fuir la mort qui I'avait deja saisie; on 
 sait aussi qu'arrivee k I'echafaud, il fallut user de violence pour I'attacher a 
 la fatale planche, et que ses derniers mots furent ceux-ci: "Grace! gracel 
 
 149 U
 
 ISO A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 Monsieur le bourreau! Encore une minute, monsieur le bourreau! encore — " 
 et tout fut dit. 
 
 Les petites marionettes 
 Font, font, font, 
 Trois petits tours 
 Et puis s'en vont. 
 
 Note. — Madame du Barry avait les cheveux blonds en ses jours de quietude, chS.tatns 
 lors de son arrestation, noirs aprfes sa captivity ; c'est done qu'elle les avait naturellement 
 de couleur tr^s foncde, et qu'elle faisait usage, pour les blondir, de ces eaux oxyg^n^es 
 d^colorantes que nos ^l^g<-intes emploient aujouid'hui presque g^n^ralement. (VVallon.) 
 
 Jeanne Bdqus, as her birth certificate shows, was the illegitimate daughter of Anne 
 B^qus and Jean-Jacques Gomard. She was born on the 19th August 1743 at Vaucouleurs. 
 The false birth certificate fabricated on her marriage with Guillaume du Barry on the 
 ist September 1768, gives the date of birth erroneously as in 1746, and calls her Jeanne 
 Vaubernier, which was also the name by which she was designated in the warrant for 
 her execution. She went to the scaffold in tlie same cart as her bankers, the brothers 
 Vandenyver, whose sole crime was the having furnished her, in the course of business, with 
 a letter of credit on England. 
 
 The poor woman was half mad with terror, and they bade her pray, but as she only 
 continued to sob and groan and ask for mercy, they prayed for her and for themselves, in 
 the cart, as they passed to the guillotine. 
 
 Authorities: Carlyle's " French Revolution"; Le Notre, " Vieux Papiers"; 
 Wallon, " Histoire du tribunal r^volutionnaire."
 
 Danton.
 
 Nos. 69 and 70 
 
 The Death of Danton and of Camille Desmoulins, 
 
 5th April 1794. 
 
 AT four o'clock the assistants of the executioner arrived to tie the 
 hands of the condemned men and cut their hair. Resistance was 
 useless. Danton said: "They are preparing us as a spectacle for 
 the foolish crowd, but we shall appear in a different light to posterity." 
 Camille Desmoulins could not bring himself to believe that his friend 
 Robespierre could send to the scaffold a man such as he was, and to the last 
 moment he hoped for a reprieve. He alone among the condemned offered a 
 desperate resistance when they attempted to tie his hands, and he had to be 
 thrown to the ground by main force while they tied him. Then, lying helpless, 
 he begged Danton to take from his pocket and put into his hand a long lock 
 of his wife's hair, which he had kept concealed, so that in dying he might to 
 the last moment touch something that pertained to her. Danton did this for 
 him and then was himself bound. One single large cart contained the four- 
 teen human beings who went to their death on that day. As the cart went 
 along, the people pointed out the figure of the great Danton conspicuous 
 among his fellow sufferers. Camille Desmoulins alone ceased not for a 
 moment to call on the bystanders. " Save me, save me! " he cried, " I am he 
 whom you know so well. I am Camille Desmoulins. It was I who called 
 you to arms. From me it was that you had the tricolour cockade that you all 
 wear. Do not let them murder me." Danton, who sat by him, put his hand 
 on his shoulder and said: "Cease, my dear friend. It is useless. Do not 
 humiliate yourself by calling on this vile crowd." Herault de Seychelles was 
 the first to descend from the cart, and before doing so, with his hands tied 
 behind his back, he extended his neck to kiss Danton, but the executioner's 
 men roughly pushed him away. "Cowards! cruel cowards!" said Danton, 
 "you cannot at any rate prevent our heads from meeting in the sack! " Then 
 followed Camille Desmoulins. He had recovered his presence of mind at 
 the last moment and was calm and dignified; between his fingers he held 
 tight pressed his wife's hair. He approached the guillotine fresh with the 
 blood of his friend Herault. " Such is the end," said he, "of the first apostles 
 of Liberty." Then to the executioner: "Give this lock of hair to my wife's 
 mother." These were his last words. Danton mounted last the steps of the 
 scaffold. He looked disdainfully around on the spectators, as ir pitying them. 
 One moment of weakness only attested his common humanity. Referring to 
 hisyoung wife he said: "Ah! my beloved, I shall never see thee more"; then 
 roughly: " Come, Danton, no weakness." To the executioner he said: "You 
 will show my head to the people, 'Tis worth looking at." He bowed his head 
 beneath the blade. "Thus passed," as Carlyle wrote, "this gigantic mass 
 of valour, ostentation, fury, affection, wild revolutionary force, and manhood 
 
 151
 
 152 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 — this Danton — to his unknown home. He was of Arcis-sur-Aube, born of 
 good farmer people there. He walked straight his own wild road whither it 
 led him. He may live for some generations in the memory of men." 
 
 Authority: Carlyle's " French Revolution,''
 
 Ca.mii.i.l Dksmoili.n^. 
 From an engraving.
 
 An Indian Si'iiki:. 
 
 Frout an itiustration in licrniers Tjovels.
 
 No. 71 
 
 Death of a Hindoo Widow by Suttee, as described by 
 Mr. Thos. Twining in 1798. 
 
 HAVING hired a small covered boat rowed by four men and steered 
 by a fifth, I left Calcutta on a visit to my friend Mr. Fletcher at 
 Santipore, sixty miles higher up the Ganges. In the evening, as 
 the tide was running up, the boatmen pushed off into the stream and began 
 rowing. Soon after dark I crept under the low flat roof of my little boat and 
 went to sleep on a mattress that my servants had spread for me. Next morning 
 I got up soon after daybreak and went to the fore part of the boat to enjoy the 
 coolness of the morning air. When I had been here about half an hour I 
 noticed a group of persons on the shore to our left, and on noticing them 
 more attentively discovered a pile of wood amongst them which suggested a 
 painful solution of what was passing, and the opinion of my boatmen removed 
 all doubt. It was certainly a Suttee, or the burning of a Hindoo widow, which 
 was about to take place. I accordingly directed the boat to be steered to the 
 shore, and landed amongst them close to the body of the deceased man, which 
 had been laid close to the edge of the water where some persons of his family 
 were washing it. The dead man must have been about thirty-five years of 
 age; he was very tall and reduced almost to a skeleton. He was lying on his 
 back, with the knees up, and was naked save for a cloth round his middle. 
 Walking a few yards up the shore I saw the pile. It was about four and a half 
 feet high, something less in width and some five and a half in length. The 
 bottom part was composed of faggots, on which was a thick layer of dried palm 
 leaves and stalks of sugar-cane. While I was standing there the body was 
 brought on a bedstead and placed on the pile, the head to the south, the face 
 turned to the Ganges. Looking now to my right I perceived the unfortunate 
 widow. She was sitting between her two young children on the west side of 
 the pile ; a white cloth was over her head, but her face was partially visible 
 from where I stood. So she sat, her elbows rested upon her knees, her hands 
 supporting her head. Her eyes, half closed, were fixed on the ground without 
 taking notice of anything. Several women were standing or sitting behind 
 her, but no tear was shed or word spoken. After a few moments the woman rose, 
 and some Bramins, stepping forward, put into her hand a cloth containing 
 something, and then ranged themselves partly behind her, partly by her side, 
 some of the women doing the same. In this movement I lost sight of the 
 children, who must have been quietly removed by some of the family. Followed 
 by the Bramins and the women she now began to walk slowly round the circle, 
 distributing as she went the contents of her cloth. She would necessarily pass 
 close to me and I determined to attract her attention as she passed me, and to 
 be guided by the result as to future interference. When therefore she came 
 to where I was standing I stepped a little forward and held out my hand towards 
 her, as expressive of a desire to share the farewell offering she was giving 
 
 '53
 
 154 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 away. The unexpected appearance of a European, whom she now saw for 
 the first time in all probability in her life, undoubtedly surprised her. She 
 had not raised her eyes from the ground to look at the persons she had passed, 
 but my advancing, together with my dress, caused her to look at me while she 
 put a little burnt rice into my hand. She appeared to be twenty years of age, 
 with the regular delicate features common to the native women of India. 
 Having received her rice as graciously as I could, I allowed her to pass on. 
 I considered, however, what had occurred as so favourable that I resolved to 
 speak to her as she came to me again, for I understood she was to walk round 
 the pile three times. Having proceeded slowly round the circle she approached 
 me a second time. I again advanced as she approached, and having again 
 received a few grains of rice which she seemed quite prepared to give me, I 
 expressed my grief at her intention and entreated her to relinquish it for the 
 sake of her young children, for whom as well as herself, I promised provision 
 and protection. Although she said nothing, I thought her look seemed to 
 express thankfulness for the propositon she had heard. I had not time to say 
 more as she was obliged to move on. Having once more completed her round 
 and come to where I stood she, herself, turned to put some of the rice into my 
 hand. I eagerly seized the last opportunity and promised her a pension for life 
 and provision for her children if she would desist. Though her head remained 
 inclined toward the ground, she looked at me while I spoke and I felt that 
 had she been free from the fatal influence which surrounded her, it would not 
 have been difficult to turn her from her purpose. Pressed on as before, she 
 averted her face and moved forward. The procession having reached the head 
 of the pile, two men laying hold of her raised her in their arms and laid her 
 close to the back of her deceased husband, her face towards him. A rope was 
 passed over them, binding together the living and the dead. Dry combustible 
 materials were heaped over them, and I entirely lost sight of them both. When 
 the pile had thus been raised eighteen inches or more, two long bamboos were 
 fastened to pegs in the ground on one side, and being bent over were depressed 
 on the other side to be attached to other pegs, where they were secured. The 
 pressure exerted on the pile by this means was therefore considerable and 
 would effectually prevent the woman from rising. Indeed it seemed to me 
 doubtful whether she might not be smothered from the quantity of stuff piled 
 upon her. There was, however, scarcely time for this for fire was at once 
 applied to the head and foot of the pile amidst the shouts of the people. The 
 ignition was immediate, and to increase the blaze liquid butter was poured on 
 the top. There was no shouting after the first exclamation on lighting, but 
 the noise was still considerable, seeming to be accidental rather than to conceal 
 the shrieks of the woman. Indeed the way in which she was covered up and 
 pressed down would render her cries very feeble, nor if they reached the ears 
 of the bystanders would they excite any pity, for I saw not a single counten- 
 ance that expressed such a feeling. The flames were so fierce that they must,
 
 A HINDOO WIDOW 155 
 
 as far as I could judge, have reached the poor woman in less than two minutes 
 after the pile was lighted, and through their rapidly increasing progress must 
 soon have put an end to her sufferings. The whole pile was soon in one 
 general blaze, and there could be little doubt that the agonies of the wretched 
 widow were now over, when this desirable fact was rendered unquestionable 
 by a circumstance which occurred shortly after. This was an explosion in the 
 pile like the report of a pistol. Had this happened sooner I should have 
 concluded that gunpowder had been put among the materials to accelerate 
 their combustion. The noise was followed by clamorous expressions of satis- 
 faction amongst the spectators. Upon my asking a Hindoo near me what all 
 this meant, he said that the skull of one of the dead had burst, and that the 
 people had shouted because this was a favourable omen. In a few moments 
 more there was a similar explosion, followed by a like burst of satisfaction 
 round the whole circle. The pile was soon after reduced to a burning heap of 
 fragments and ashes about two feet high, and not knowing what further 
 horrors this might disclose, I made my way through the people and returned 
 to my boat, but was quite unable to partake of the breakfast which my servants 
 had prepared for me, nor could I easily dismiss from my thoughts the spectacle 
 which I had seen.
 
 ._^?^^ ^^i^>^7?^('^Orty. 
 
 zvn- nrt^^*'>n*
 
 No. 72 
 
 The Death of George Washington. Born in Virginia 
 of the United States of America, the 22nd of 
 February 1732. Died at Mount Vernon on the 
 Potomac, the 14th December 1799. 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON may be said to havedied twice: once at the 
 close of the War of Independence, his Great Adventure, when he 
 took leave of his army and retired into private life, and next when 
 he finally quitted this mortal scene. 
 
 In April 1783 peace was proclaimed, the war was over; and in November 
 the principal officers of the American army assembled at Fraunce's Tavern 
 in New York to take a final leave of their great general, George Washington. 
 On entering the room the General, finding himself surrounded by his old 
 companions-in-arms, who had shared with him so many scenes of hardship 
 and danger, who had humbled the pride of England and brought the great 
 war to a close, was overcome with emotion and at first could hardly speak. 
 At length, filling a glass of wine and turning upon his comrades a benignant 
 but saddened countenance, he said: " With a heart full of love and gratitude 
 I now take leave of you, most devoutly wishing that your latter days may be 
 as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been glorious and 
 honourable." Having drunk this farewell benediction, he added: '* I cannot 
 come to each of you to take my leave, but I shall be obliged if each one of 
 you will come and take my hand." General Knox, who was nearest, was the 
 first to advance. Washington, affected even to tears, grasped his hand and 
 then held him in a brotherly embrace. Then one by one he took leave of 
 all the others. Not a word more was spoken, and then those war-worn 
 veterans of the winter camps and summer battlefields silently followed their 
 great commander as he left the room and proceeded on foot, through the 
 lines of infantry, to the Whitehall ferry, where a barge awaited him. Having 
 entered the boat, he turned, and taking off his hat, he waved them a final 
 adieu. In silence they watched the barge until an intervening point hid it 
 from sight and he was gone: then in solemn silence they returned to the 
 place whence they came. There is an old, old book, " Le Morte d'Arthur," 
 done into English by Sir Thomas Malory, in which is told how King Arthur 
 bade cast away his sword Excalibur, and said farewell to the world, and to 
 Sir Bedivere, and the Knights of his Round Table; and this finds a touching 
 parallel in the passing from military life of George Washington. 
 
 The last scene of his life was yet to come. Sixteen years had passed 
 away, during which time he was for four years the President of the 
 United States of America, and the year 1799 found him contentedly living 
 in retirement as a country gentleman on his estate of Mount Vernon, on the 
 Potomac river. 
 
 >57 X
 
 158 
 
 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 George Washington had always been a man of great physical vigour, 
 and at the age of sixty-seven there was no indication of organic disease. On 
 a day in December he went for a ride round his estate ; it was cold, the snow was 
 falling, and he returned complaining of a chill. The next morning he had a 
 slight soreness of the throat, but went out in spite of it to mark trees for 
 felling. His hoarseness increased in the evening, but he made light of it, and 
 employed himself as usual in reading the newspaper and chatting to his wife. 
 Between two and three in the morning he awoke Mrs. Washington and told 
 her that he had great difficulty in breathing. She would have risen to call 
 a servant, but he would not allow her to do so, lest she should take cold. At 
 daybreak when the servant entered as usual to light the fire she was sent to 
 call Mr. Lear, the General's friend and secretary, who lived in the house. 
 The doctor was at once sent for and he bled the patient, applying such 
 external remedies as were usual. Later, the General called his wife, and 
 sent her to get two wills from his bureau: of these, he destroyed one 
 and gave the other to her to keep. He then said to Tobias Lear: "I find 
 I am going. My breath cannot last long. I believed from the first that this 
 disorder would prove fatal. Arrange my accounts: settle my books and 
 papers. Can you recollect anything that I should do?" Lear replied that he 
 knew of nothing, but that he hoped that the General was mistaken. 
 Washington smiled and said: " I am dying. It is a debt that we all have to 
 pay, and I am resigned to God's will." 
 
 He had faced life with a high, calm, victorious spirit, and now when 
 Fate knocked at the door, he faced death in like manner with an equal mind. 
 His motto was: " For God and my country. Deeds not words." 
 
 He lay for some hours longer, restless and suffering but quite calmly 
 and without complaint. Such remedies as were ordered by the physician he 
 took in silence. About ten o'clock he said to Lear with great effort : "I am just 
 going. Have me decently buried in not less than three days after my death. 
 Do you understand me?" Lear answered "Yes." " 'Tis well," he said. 
 A little later he felt his own pulse, and as he held his wrist, his countenance 
 changed; his hand dropped; his head fell back. Washington was dead. 
 By his will he set free every slave belonging to him. In 1786 he wrote to a 
 friend: "I never mean (unless special circumstances compel me to it) to 
 possess another slave by purchase; it being my will to see some plan adopted 
 by which slavery in this country may be abolished by law. It might prevent 
 much further mischief." 
 
 Authorities : Lives by Marshall, Sparks, Washington Irving, and Lodge.
 
 bClilLLER.
 
 No. 73 
 
 The Death of Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller. 
 Born at Marbach in Wiirtemberg, loth November 
 1759. Died at Jena 9th May 1805. 
 
 IN 1805 Schiller's health was undermined by his sad neglect of ordinary 
 precautions and his irregular modes of life: this was the more remark- 
 able as he had earlier in his career studied medicine for four years. 
 His lungs were delicate, and his brain disordered by overwork and over- 
 indulgence in the drinking of wine and strong coffee. He had explored, and 
 enjoyed to the full, the universe of human thought; he had tasted the 
 delights of success, but had nowhere found permanent contentment. Death 
 he had no reason to regard as a near event, but from his writings we can 
 easily perceive that its approach had been familiar to his contemplations. 
 The spring of 1805 was cold, bleak, and stormy, and with this inclemency 
 of weather Schiller fell ill, and on the 9th May his disorder reached a crisis. 
 Early in the morning of that day he became unconscious, and by degrees 
 delirious; but his friends were spared the pain of seeing him depart in 
 madness. The fiery canopy of physical suffering which had obscured his 
 faculties was drawn aside, and the spirit of Schiller looked forth in its 
 wonted serenity once again, before it passed away for ever. About noon his 
 delirium abated, and at four o'clock he fell into a deep slumber from which 
 he awoke in full possession of his senses. Restored to consciousness in that 
 hour, when the soul is cut off from human help, and Man must front the 
 King of Terrors with his own strength, Schiller did not fail in this final 
 time of trial. Feeling that his end was approaching he prepared to die with 
 that calm unpretending manliness which had marked the tenour of his life. 
 Of his family and friends he took a touching but tranquil farewell; he 
 ordered that his funeral should be private without pomp or parade. Some one 
 inquired how he felt, and he replied, "Calmer and calmer!" — simple but 
 memorable words, expressive of the mild heroism of the man. About six he 
 sank into a deep sleep; once for a moment he looked up and said: " Many 
 things are growing plain and clear to my understanding." Again he 
 closed his eyes, and the sleep grew deeper until it changed into that sleep 
 from which there is no awakening, and all that remained of the poet Schiller 
 was a lifeless form soon to be mingled with the clods of the valley. He was 
 buried the next day; the artists and students of the city, out of reverence for 
 the dead, bore his body to the grave. It was between midnight and one in 
 the morning when they approached the churchyard. The heavens were 
 clouded, and it was a stormy night; but as the bier was set down by the 
 graveside, the clouds split asunder, and the moon shining forth in peaceful 
 clearness threw her light on the coffin of the great poet. Thus from life to 
 death, and from death to life eternal, passed Friedrich Schiller. 
 
 Authorities: Carlyle; Lytton ; Minor. 
 159
 
 f 
 
 
 I.CIKI) Xlil.SON.
 
 No. 74 
 
 The Death of Nelson. Born 29th September 1758. 
 Died 2ist October 1805. 
 
 IT had been part of Nelson's prayer that the British fleet might be 
 distinguished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting 
 an example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing upon the 
 Redoubtable, supposing she had struck because her great guns were silent. 
 From this ship he received his death. A ball fired from her mizen-top struck 
 the epaulette on his left shoulder about a quarter after one just in the heat of 
 the action. He fell; and Hardy, who was a few paces from him, saw three 
 men raising him up. "They have done for me at last. Hardy," said he. " I 
 hope not," cried Hardy. " Yes," he replied, " my backbone is shot through." 
 Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed 
 as they were carrying him down the ladder that the tiller ropes, which had 
 been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should 
 be rove immediately. Then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took 
 out his handkerchief and covered his face and his stars. Had he but concealed 
 these badges of honour from the enemy, England perhaps would not have 
 had cause Ko receive with sorrow the news of the battle of Trafalgar. The 
 cockpit was crowded with wounded and dying men, over whose bodies he 
 was with some difficulty conveyed and laid upon a pallet in the midshipman's 
 berth. It was soon perceived upon examination that the wound was mortal; 
 this, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the Chaplain, 
 and the medical attendants. He himself being certain that no human care 
 could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him and attend to 
 those to whom he might be useful. " For," said he, "you can do nothing 
 for me." He became impatient to see Captain Hardy, and as that officer, 
 though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared that some fatal 
 cause prevented him and repeatedly cried: "Will no one bring Hardy to 
 me? He is surely dead." An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time 
 when Nelson received his wound before Hardy could come to him. " Well, 
 Hardy," said Nelson, "how goes the day with us?" "Very well," replied 
 Hardy, "ten ships have struck, but five of their van have tacked and show 
 an intention of bearing down upon the Victory. I have called two or three of 
 our fresh ships round and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing." "I 
 hope," said Nelson, " that none of our ships have struck." Hardy answered: 
 "There was no fear of that." Then and not till then Nelson spoke of himself. 
 " I am a dead man, Hardy," said he, " I am going fast. Come nearer to me. 
 Let my dear Lady Hamilton have my hair and all other things belonging to 
 me." By this time all feeling below the breast was gone, and Nelson, having 
 made the surgeon ascertain this, said to him: "You know I am gone. I know 
 it. I feel something rising in my heart," putting his hand to his left side, 
 "which tells me so." And upon the surgeon's inquiring whether his pain 
 
 161
 
 i62 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 was very great he replied: " So great that I wish I were dead. Yet," said he 
 in a lower voice, "one would like to live a little longer too." And after a 
 few minutes in the same undertone he added: "What would become of 
 poor Lady Hamilton if she knew my situation?" Next to his country, she 
 occupied his thoughts. Captain Hardy returned, and taking the hand of his 
 dying friend and commander congratulated him on having gained a complete 
 victory. How many of the enemy were taken he did not know, but fourteen 
 or fifteen at least. "That 's well," cried Nelson, " but I bargained for twenty," 
 and then in a stronger voice he said: "Anchor, Hardy; anchor." Hardy upon 
 this hinted that Admiral Collingwood would take upon himself the direction 
 of affairs. " Not while I live, Hardy," said the dying Nelson, ineffectually 
 endeavouring to raise himself from the bed; "do you anchor." Presently 
 calling Hardy back he said to him: " Don't throw me overboard"; and he 
 desired that he might be buried by his parents unless it should please the 
 King to order otherwise. Then reverting to his private feelings, "Take 
 care of my dear Lady Hamilton, Hardy; take care of poor Lady Hamilton. 
 Kiss me. Hardy," said he. Hardy knelt down and kissed his cheek, and 
 Nelson said: " Now I am satisfied. Thank God I have done my duty." He 
 expired at thirty minutes after four — three hours and a quarter after he had 
 received his wound. The most triumphant death is that of the martyr; the 
 most splendid that of the hero in the hour of victory; and if the chariot and 
 the horses of fire had been vouchsafed for Nelson's translation, he could not 
 have departed in a brighter blaze of glory. "The paths of glory lead but to 
 the grave." 
 
 Authority: Southey's " Life of Nelson."
 
 010 )i jVUS KH'K'I- ,):'>.(Ji=3.'i li;R'J> W.AJ)=f. ^ 
 
 The Rt. Hon. William I'li i.
 
 No. 75 
 
 The Death of WiHiam Pitt. Born 28th May 1759. 
 Died 23rd January 1806. Aged 47. 
 
 AUSTERLITZ killed him. He was at Bath when he received the 
 news. Tradition says that he was looking at a picture gallery 
 when it reached him. Hearing the furious gallop of a horse, " That 
 must be a courier," he exclaimed, "with news for me." When he had 
 opened the packet he said: "Heavy news indeed!" and asked for brandy. 
 From that day he failed visibly: still he did not abate his high hopes or his 
 unconquerable spirit. He was better he said, but wanted strength. Bath was 
 of no further use, he would return to the Bowling Green House at Putney. 
 There, in a spacious sunny room, he was destined to die. On the 9th of 
 January he set out, but so feeble was he that it took three days to compass 
 the journey. He arrived on the 12th; as he entered the house his eyes rested 
 on a map of Europe, " Roll up that map," he said, "it will not be wanted 
 these ten years." From that time he gradually declined. He could take little 
 or no nourishment. Early on the morning of the 22nd Tomline thought it his 
 duty to warn him that death was imminent and to offer the last sacrament. 
 Pitt had not strength for this, but he joined earnestly in prayer. He threw 
 himself, he said, on the mercy of God, and trusted that the innocence of his life 
 might plead for him ; the same thought which had solaced the last moments of 
 the Emperor Julian. He then bade a solemn farewell to Hester Stanhope, the 
 niece who had kept house for him. " Dear soul," he said, " I know she loves 
 me." All Wednesday night he was delirious. His wandering mind revolved 
 round the mission of Harrowby, whom he had sent to the Court of Berlin. 
 He constantly asked the direction of the wind: " East! that will do, that will 
 bring him quick," he murmured. At midnight the end was near; at half-past 
 four it came. A short time previously, with that strange recovery that so often 
 precedes death, he said with a clear voice: "Oh, my country! How I leave 
 my country! " After that last note of anguish he neither moved nor spoke 
 again. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM PITT 
 
 Now is the stately column broke, 
 The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, 
 The trumpet's silver sound is still. 
 The warder silent on the hill. 
 
 Walter Scott (Introduction to " Marmion "). 
 
 Authority: "William Pitt" by Lord Rosebery. 
 
 163
 
 Wakkkn 1 1 AM im;s. 
 
 /•'/ o»i an ciiiiyavifi^ hy S. Frecinan o/ iliv original pictinr /y J. /- Masgufn't-r.
 
 No. 76 
 
 The Death of Warren Hastings. Born 1732. 
 Died I 818. 
 
 ON the 19th January 1818, Hastings made the following entry in his 
 journal: " I have suffered from near a fortnight from an inflamma- 
 tion in the roof of my mouth, and an inability to eat solid food." 
 
 On 2ist May he wrote: "This is the third day on which I have been 
 affected with confused sounds as of distant multitudes: at times resembling 
 slow music." 
 
 On 13th July: "I took an airing in the coach with Mrs. Hastings. On 
 leaving it I was seized with giddiness. I sent for Mr. Haynes, who took from 
 me about seven ounces of blood. The bandage loosening, I lost much more." 
 
 19th July: "My health better, but strength much diminished. I dined 
 alone. Sat in the great chair much of the middle of the night." 
 
 20th July: "I awoke with my throat much swelled and a difficulty in 
 swallowing. I cannot recollect the loss of time, but ascribe the past events 
 of this day to weakness." Here the diary ends. Mr. Hastings grew per- 
 ceptibly worse from hour to hour, and all power of deglutition failed him. 
 He was very patient under his sufferings, and smiled with gentleness on the 
 anxious faces that were gathered round him, bidding them look up to God 
 in whom alone he trusted. On the 3rd August, nineteen days before he 
 died, he dictated a letter to an old and valued friend, Mr. S. Toone, asking 
 him to approach the Court of Directors of the East India Company to obtain 
 the favour of a continuance of his annuity to his wife, after his death. In 
 this letter the following passage occurs: "I impose upon myself the last 
 office of communication between you and me, to inform you that but a few 
 hours remain before we shall be separated for ever, and I was willing to 
 perform this with my own hand, but on a slight trial have found it beyond 
 my remaining powers, and the hand that writes this is as authentic and 
 equally dear to me as my own. The infliction that must end me is a total 
 privation of the function of deglutition, which is equivalent to the extremity 
 of hunger by the inability to take nourishment." 
 
 For many days he took no food whatever. Water obtained from a 
 particular and favourite spring was all that passed his lips, and even this he 
 only retained in his mouth for its coolness, all power of swallowing being 
 gone, and any attempt to do so being attended by distressing convulsions. 
 At length nature gave way: "I am going at last," he whispered, "and oh! 
 I am grateful." Then after a silence: " You do not know what I suffer. God 
 bless you, my children! I leave you to Marian's care " (Marian was his wife). 
 Having said this, he drew a handkerchief over his face, and when they 
 removed it he was dead. 
 
 Of three great men in history a like action is recorded at the last moment. 
 Socrates, after he had drunk the hemlock, covered his face; Pompey, on 
 
 165 Y
 
 1 66 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 receiving his death wound, veiled his countenance; and Julius Caesar, stricken 
 down by Brutus, drew his mantle over his head. 
 
 It was the 22nd of August 1818 when Warren Hastings died at Dayles- 
 ford, the home of his ancestors, in Worcestershire. He was certainly one of 
 the ablest men of the eighteenth century — few human beings have been more 
 devotedly loved, and he was probably one of the sweetest tempered and most 
 patient men who ever lived. 
 
 Authorities: Gleig; Malleson; Lyall.
 
 Jamks, First Karl of Mai.mesbi'ky. 
 
 After the painting by Sir Thofnas Laivrence.
 
 No. 77 
 
 The Death of James Harris, first Earl of Malmesbury, 
 Diplomatist. Born at Salisbury, co. Wilts, 9th April 
 1746. Died 20th November 1820. 
 
 JAMES HARRIS was educated at Winchester and Oxford; he after- 
 wards spent some time at the University of Leyden, and concluded his 
 education by a continental tour. He commenced his diplomatic career 
 as Secretary to the Embassy at Madrid in 1767. Here he displayed so much 
 talent and firmness in the negotiation which terminated in the transfer of 
 the Falkland Islands to Great Britain, that he was appointed Minister to the 
 Court of Berlin in the time of Frederick the Great. He served afterwards at 
 St. Petersburg, where he was honoured by the friendship of the Empress 
 Catherine, who stood godmother to his infant daughter, who was born 
 there. He ended his public service as Minister at the Hague, when he was 
 compelled to retire owing to increasing deafness, but his advice was still 
 frequently sought by Pitt, Grenville and others, and he was raised to the 
 peerage under the title of Earl of Malmesbury in 1800. 
 
 No more fitting conclusion could be found to the life of one who ranked 
 as a distinguished diplomatist in the eighteenth century, than his own 
 words, written a few weeks before his death. He wrote as follows: 
 
 "Thou hast completed thy seventy-fourth year, having been permitted 
 to live longer than any of thy ancestors, as far back as 1606. Thy existence 
 has been without any great misfortune, and without any acute disease, and 
 has been one for which thou oughtest to be extremely thankful. Be so, in 
 praise and thanksgiving towards the Supreme Being, and by preparing 
 thyself to employ the remnant of thy life wisely and discreetly. Thy next 
 step will probably be the last. Strive not to delay the period of its arrival, 
 nor lament at its near approach. Thou art too exhausted in body and mind 
 to be of service to thy country, thy friends, or thy family. Thou art fortunate 
 in leaving thy children well and happy; be content to join thy parent earth 
 calmly and with becoming resignation. Such is thy imperious duty. Vale! " 
 
 He died on the 20th November 1820, and was entombed in the north 
 transept of Salisbury Cathedral. 
 
 Authority: Anecdotes of the Harris Family by the Earl of Malmesbury in "The Ancestor," 
 No. I, April 1902. 
 
 167

 
 No. 78 
 
 The Death of Napoleon Bonaparte, Emperor of the 
 French. Born 1769. Died 1821. 
 
 IN the last year of his life the Emperor, who for four years had taken 
 little or no exercise, altered extremely in appearance, becoming pale 
 and feeble; and his health deteriorated rapidly. He had always been in 
 the habit of taking baths; he now took them more frequently and stayed 
 longer in them. He sometimes rode out, but was so weak that he had to 
 return in the carriage. The symptoms of his disease (cancer of the stomach) 
 multiplied; but in spite of feebleness he faced death with courage. He felt 
 that his end was approaching and he frequently recited the passage from 
 Zaire which finishes with the line: " A revoir Paris je ne dois plus pretendre." 
 At times, however, sad regrets and recollections of what he had done, com- 
 pared with what he might have done, presented themselves; but he spoke of 
 the past with perfect frankness, persuaded that on the whole he could not have 
 acted otherwise than he had done. If the conversation took a melancholy turn 
 he soon changed it, and spoke of his young days in Corsica, of his old Uncle 
 Lucien, or of his family. He questioned the physicians as to the conformation 
 of the human stomach, and about a fortnight before his death, arrived at the 
 conclusion that he was dying of cancer. He often talked naturally and without 
 fear of his approaching dissolution, but when he became aware that the end 
 was coming he ceased speaking on the subject. To his last moments he was 
 kind and affectionate to those who surrounded him, and did not appear to 
 suffer so much as might have been expected from the cause of his death. His 
 memory declined during the last five or six days, while his deep sighs and 
 exclamations from time to time, led the bystanders to think that he was 
 in great pain. On 3rd May, two English physicians, recently arrived, were 
 called in for consultation; they could only recommend palliatives, and under 
 the influence of that treatment the imperial patient could keep but an uncertain 
 hold on his faculties. Two days later a violent storm of wind and rain set in 
 and wrecked the garden, where he had so often walked for exercise, uprooting 
 a spreading willow under the shade of which he had been accustomed to sit. 
 The death of the Emperor was coincident and scarcely less violent. On the 
 morning of 5th Mayas the sun rose he uttered some incoherent words, among 
 which Montholon distinguished "tete d'armee." As he uttered these words 
 he sprang from the bed, dragging Montholon, who endeavoured to restrain 
 him, on to the floor. It was the last effort of that formidable energy. He was 
 with difiiculty replaced upon the bed, and while the storm raged outside the 
 house he neither spoke nor moved ; the only sound was the difficult breathing, 
 gradually but regularly decreasing until it ceased. So died the man who had 
 dictated laws to the world. At a little before six in the evening the heart of 
 the great Conqueror ceased to beat. England's prisoner had escaped at last. 
 
 Authorities: W. Sloane; O'Meara; Bourrienne; Rosebery. 
 
 i6g
 
 r 
 
 :r 
 
 M 
 
 ^. 
 
 Hi 
 
 \ V 
 
 
 ^/i 
 
 _i^ 
 

 
 No. 79 
 
 The Death of George Gordon, Lord Byron. 
 Born 1788. Died 1824. 
 
 LORD BYRON set out from Genoa in July 1823 to aid the Greeks 
 to recover their independence. He was weary of the monotonous 
 life of pleasure that he had been leading in Italy, while the active, 
 dangerous, yet glorious scenes of a military career struck his jaded fancy, and 
 induced him to embark on what, for him, proved to be a fatal enterprise. He 
 landed at Missolonghi on the 5th January 1824, an unhealthy place of swamps 
 and malaria, and here he tried to raise a regiment of Greek Zuliotes for 
 service against the Turks. Nothing, however, could have been more injurious 
 to his health than the mode of life he now adopted. He dreaded two things 
 to which he believed himself predisposed — to grow fat or to go mad. That 
 he would go mad had been foretold to him by a gipsy woman in his youth, 
 and Byron was superstitious. To avoid corpulence he had daily recourse to 
 medicine. He rose at half-past ten and drank a large basin of green tea with- 
 out either sugar or milk, and at half-past eleven he went for a two hours' ride. 
 On returning from his ride he ate the one meal which he permitted himself to 
 have each day, and having dined he retired to his study where he remained 
 till dusk; at this time, more willingly than at any other, he indulged in con- 
 versation, played draughts, or read a book. His drink was Rhenish wine or 
 Hollands gin mixed with water, and of these he drank more than was good for 
 him, so that the shock of any sudden illness was likely to be dangerous. Need- 
 less exposure to the rain brought on a fit of epilepsy for which his private 
 physician, Dr. Bruno, bled him so copiously as to induce syncope. In his 
 last letter to his sister (23rd February 1824) he wrote: " It is fit that I should 
 mention that my recent attack had a strong appearance of epilepsy. This 
 attack has not returned, and I am fighting it off with abstinence and exercise." 
 A few weeks later he was attacked by the malarial fever which ended his life. 
 "Do you suppose," he said to Dr. Bruno, "that I wish for life? I have 
 indeed grown heartily sick of it and shall welcome the hour of my departure. 
 Why, indeed, should I regret it? I have enjoyed all life's pleasures and am 
 now, literally speaking, a young old man. Hardly arrived at manhood, I 
 reached the zenith of fame. I have travelled, satisfied my curiosity, and lost 
 my illusions. I have drained the nectar in the cup of life, 'tis time to throw 
 the dregs away, but apprehension still haunts my mind. I picture myself 
 slowly expiring on a bed of torture, or terminating my days like Swift, a 
 grinning idiot. Would to heaven the day might arrive when rushing, sword 
 in hand, on the Turks I might meet immediate death." 
 
 On symptoms of danger presenting themselves in his illness: " Send to 
 the town. Doctor," he said, " never mind whether I am superstitious or not, 
 but I entreat you to bring me the most celebrated witch you can find, in order 
 to determine whether this sudden and inexplicable loss of health is not 
 
 171
 
 172 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 attributable to the evil eye. She may be able to devise some means to dissolve 
 the spell." His mind was constantly oppressed by the recollection that he had 
 started on this expedition on a Friday, and he referred frequently to a warning 
 which he had received in boyhood from an old gipsy woman in Scotland who 
 bade him beware of his thirty-seventh year. Dr. Julius Milligan, surgeon of 
 the brigade of Zuliotes, had been called in to assist Dr. Bruno and says: 
 "It is with infinite regret I state that, although I seldom left Lord Byron's 
 pillow during the latter part of his illness, I never heard him make the 
 smallest mention of religion. Once I heard him say: ' Shall I sue for mercy?' 
 After a pause he added : ' Come, come, — no weakness! Be a man to the last.' " 
 He died on the 19th April 1824. " Before we proceeded to embalm the body," 
 continues the young surgeon, "we could not refrain from pausing in silent 
 contemplation of the lifeless clay of one who, but a few days before, had been 
 the admiration of the civilized world. Nothing could surpass the beauty of the 
 forehead, its height was extraordinary, and the intellectual faculties strongly 
 marked. The hair, which curled naturally, was quite gray; the moustache a 
 light brown. The countenance had changed but little, still preserving the 
 sarcastic haughty expression that usually characterized it. The chest was 
 broad and high vaulted, the waist very small, the pelvis narrow. The only 
 blemish of the body was the congenital malformation of the left foot 
 and leg. No one could have paid more attention to outward appearance than 
 did Lord Byron ; he wore gloves constantly to preserv-e the whiteness of his 
 hands, so that the lameness which afflicted him from birth was a constant 
 source of misery." When the body was opened after death, deterioration was 
 apparent. The brain and heart resembled those of a man advanced in life, 
 while the liver was hard and wasted, the result of intemperance. 
 
 There is an order 
 Of mortals on the earth, who do become 
 Old in their youth, and die ere middle-age, 
 Without the violence of warlike death; 
 Some perishing of pleasure, some of study, 
 Some worn with toil, some of mere weariness, 
 Some of disease, and some insanity, 
 And some of wither'd, or of broken hearts; 
 For this last is a malady which slays 
 More than are number'd in the lists of Fate, 
 Taking all shapes, and bearing many names. 
 Look upon me! for even of all these things 
 Have I partaken; and of all these things, 
 One were enough. 
 
 Byron, Manfred.
 
 LORD BYRON 173 
 
 From the violence and the rule of passion; 
 From pride and vanity and an ignorant confidence; 
 From sensuality, from presumption, from despair; 
 From a state of temptation and a hardened spirit; 
 From delaying of repentance and a persevering in sin; 
 From all infatuation of soul, folly and madness; 
 From wilfulness, self-love, and vain ambition ; 
 From a vicious life and an unprovided Death; 
 Good Lord, deliver usl 
 
 Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 Authorities: Milligan; Trelawney; Moore; Dictionary of National Biography.
 
 1Jkkihu\ t.\. 
 i'fom an engraving by IV, Holl after Klocbar.
 
 No. 80 
 
 The Death of Ludwig van Beethoven. Born i6th 
 December 1770 at Bonn. Died in Vienna on 
 26th March 1827. 
 
 DEAF, sad, and solitary, Beethoven felt his end approaching. He was a 
 really and deeply religious man. His creed, as written by himself, 
 was: "God! That which is: which was: and which shall be. No 
 mortal man hath lifted His veil! He is alone by Himself, and to Him alone 
 do all things owe their being! " 
 
 Beethoven loved Nature and the woods and wilds. "There," tie said, 
 "every tree seems to say Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty! " 
 
 At the time of his death he was a strong thickset man of middle height, 
 with gray hair flowing like a mane from his leonine head. His large deep- 
 set gray eyes had a wild and wandering expression, and he was somewhat 
 unsteady in his movements, as one walking in a dream. He would sit down 
 in a restaurant, with his pipe and glass of beer, closing his eyes, as if 
 abstracted from reality. If one of his friends spoke to him, he would open 
 his eyes quickly like an eagle, draw forth a pencil and pocket-book from his 
 coat, and, in the shrill voice peculiar to deaf people, bade his friend write 
 down what he had to say. Driving in an open carriage he got chilled: the 
 chill developed into inflammation of the lungs, and on this dropsy supervened. 
 The physicians "tapped" him to remove the liquid, and seeing the water 
 they took from him, he observed: "Better from the belly than from the 
 pen." The accumulation of water increased alarmingly, and the end drew 
 near. He talked of writing a letter, but his strength failed him, and then 
 turning to some friends who were round his bed, he smiled and said: 
 " Plaudite, amici, comoedia finita est." On the 23rd March 1827 he dictated 
 a codicil to his will. Friends called to bid him farewell, and amongst them 
 his brother-composer, Schubert, who stayed a long time. Beethoven 
 recognized, but was unable to speak to him. Weaker and weaker he grew, 
 and it was evident that death was approaching rapidly. His lips were 
 moistened from time to time with some Rudesheimer wine, which had been 
 sent to him by the London Philharmonic Society, always his friends and 
 admirers. His physician tried to console him with the hope that spring 
 would restore him to health; but he shook his head and whispered: "My 
 work is done. If any doctor can cure me now ' his name shall be called 
 wonderful,'" alluding to the passage in Handel's "Messiah." On the 
 24th March he received the Sacraments of the Roman Church, and about 
 one o'clock on the afternoon of that day he became unconscious, and a 
 distressing conflict with death took place, which lasted till the evening of 
 the 26th. As the evening closed in, a mighty storm burst over Vienna 
 with hail, snow, and wind, accompanied by flashes of lightning and loud 
 peals of thunder. This conflict of the elements aroused the senses of the 
 
 175
 
 176 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 dying man, and he opened his eyes, clenched his fist and shook it above his 
 head — then the hand fell and the great composer was no more. 
 
 The funeral of Beethoven was in every way that of a great man. Eight 
 Kapellmeisters were the pall bearers, and the bier was surrounded by thirty- 
 six of the most distinguished men in Vienna holding torches. In the 
 St. Augustine Church, the "Libera" from Mozart's Requiem was per- 
 formed — "Deliver me, O Lord! from eternal death" — Lablache singing the 
 bass part. The poet Grillparzer composed an oration, which was delivered 
 over the grave by one of the leading artists of Vienna. It closed with these 
 eloquent words: "Such was he; so he died; so will he live for ages. Ye 
 have not lost but gained him. The body must disappear, for no flesh may 
 cross the threshold of immortality, but he whom we mourn is among the 
 great of all the Ages and must live for ever. Therefore, though sorrowful, 
 let us be calm, and when the power of his creations overwhelms us like a 
 flood, and when this rapture shall be shared, as we hope, by those yet 
 unborn, we may say, 'We were of those who buried him. We wept over 
 his grave.' " 
 
 Authorities: Thayer; Moscheles; Grove; Nohl.
 
 /U.^^vtTv^. 
 
 A^. M,v%,/ 
 
 I'lloMAS CaUI.VI.k's FAIllliK AMi MOTHKK.
 
 No. 8 1 
 
 The Death of James Carlyle (Father of Thomas Carlyle, 
 the essayist and historian). Born 1758. Died 1832. 
 
 SOON after New Year's Day, on 26th January 1832, a great sorrow came 
 — the unexpected news of my father's death. He had been in bed ill 
 only a few hours when the last hour proved to be there, unex- 
 pectedly to all, except perhaps to himself: for ever since my sister Margaret's 
 death, he had been fast failing though none of us took notice enough, such 
 had been the perfection of his health almost all through the seventy-three 
 years he had lived. He was called away by a death apparently of the mildest, 
 on Sunday morning about six. He had taken what was thought to be a bad 
 cold on the Monday preceding, but rose every day and was sometimes out of 
 doors. Occasionally he was insensible, but when spoken to he recollected 
 himself. He was up and at the kitchen fire on the Saturday evening about 
 six, but was evidently growing fast worse in his breathing. About ten 
 o'clock he fell into a sort of a stupor, still breathing with greater difficulty. 
 He spoke little, seeming unconscious of what he did; came over to the bed- 
 side and offered up a prayer to Heaven in such accents as it is impossible to 
 forget. He departed almost without a struggle. He was taken home like a 
 shock of corn fully ripe. He had finished the work that was given him to 
 do, and finished it as became a man. He was to the last the pleasantest man 
 I had to speak with in Scotland. For many years he had the end ever in his 
 eye, and was studying to make preparation for what, in his strong way, he 
 called often " that last, that awful change! " 
 
 "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord; they do rest from their 
 labours," yea, and their works follow them. This last act of his life, when 
 in the last agony, with the thick ghastly vapours of death rising round him 
 to choke him, he burst through and called with a man's voice on the Great 
 God to have mercy on him; that was like a concluding summary of his 
 whole life. God gave him strength to wrestle with the King of Terrors, and 
 as it were even then to prevail. All his strength came from God, and ever 
 sought new nourishment there : God be thanked for it. Every morning and 
 every evening for perhaps sixty years, he had prayed to the Great Father: 
 "Prepare us for those solemn events, death, judgment, and eternity." He 
 would pray also: " Forsake us not now when we are old and our heads are 
 gray." God did not forsake him! I shall never more behold my dear father 
 with these bodily eyes. With him a whole three score years and ten of the 
 past has doubly died for me. It is as if a new leaf in the great book of Time 
 had been turned over. Strange Time; endless Time; of which I see neither 
 end nor beginning. All rushes on. Man follows man: his life is as a tale 
 that has been told. Yet under Time does there not lie Eternity? Perhaps 
 my father, all that essentially was my father, is even now near me, with me. 
 Both he and I are with God. Perhaps if it so please God, we shall in some 
 
 177
 
 178 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 higher state of being meet one another, recognize one another. As it is 
 written, "We shall be for ever with God." The possibility, nay the 
 certainty of perennial existence daily grows plainer to me. The essence of 
 whatever was, is, or shall be, even now is, God is great: God is good. His 
 will be done for it will be right. 
 
 Authority: T. Carlyle.
 
 GOETHK.
 
 No. 82 
 
 The Death of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Born at 
 Frankfort-on-Main 28th August 1749. Died at 
 Weimar on the 22nd March 1832. 
 
 GOETHE began to fail in health some two years before he died. 
 Eckermann records: " Nov. 30th 1830. Last Friday we were thrown 
 into no small anxiety. Goethe was seized with a violent hemorrhage 
 and was near death. He lost (counting the venesection) some six pounds of 
 blood, which is a great quantity considering that he is eighty years old." 
 Again on 31st March 1831 he writes: "Goethe has been for some time 
 unwell. Some weeks ago he was bled, after which he felt some pain in his 
 right leg, until at last the mischief vented itself by an issue in the foot, when 
 improvement speedily followed." He died at last of a catarrhal fever which 
 lasted six days, expiring without apparent suffering, having a few minutes 
 previously called for paper in order to write, and expressing his delight at 
 the return of spring. He was not afraid of death. " What! " he said on one 
 occasion, "Do you think I am to be frightened by a coffin? No man of any 
 courage or strength of mind suffers himself to lose the belief in immortality." 
 He deemed Schiller happy in that he died young, in the full vigour of his 
 days, saying: "We could figure him as a youth for ever." To himself was 
 appointed a higher destiny. Through all the changes of man's life, onward 
 to its extreme verge, he was to go through all nobly. He did not forget his 
 age, nor the necessity for yielding to the universal law; he calculated calmly 
 the chances that remained to him of life and enjoyment, and the means he 
 might employ for increasing them, foremost among which he placed the 
 keeping at a distance all gloomy thoughts. "Yes," he said, "we can make 
 head against Death for some time yet. As long as one can create there is no 
 place for dying, yet the great hour must come: the undetermined hour when 
 no man may work." In the midst of his sufferings Goethe remained himself. 
 It was the sun still, though near his setting. Whenever he felt a little better 
 he returned at once to his usual occupations. No one was permitted to enter 
 his room in his last illness save his dearly loved daughter-in-law, her children, 
 and his physician. During the six days of his short but fatal illness, he 
 betrayed no symptoms of anxiety as to its possible termination. He thought 
 himself dying but did not fear death. He tried to walk up and down his 
 room a little, but found himself too feeble to continue. His senses began to 
 fail, his speech becoming less and less distinct. " Light," was his last request. 
 "Open the shutters," he said, "that more light may come into the room." 
 He continued to express himself by signs, drawing letters with his forefinger 
 in the air while he had strength, and finally, as life ebbed, drawing figures 
 slowly on the shawl which covered his legs. At half-past twelve o'clock he 
 composed himself comfortably in the corner of the long chair in which he lay. 
 He seemed to sleep, but it was the gentle sinking and going out of the flame 
 
 179
 
 i8o A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 of life. If sleep it was, it was a sleep in which a great life glided from the 
 world. His friend Eckermann wrote: "The morning after Goethe's death a 
 deep desire seized me to look once again upon his earthly garment. His 
 faithful servant Frederick opened for me the door of the chamber in which he 
 lay. Stretched upon his back he reposed as if in slumber, profound peace 
 reigned on his noble countenance. I wished for a lock of his hair, but reverence 
 restrained me. The body was wrapped in a white sheet: Frederick drew it 
 aside and I was astonished at the magnificence of the limbs; the breast 
 powerful, broad, and arched, the arms and thighs full and muscular, the feet 
 of the most perfect shape, nowhere an imperfection. I laid my hand on his 
 heart, it was for ever still, and I turned away to hide my tears." 
 
 Authorities: G. H. Lewes; Von Miiller; Eckermann; Dictionary of National Biography.
 
 SiK Walter Scott, Bart.
 
 A 
 
 No. 83 
 
 The Death of Sir Walter Scott. Born 1771. 
 
 Died 1832. 
 
 S I was dressing on the morning of Monday, the 17th Sept. 1832, 
 Nicolson came into my room and told me that his master had 
 awoke in a state of composure and consciousness and wished to see 
 me immediately. I found him entirely himself though in the last extreme of 
 feebleness. His eye was clear and calm; every trace of the wild fire of 
 delirium extinguished. 
 
 " Lockhart," he said, " I may have but a minute to speak to you. My 
 dear, be a good man, be virtuous, be religious, be a good man. Nothing else 
 will give you any comfort when you come to lie here." He paused and I said: 
 "Shall I send for Sophia and Anne?" "No," said he, "don't disturb them. 
 Poor souls! I know they were up all night. God bless you all! " With this 
 he sank into a very tranquil sleep and, indeed, he scarcely afterwards gave 
 any sign of consciousness, except for an instant on the arrival of his sons. 
 They, on learning that the scene was about to close, obtained anew leave of 
 absence from their posts and both reached Abbotsford on the 19th. 
 
 About half-past one on the 21st of September, Sir Walter breathed his 
 last in the presence of his children. It was a beautiful day, so warm that every 
 window was wide open, and so perfectly still that the sound, of all others the 
 most delicious to the ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over its pebbles, was 
 distinctly audible as we knelt round the bed and his eldest son kissed and 
 closed his eyes. 
 
 Authority: Lockhart's " Life of Scott." 
 
 181 A A
 
 
 Tai.i.eyraxii.
 
 No. 84 
 
 The Death of Prince Talleyrand. Born 1754. 
 
 Died 1838. 
 
 DURING the last year of his life, Prince Talleyrand went much into 
 Society and dined out constantly. He desired to put aside the 
 thought of death and to live to the last as if he had many years 
 before him instead of behind him. One evening in the spring of the year 
 1838 he was dining at the English Ambassador's in Paris, and on rising from 
 table his legs failed him and he fell heavily to the ground. He was assisted 
 to rise and he asked what had happened. They told him he had tripped upon 
 the carpet, and he went into the drawing-room to the ladies conversing gaily 
 as if nothing was amiss until his carriage was announced ; but on the way 
 home he suffered cruelly. After this he dined out no more, but contented 
 himself by seeing his friends at his own hotel in the Rue St. Florentin at the 
 corner of the Place de la Concorde, where the grand old house is to be seen 
 to-day. On the loth May he gave a dinner party of twenty, during which 
 he was attacked with severe shivering and had to go to bed. The next day a 
 large carbuncle appeared on his thigh and the doctors were called in. He 
 was operated on but suffered great agony, and his condition was considered 
 serious. He had much difficulty in breathing in a recumbent position, while 
 his wound would not allow of his sitting up: he had therefore to lie on the 
 edge of the bed, supported by two men-servants, but still in this position he 
 insisted on receiving and conversing with the numerous visitors who called 
 to inquire for him, seeking thus some distraction from the pain he endured. 
 Talleyrand would have made his peace with God some time before, but could 
 not bring himself to do so as long as his wife lived. When he heard of her 
 death in December 1835, he had remarked: " Ceci simplifie beaucoup ma 
 position," and immediately had taken from a pocket in his night-shirt a 
 packet of letters which had been written to him by different correspondents, 
 many of them unknown, who ardently desired his reconciliation with the 
 Church. Said he: " Les bonnes ames ne veulent pas desesperer de moi," but 
 now he felt his own end approaching and that he had no time to lose, and at 
 the often repeated solicitations of his niece, Mme. de Dino, who lived with 
 him and to whom he was fondly attached, he consented to dictate and sign a 
 declaration couched in vague and general terms in which he professed him- 
 self repentant of his errors and said that he desired to submit himself in all 
 things to the Holy Father — the Pope. This document was taken at once by 
 the Abbe Dupauloup, Mme. de Dino's confessor, to the Archbishop of Paris, 
 to obtain his sanction for the performance of the last offices of the Church. 
 Meantime a visit from the King (Louis Philippe) was announced, and 
 Talleyrand at once rallied his strength and gave minute instructions as to 
 the etiquette to be observed. This exhausted him a good deal and he could 
 hardly speak in answer to the King's kind inquiries, but when, after a short 
 
 183
 
 1 84 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 visit, His Majesty was leaving, the dying man with a supreme effort of will 
 said in a firm voice: " C'est un beau jour pour cette maison que celui ou le 
 Roi y est entre," then he fell back and spoke no more. On receipt of Prince 
 Talleyrand's declaration of error and submission, the Archbishop gave his 
 permission to administer the Sacraments, and the Abbe Dupauloup forthwith 
 administered the last rites of the Church and gave him absolution, but the 
 Prince was then unconscious and ceased to live at 4 p.m. on 17th May 1838. 
 Two days after Prince Talleyrand's death, that is on the 19th May, Victor 
 Hugo wrote as follows: 
 
 " Rue Saint Florentin a Paris, il y a un palais et un egout. On lit sur le 
 fronton du palais: Hotel Talleyrand. Pendant les quarante ans qu'il a habite 
 cette rue, I'hote dernier de ce palais n'a peut-etre jamais laisse tomber son 
 regard sur cet egout. C'etait un personnage etrange, redoute et considerable; 
 il s'appelait Charles-Maurice de Perigord; il etait noble comme Machiavel, 
 pretre comme Gondi, defroque comme Fouche, spirituel comme Voltaire, et 
 boiteux comme le diable. Cet homme avait pourtant la grandeur; les 
 splendeurs des deux regimes se confondaient en lui; il etait prince de Vaux 
 royaume de France, et prince de I'empire fran9ais. Pendant trente ans, du 
 fond de son palais du fond de sa pensee, il avait a pen pres mene I'Europe. 
 II s'etait laisse tutoyer par la revolution et lui avait souri, ironiquement, il 
 est vrai; mais elle ne s'en etait pas aper9ue. II avait approche, connu, 
 observe, penetre, remue, retourne, approfondi, raille, feconde, tons les 
 hommes de son temps, toutes les idees de son siecle, et il y avait eu dans sa 
 vie des minutes ou tenant en sa main les quatre on cinq fils formidables qui 
 faisaientmouviorl'univers civilise, il avait pour pantin Napoleon i", empereur 
 des fran9ais roi d'ltalie, protecteur de la confederation du Rhin, mediateur de 
 la confederation Suisse. Voila a quoi jouait cet homme. Apres la revolution 
 de Juillet, la vielle race dont il etait grand chambellan, etant tombee, il s'etait 
 retrouve debout sur son pied et avait dit au peuple de 1830, bras nus, sur un 
 tas de paves: Fais-moi ton ambassadeur. II avait re9u la confession de 
 Mirabeau, et la premiere confidence de Thiers. II disait de lui-meme qu'il 
 etait un grand poete, et qu'il avait fait une trilogie en trois dynasties: acte I" 
 I'empire de Buonaparte; acte IP la maison de Bourbon; acte 111" la maison 
 d'Orleans. II avait fait tout cela dans son palais, et dans ce palais, comme 
 une araignee dans sa toile, il avait successivement attire et pris heros, penseurs, 
 grands hommes, conquerants, rois, princes, empereurs, Buonaparte. Sieyes, 
 Mme. de Stael, Chateaubriand, Benjamin Constant, Alexandre de Russie, 
 Guillaume de Prusse, Fran9ois d'Autriche, Louis XVIII, Louis-Philippe; 
 toutes les mouches dorees et rayonnantes qui bourdonnent dans I'histoire de 
 ces quarante dernieres annees. Tout cet etincelant essaim, fascine par I'oeil 
 profond de cet homme, avait successivement passe sous cette porte sombre 
 qui porte ecrit sur son architrave: Hotel Talleyrand. 
 
 "Eh bien! avant hier 17 mai 1838 cet homme est mort. Des medecins
 
 PRINCE TALLEYRAND 185 
 
 sont venus et ont embaume le cadavre. Pour cela, a la maniere des egyptiens, 
 ils ont retire les entrailles du ventre, et le cerveau du crane. La chose faite, 
 apres avoir transforme le prince de Talleyrand en momie et clone cette momie 
 dans une biere tapissee de satin blanc, ils se sont retires, laissant sur une 
 table la cervelle, cette cervelle qui avait pense tant de choses, inspire tant 
 d'hommes, construit tant d'edifices, conduit deux revolutions, trompe vingt 
 rois, contenu le monde. Les medecins partis, un valet est entre, il a vu ce 
 qu'ils avaient laisse: Tiens! ils ont oublie cela. Qu'en faire? II s'est souvenu 
 qu'il y avait un egout dans la rue, il y est alle, et a jete le cerveau dans cet 
 egout. ' Finis rerum ! ' " 
 
 Authorities: Mme. de Boigue; Duchesse de Dino; Victor Hugo.
 
 II. DK li.VLZAC. 
 From a photograph hy Xadar.
 
 No. 85 
 
 The Death of Balzac (Honore de). Born 1799. 
 
 Died 1850. 
 
 LE 18 aout 1850, ma femme, qui avait ete dans la journee pour voir 
 Mme. de Balzac, me dit que M. de Balzac se mourait. J'y courus. 
 M. de Balzac etait atteint depuis dix-huit mois d'une hypertrophie 
 du coeur. Apres la revolution de fevrier il etait alle en Russie et s'y etait 
 marie. Quelques jours avant son depart, je I'avais rencontre sur le boulevard; 
 il se plaignait deja et respirait bruyamment. En mai 1850, il etait revenu en 
 France, marie, riche, et mourant. En arrivant, il avait deja les jambes enflees. 
 Ouatre medecins consultes I'ausculterent. L'un d'eux, M. Louis, me dit le 
 6juillet: "II n'apassixsemainesavivre. C'etaitla meme maladieque Frederic 
 Soulie." Le 18 aout j'avais mon oncle le general Louis Hugo a diner. Sitot 
 leve de table, je le quittai et je pris un fiacre qui me mena avenue Fortunee, 
 No. 14, dans le quartier Beaujon. C'etait la que demeurait M. de Balzac. II 
 avait achete ce qui restait de I'hotel de M. de Beaujon, quelques corps de logis 
 has, echappes par hasard a la demolition: il avait magnifiquement meuble 
 ces masures et s'en etait fait un charmant petit hotel, ayant porte-cochere 
 sur I'avenue Fortunee et pour tout jardin une cour longue et etroite ou les 
 paves etaient coupes 9a et la de plates-bandes. Je sonnai. II faisait un 
 clair de lune voile de nuages. La rue etait deserte. On ne vint pas. Je 
 sonnai une seconde fois. La porte s'ouvrit; une servante m'apparut avec une 
 chandelle. " Que veut Monsieur?" dit-elle. Elle pleurait. Je dis mon nom. 
 On me fit entrer dans le salon qui etait au rez-de-chaussee et dans lequel il y 
 avait sur une console opposee a la cheminee, le buste colossal en marbre de 
 Balzac par David. Une bougie brulait sur une riche table ovale posee au 
 milieu du salon. Une autre femme vint qui pleurait aussi et qui me dit: " II se 
 meurt. Madame est rentree chez elle. Les medecins I'ont abandonne depuis 
 hier. II a une plaie a la jambe gauche. La gangrene y est. Les medecins 
 ne savent ce qu'ils font. lis disaient que I'hydropisie de Monsieur etait une 
 hydropisie couenneuse, une infiltration, c'est leur mot, que la peau et la chair 
 etaient comme du lard et qu'il etait impossible de lui faire la ponction. Eh 
 bien, le mois dernier, en se couchant Monsieur s'est heurte a un meuble 
 historic, la peau s'est dechiree, et toute I'eau qu'il avait dans le corps a coule. 
 Les medecins ont dit: Tiens! Cela les a etonnes et depuis ce temps-la ils lui 
 ont fait la ponction. lis ont dit: Imitons la nature. Mais il est venu un abcfes 
 a la jambe. C'est M. Roux qui I'a opere. Hier on a leve I'appareil. La plaie, 
 au lieu d'avoir suppure, etait rouge, seche et brulante. Alors ils ont dit: II est 
 perdu! et ne sont plus revenus. On est alle chez quatre ou cinq inutilement. 
 Tons ont repondu: II n'y a rien a faire. La nuit a ete mauvaise. Ce mating 
 neuf heures, Monsieur ne parlait plus. Madame a fait chercher un pretre. Le 
 pretre est venu et a donne a Monsieur I'extreme-onction. Monsieur a fait 
 signe qu'il comprenait. Une heure apr^s, il a serre la main a sa scEur, Mme. 
 
 187
 
 1 88 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 de Surville. Depuis onze heures il rale et ne voit plus rien. II ne passera pas 
 la nuit. Si vous voiilez, Monsieur, je vais aller chercher M. de Surville, qui 
 n'est pas encore couche." La femme me quitta. J'attendis quelques instants. 
 M. de Surville entra et me confirma tout ce que m'avait dit la servante. Je 
 demandai a voir M. de Balzac. Nous traversames un corridor, nous montames 
 un escalier. J'entendis un ralement haut et sinistre. J'etais dans la chambre 
 de Balzac. Un lit etait au milieu de cette chambre. M. de Balzac etait dans 
 ce lit, les cheveux gris et coupes courts, I'oeil ouvert et fixe. Je soulevai la 
 couverture et je pris la main de Balzac. Je la pressai. II ne repondit pas a la 
 pression. C'etait cette meme chambre ou je I'etais venu voir un mois aupara- 
 vant. II etait gai, plein d'espoir, ne doutant pas de sa guerison. Quandje 
 I'avaisquitte il m'avait reconduitjusqu'acet escalier, marchant peniblement, et 
 il avait crie^ sa femme: " Surtout, fais bien voir a Hugo tous mes tableaux." 
 La garde me dit: " II mourra au point du jour." Je redescendis, emportant 
 dans ma pensee cette figure livide: en traversant le salon, je retrouvai le buste 
 immobile, impassible, altier et rayonnant vaguement et je comparai la mort a 
 Timmortalite. II mourut dans la nuit. II avait cinquante-et-un ans. 
 
 On I'enterra le mercredi. Le convoi traversa Paris et alia par les boule- 
 vards au Pere-Lachaise. Nous fimes tout le trajet a pied. Je marchais a 
 droite en tete de cercueil, tenant un des glands d'argent du poele. Alexandre 
 Dumas de I'autre cote. Ouand nous parvinmes a la fosse, il y avait une foule 
 immense. On descendit le cercueil dans la fosse qui etait voisine de Charles 
 Nodier et de Casimir Delavigne. Le pretre dit la derniere priere et je pro- 
 non9ai quelques paroles. Pendant que je parlais, le soleil baissait. 
 
 Authority: Victor Hugo, " Choses Vues."
 
 TllK, Dl'KK tlK WELLINGTON (AS AN iiLD NL\N). 
 From an old engramrig.
 
 No. 86 
 
 The Death of Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington. 
 Born ist May 1769. Died 14th September 1852. 
 
 THOMAS CARLYLE in his diary under date 25 June 1850 writes: 
 " By far the most interesting figure present at Lady Ashburton's ball 
 was the old Duke of Wellington, who appeared between twelve and 
 one, slowly gliding through the rooms. Truly a beautiful old man ; I had 
 never seen till now how beautiful nor what an expression of graceful sym- 
 plicity, veracity, and nobleness there is about the old hero when you see him 
 close at hand. His very size had hitherto deceived me. He is of short slight 
 figure, about five feet eight inches, of good breadth however, and all muscle 
 and bone. His legs, I think, must be short, for certainly on horseback I had 
 always taken him to be tall. Eyes beautiful, light blue, full of mild valour, 
 with infinitely more faculty and geniality than I had fancied before. The 
 face wholly gentle, wise, valiant, and venerable. The voice, too, as I again 
 heard, is aquiline, clear, and perfectly equable, uncracked that is, and perhaps 
 almost musical, but it is essentially a tenor or almost treble voice. Eighty- 
 two I understand he is. He glided slowly along, slightly saluting this and 
 that other; clever, clean, fresh as the June evening itself, till the silver buckle 
 of his stock vanished through the door of the next room and I saw him no 
 more." 
 
 As age advanced, the years in their progress began to tell even on the 
 Iron Duke. His hair grew white in strong contrast with his dark eyebrows, 
 and fits of somnolency came upon him. He stooped a little and grew dis- 
 inclined to take exercise. In 1852 the Duke presided as usual at the dinner 
 which he gave annually on the i8th June, the anniversary of Waterloo, and 
 seemed quite himself — but the hand of Death was already stretched out to- 
 wards him. In August he went to Walmer Castle (being Warden of the 
 Cinque Ports) where he received visitors and led his usual life. On the 
 i2th September he wrote to a friend: "I had a letter this morning from a 
 madman, who announced that he was a messenger of the Lord and would 
 deliver his message to me to-morrow morning. We shall see." It was never 
 ascertained who wrote the letter, but "the message of the Lord" was duly 
 delivered. The Duke was always an early riser, and when his servant entered 
 his bedroom to call him as usual at six a.m., he found his master was still asleep. 
 Withdrawing softly he returned again at seven o'clock and opened the shutters, 
 saying: " It is getting quite late, your grace. It is past seven o'clock." " Is 
 it," said the Duke in his usual tone of voice. " Do you know where the 
 apothecary lives? Send and let him know I should like to see him as I don't 
 feel very well. I will lie here till he comes." These were the last words he 
 spoke. He seemed conscious for some time afterwards as he followed with 
 his eyes those who were around him, and motioned that he wished to be 
 moved from the bed to an easy chair which stood close by. Doctors came, 
 
 189 B B
 
 I90 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 but their remedies were useless. He breathed with increasing difficulty: the 
 strong will kept death at bay till seven in the evening, and then a short 
 struggle he ceased to breathe, yet so calm and tranquil was his departure, so 
 little was he changed in appearance, that not until a mirror was held to his 
 lips could those by whom he was surrounded believe that life had fled. The 
 day before he had appeared to be in good health and had been playing with 
 his grand-children. 
 
 " sure the last end 
 
 Of the good man is peace! How calm his exit! 
 
 Night dews, fall not more gently to the ground, 
 
 Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft. 
 
 Blair. 
 
 Authorities: W. H. Maxwell; G. R. Gleig; Sir H. Maxwell; G. L. Browne; Carlyle.
 
 No. 87 
 The Death of Taki Zenzaburo, 23rd July 1858. 
 
 WE (seven foreign representatives) were invited to follow the Japanese 
 witnesses into the main hall of the Temple where the ceremony 
 was to be performed. It was an imposing scene. A large hall 
 with a high roof supported by dark pillars of wood: from the ceiling hung a 
 profusion of those huge gilt lamps and ornaments peculiar to Buddhist 
 temples. In front of the high altar, where the floor covered with beautiful 
 white mats and raised some three or four inches from the ground, was laid a 
 rug of scarlet felt. Tall candles placed at regular intervals gave out a dim 
 mysterious light, just sufficient to let the proceedings be seen. The seven 
 Japanese witnesses took their places on the left of the raised floor, the seven 
 foreigners on the right. No other person was present. 
 
 After the interval of a few minutes of suspense, Taki Zenzaburo, a 
 stalwart man of about thirty-two years of age, of a noble presence, walked 
 into the hall attired in his dress of ceremony with the peculiar hempen-cloth 
 wings which are worn on great occasions. He was accompanied by a Kaishaku 
 and three officers who wore surcoats with gold tissue facings. The word 
 Kaishaku, it should be observed, is one for which our English word executioner 
 is no equivalent term. The office is that of a gentleman ; in many cases it is 
 performed by a kinsman or friend of the condemned person, and the relations 
 between them are rather those between principle and second, than of victim 
 and executioner. In this instance the Kaishaku was a pupil of Taki Zenzaburo, 
 and had been chosen for his skill in swordsmanship. 
 
 With the Kaishaku on his left hand, Taki Zenzaburo advanced slowly 
 towards the Japanese witnesses and the two bowed before them, then they 
 saluted us perhaps even with more deference; in each case the salutation was 
 ceremoniously returned. Slowly and with great dignity the condemned man 
 mounted on to the raised floor, prostrated himself twice before the high altar, 
 and seated himself in the Japanese fashion with his knees and toes touching 
 the ground, his body resting on the heels. One of the three attendant officers 
 then came forward bearing a stand, such as is used in temples for offerings, 
 on which, wrapped in paper, lay a short sword nine inches and a half in length 
 with point and edge as sharp as a razor. Prostrating himself, he handed this 
 to the condemned man who received it reverently, raising it to his head with 
 both hands and then placing it in front of him. 
 
 After another profound obeisance, Taki Zenzaburo, in a voice which 
 betrayed some emotion but with an otherwise calm demeanour, spoke as 
 follows: "I, and I alone, unwarrantably gave the order to fire on the 
 foreigners at Kobe, and again when they tried to escape. For this crime I 
 disembowel myself, and I beg you who are present to do me the honour of 
 witnessing my act." 
 
 Bowing once more, the speaker allowed his upper garments to slip down 
 
 191
 
 192 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 to his girdle and remained naked to the waist. Carefully, according to custom, 
 he tucked his sleeves under his knees to prevent himself from falling backward ; 
 for a noble Japanese gentleman should die falling forward. Deliberately, with 
 a steady hand, he took the dirk that lay before him ; he looked at it wistfully, 
 almost affectionately ; for a moment he seemed to collect his thoughts for the 
 last time, and then stabbing himself deeply below the waist in the left-hand 
 side he drew the dirk slowly across to his right side, and turning it in the 
 wound, gave a slight cut upwards. During this painful operation he never 
 moved a muscle of his face. When he drew out the dirk, he leaned forward 
 and stretched out his neck; an expression of pain for the first time crossed 
 his face, but he uttered no sound. At that moment the Kaishaku, who, still 
 crouching by his side, had been keenly watching his every movement, sprang 
 to his feet, poised his sword for a second in the air; there was a flash, a heavy 
 thud ; with one blow the head had been severed from the body. 
 
 A dead silence followed, broken only by the noise of the blood throbbing 
 out of the inert heap before us, which but a moment before had been a brave 
 living man. The Kaishaku made a low bow, wiped his sword with a piece of 
 paper which he had ready for the purpose, and retired from the raised floor, 
 the stained dirk being solemnly borne away as a proof of the execution. 
 
 The two representatives of the Mikado then left their places, and crossing 
 over to where the foreign witnesses sat, called on us to witness that the 
 sentence of death upon Taki Zenzaburo had been faithfully carried out. The 
 ceremony being at an end, we left the temple. 
 
 Authority: Mitford's " Talcs of Old Japan."
 
 I'itoto. h. Hriiif.-ninun. 
 
 Ak IHIR S( lh)|'l':NH M'Kk.
 
 No. 88 
 
 The Death of Arthur Schopenhauer. Born at Dantzig 
 2 2nd February 1788. Died at Frankfort 21st 
 September i860. 
 
 SCHOPENHAUER enjoyed to the last the full vigour of health which 
 confirmed his own expectations of a long- life in which to carry on 
 his work. His manner of living was strictly regulated by the rules 
 which he had prescribed for himself, and his habits were abstemious and 
 frugal. In short, he was desperately anxious to live in order to carry out his 
 life's labour, and complete his explanation of this world's philosophy — of the 
 why, whence, and whither of man's existence. Suddenly on a day in April 
 i860, when he was on his way home from the restaurant where he usually 
 dined, he became conscious of a painful palpitation of the heart, and a 
 consequent difficulty in breathing. These symptoms of weakness in the 
 mainspring of his body recurred frequently, so that he was compelled to 
 restrict his walks, and generally speaking to go more gently. It was 
 Nature's warning that the machine that had served him so long and so well 
 was wearing out. On September the 19th i860, he caught a chill and his 
 lungs became inflamed. "This is my death," said the philosopher, but the 
 vigour of his constitution prevailed, and he slowly recovered from the attack. 
 Not for long, however, was the grim enemy of mankind to be held at bay, 
 and soon the palpitations of the heart returned with increasing frequency. 
 The old man grew palpably weaker and at last, much against his inclination, 
 he called in a doctor. " It would be miserable," said he, " if my life were to 
 end now, for my work is still incomplete, and I have much more to write." 
 He desired ardently to attain " Nirvana," that state or condition of union 
 with the Godhead which is held out by the Buddhist religion as the sutnmum 
 boniim of humanity, but he feared it was but an idea, and only too good to 
 be true. " At least," said he, " my conscience does not upbraid me." On the 
 20th of September i860, on rising from his bed in the morning, he tempor- 
 arily lost consciousness, and falling down inflicted a wound on his forehead. 
 Throughout the day he seemed fairly well and slept soundly as usual at 
 night. On the morning of the 21st, he got up at his usual hour, had a bath 
 and took his breakfast, and a short time afterwards, when his doctor called to 
 see him, he was found dead lying back peacefully on the sofa. Death came 
 \o him as he had wished, suddenly and without pain. He had said, speaking 
 of death, " Whosoever like myself has passed a lonely and self centred life, 
 will not find it difficult to die as one has lived, solitary and alone." 
 
 "In such a death," says Cicero, "there is neither pain nor bitterness; 
 but as ripe fruit is lightly and without violence loosened from its branch, so 
 the soul of such an one departs ungrieving from the body, wherein its life's 
 experience hath lain." 
 
 .Authorilies : Life by H. Zimmern and W. Gwinner; Schopenhauer Lcben, 1878; 
 
 W. Wallace, Life, etc.
 
 CoiM Cavoi'k.
 
 No. 89 
 
 The Death of Count Camillo Benso di Cavour. Born 
 at Turin 18 10. Died at Turin i86i. 
 
 THE wear and tearofpubliclifeasitwas lived by Cavour was enormous. 
 He had not the relaxation of athletic or literary tastes, or the repose 
 of a cheerful domestic life; he was indeed inclined to despise rest. He 
 used to say : ' ' When I want a thing to be done quickly, I always go to a busy 
 man. The unoccupied man never has time to do anything." He, himself, did 
 not know what it was to be idle, and yet he was painfully conscious of the 
 results of overwork. He was tormented by insomnia, and told his friend 
 Castelli : "I am no longer master of my head." In the latter half of 1861 he 
 was noticed to be unusually irritable: the debates bored him, and on the last 
 day that he sat in his accustomed place, he said that when Italy was united 
 and established, he would bring in a bill to abolish all the chairs of Rhetoric 
 at the Universities. That evening he was attacked by fever. His own 
 physician was absent, and he himself prescribed the treatment which he 
 considered necessary to remove his illness. The doctor who was called in 
 thought it necessary to bleed him four times in five days, and this necessarily 
 diminished his strength. On the fourth day he presided at a cabinet council 
 held in his own room, which was prolonged for some hours, and when it 
 was over a friend, who came to see him, said that he saw death in Cavour's 
 face. Suddenly he seemed to realize that he was in danger and said: " The 
 King must be informed of my condition." As he grew worse, the family 
 sent for a monk named Fra Giacomo, who had promised, in case of necessity, 
 to administer the last sacraments. An excited crowd gathered round the 
 palace. One workman was heard to say: "If the priest refuse him the 
 Blessed Sacraments we will finish them all," but Fra Giacomo kept his 
 promise. He had for many years acted as Count Cavour's almoner in private 
 charities, and was well aware of the greatness and goodness of his character. 
 On the evening of 5th June, the King visited him by a secret staircase that 
 led to the Count's room. Cavour exclaimed on seeing him : "Oh! Maesta!" 
 but his senses failed him, and in answer to the King's kind words he rejoined: 
 "Those Neapolitans must be cleansed." He became delirious, but in all his 
 wanderings his mind ever turned to the future welfare of his beloved Italy. 
 At early dawn on the 6th June, he imagined himself to be speaking as the 
 King's minister in the Chamber of Deputies. His voice was clear and 
 strong, but his words and ideas were incoherent, and without meaning. At 
 four o'clock he became silent, and not long after his spirit fled. A year 
 before he had visited his ancestral home, the Castle of Santena, and had said 
 to the village syndic: " Here I wish my bones to rest." He thought that a 
 man should die in the faith of his ancestors and be buried with them. His 
 wishes were respected, and the great statesman was laid to his rest at 
 
 195
 
 196 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 Santena. He died in the Catholic faith. He was born wealthy and of high 
 lineage. His life was devoted to the unification of Italy, and when he died 
 his work was practically accomplished. 
 
 Authorities: Life by E. M. Caesaresco; C. de Mazadc; Dictionary of National 
 Biography; History of Italy, etc.
 
 Al.lKKl) lllC \'ll.NV.
 
 No. 90 
 
 The Death of Alfred de Vigny, French Poet. 
 
 Born 1797. Died 1863. 
 
 IN the latter part of his life he frequently alluded to an epitaph which he 
 had found mentioned in the correspondence of Lord Byron — " Implora 
 pace." Lord Byron's letter is as follows: To Mr. Hoppner, English 
 Consul at Venice. Bologna, 6th June 1819. "I have discovered in the 
 cemetery of La Certosa one, or rather I should say two beautiful epitaphs'. 
 The one is 'Martini Luigi, implora pace,' the other, ' Lucrezia Picinl, 
 implora eterna quieta,' and that is all. It seems to me, however, that in these 
 few words is summed up all that could be said or thought on the subject, 
 and the delicate sweetness of the Italian language lends to these sad words 
 an exquisite melodiousness. Hope, doubt, humility, all are expressed: and 
 perhaps it would be hard to find anything more delicately reserved and 
 pathetic than this prayer, Implora. He and she are tired of this life, and 
 desire nothing more save only eternal rest. It is as fine as one of the best 
 Greek epitaphs. I entreat of you, should you be living at Venice when they 
 bury me there, have graven on my tomb those two words, ' Implora pace,' 
 and nothing more." " Poor woman," wrote Alfred de Vigny in his journal, 
 " what had you done? what had you not suffered to make this prayer, and 
 whose hand was it that inscribed on your tomb this last sad request?" He 
 refers again to this epitaph in a letter to his friend, the Marquise de la 
 Grange. " Implora pace," it is the cry of the great Pascal, also " placidam 
 pacem," Peace! Peace! He saw, without bitterness, the public favour turn 
 from him, and heard without jealousy the praises of his rivals and successors, 
 resigning himself to the universal law, that the old shall give place to the 
 young. He lived retired in the department of La Charente on his estate 
 of Maine-Giraud, in the perpetual silence of his wife's society. He went 
 occasionally to Paris, and on his last visit wrote as follows to his old friend, 
 Madame de la Grange: " Avant hier je vous ai ecrit un billet tout rempli de 
 regrets. Je vous disais qu'il ne faut plus jamais m'inviter a diner. J'ai Ic 
 coeur serre de mille tristesses et je ne pourrais pas sourire un moment, meme 
 pres de vous. Vous m'en demanderiez la cause et ce serait pour vous un 
 grand ennui que de I'entendre, et pour moi un vrai supplice que de la dire. 
 Ne m'interrogez jamais. II y a tant de choses auxquelles Dieu seul peut 
 quelque chose!" He was in fact at that time attacked by that terrible and 
 pitiless disease, cancer, with its necessary concomitant of physical pain. It 
 is the worst of all maladies, for its cause is unknown, its cure rare and 
 uncertain, and in its progress it at length attacks not only the body, but 
 the mind, as poor St. Theresa said of it: " elle reduit I'ame a ne savoir plus 
 que devenir." De Vigny awaited his slow and cruel death with courage, 
 and without impatience. His innate modesty, and a repugnance to abnormal 
 physical phenomena, led him to keep his malady a secret. If he did speak 
 
 197 r c
 
 1 98 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 of his sufferings it was indirectly and with reticence. Writing to a friend in 
 those last days he said: "Je suis accable des lassitudes de cette lutte contre 
 le vautour que Promethee m'a legue. II me devore avec une cruaute 
 inouie." 
 
 On the 17th September 1863, after a slow agony, his body ceased to 
 suffer; and if indeed, as Plato believed, death is but a dreamless sleep, if in 
 this death we find peace and forgetfulness, then his suffering and restless 
 spirit has at last found repose. 
 
 Lecky, in " The Map of Life," quotes an epitaph from a German church- 
 yard. " I will arise, O Christ, when Thou callest me; but let me rest awhile 
 for I am very weary." 
 
 Authority: Life by M. Pal6ologue.
 
 Wii.i.iAM Makhpeacf. Thackeray.
 
 No. 91 
 The Death of William Makepeace Thackeray. Born 
 at Calcutta in 181 1. Died at Kensington Palace 
 Gardens, London, 24th December 1863. 
 
 AT the close of his Roundabout Papers, No. 23 De Finibus, which 
 appeared in the " Cornhill Magazine," Thackeray wrote: "Another 
 Finis written; another milestone on this journey from birth to the 
 next world. Sure it is a subject for solemn cogitation. Yet a few chapters 
 more, and then the last, after which behold Finis itself comes to an end, and 
 the Infinite begins." 
 
 Thackeray suffered from heart disease, and had fixed with his friend and 
 physician to come and see him on the Tuesday before his death, but had 
 put him off with a note in which he subscribed himself, "Yours unfaithfully 
 W. M. T." On the next day he went for a walk and returned somewhat 
 fatigued. He went to bed at ten o'clock, declining the offer of his servant to 
 sit up with him. He was heard moving about in his room at midnight, after 
 which all was quiet. In the morning he was found lying dead in his bed 
 v/ith his arms behind his head as if trying to take one more breath. Surely 
 a happy ending of a good life. Writing to a friend he frankly stated his 
 calling as a preacher to his fellow men. " It makes me feel," he wrote, "an 
 almost awful sense of responsibility which falls upon a man in such a 
 station. Is it deserved or undeserved? Who is this that sets up to preach to 
 mankind, and to laugh at many things which men reverence? I hope I may 
 be able to tell the truth, always, and to see it aright according to the eyes 
 which God Almighty has given me." 
 
 In person William Makepeace Thackeray was tall and strongly built, 
 with a fine massive head, and an abundance of silvery-white hair. He was 
 a most genial and kind-hearted man. His sense of a higher power ruling all 
 things was expressed in all he wrote, and he bowed before "the Awful Will." 
 In a paper on George Sand, he wrote: "O awful, awful name of God; 
 light unbearable! mystery unfathomable! Vastness immeasurable! O name, 
 that God's people of old did fear to utter! O light! in which God's prophet 
 would have perished had he seen!" He had a simple faith in God and his 
 Saviour, and seemed like so many other human creatures to have had a 
 foreboding of his end, of the terrible breast pang, the last agony of which 
 killed him. 
 
 " We bow to Heaven that willed it so, 
 That darkly rules the fate of all; 
 That sends the respite or the blow. 
 That's free to give or to recall." 
 
 199
 
 200 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 ". . . but the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there 
 shall no torment touch them. In the sight of the unwise they seem to 
 die, and their departure is taken for misery, and their going from us to be 
 utter destruction ; but they are in Peace." 
 
 Edmund Yates wrote of him: " On Christmas eve in the twilight, at the 
 time when the clubs are filled with men who have dropped in on their 
 homeward way to hear the latest news, a rumour ran through London that 
 Thackeray was dead. I myself heard it on the club steps from a friend who 
 had just returned from telegraphing the news to an Irish newspaper. . . . 
 Thackeray was dead, and the purest English prose-writer of the nineteenth 
 century, and the novelist with the greatest knowledge of the human heart, 
 with the exception perhaps of Shakespeare and Balzac, was suddenly struck 
 down in the midst of us. No long illness, no lingering decay, no gradual 
 suspension of power; almost pen in hand like Kempenfeldt he went down." 
 
 " I lay the weary pen aside. 
 
 And wish you love and wealth and mirth. 
 
 As fits the solemn Christmas birth, 
 
 As fits the holy Christmas birth. 
 
 Be this good friends our carol still, 
 
 Be peace on earth — be peace on earth 
 
 To men of gentle will." 
 
 Authorities: Dictionary of National Biography ; Brown's " Horae Subsecivae"; 
 
 Writings of Thackeray.
 
 Chari.es Dickens.
 
 No. 92 
 The Death of Charles Dickens. Borni8i2. Died 1870. 
 
 ON the 8th June he passed all the day writing in the Chalet at his 
 house at Gadshill, near Rochester. He was late in leaving the Chalet; 
 but before dinner, which was ordered at six o'clock with the intention 
 of walking afterwards in the lanes, he wrote some letters, and dinner was 
 begun before Miss Hogarth saw with alarm a singular expression of trouble 
 and pain in his face. "For an hour," he then told her, "he had been very 
 ill," but he wished dinner to go on. These were the only really coherent 
 words that fell from him. He spoke disconnectedly of quite other matters; 
 of an approaching sale at a neighbour's house and of his own intention to 
 go immediately to London; and at this he rose, and his sister-in-law's help 
 alone prevented him from falling where he stood. Her effort then was to get 
 him on the sofa, but after a slight struggle he sank heavily on his left side. 
 "On the ground," were the last words he spoke. It was now a little over 
 ten minutes past six o'clock. His two daughters came that night, having been 
 telegraphed for. His eldest son arrived early next morning, and was joined 
 in the evening (too late) by his younger son from Cambridge. All possible 
 medical aid had been summoned. The surgeon of the neighbourhood was 
 there from the first, and a physician from London was also in attendance, 
 but all human help was unavailing. There was effusion on the brain, and 
 though stertorous breathing continued all night and until ten minutes past 
 six o'clock on the evening of Thursday the gth June, there was never a gleam 
 of hope during the twenty-four hours which elapsed before his death. He 
 lived four months beyond his fifty-eighth year. His remains were interred 
 in Westminster Abbey, but, in accordance with his injunctions, in as private 
 and unostentatious a manner as possible. 
 
 Authority: Forstcr's "Life." 
 
 201
 
 Thomas ( ari.vm:. 
 
 i> Janus MiX. II 'histlcf.
 
 No. 93 
 The Death of Thomas Carlyle. Born 1795. Died 1881. 
 
 IN his last years Thomas Carlyle became conscious of failing strength ; 
 glad to rest upon a seat when he could find one, glad of an arm to lean 
 on in walking. He knew that his end must be near, and it was seldom 
 long out of his mind ; but he was not conscious of any failure of intellectual 
 power, nor was there to the last any essential failure. He forgot names and 
 places, as old men often do, but recollected everything that was worth re- 
 membering. In his intellect nothing pointed to an end, and the experience 
 that the mind did not necessarily decay with the body, confirmed his con- 
 viction that it was not a function of the body, that it had another origin, and 
 might have another destination. When he spoke of the future and its un- 
 certainties, he fell back invariably on the last words of his favourite hymn, 
 " Wir heissen euch hoffen " (We bid you hope). Meanwhile his business 
 with the world was over, his connection with it was closing in, and he had 
 only to bid it farewell. He continued to read the Bible, the significance of 
 which he found deep and wonderful, almost as much as it ever used to be 
 for him. Bold and honest to the last, he would not pretend to believe what 
 his intellect rejected, and in Job, his old favourite, he found more wonder 
 than satisfaction. But the Bible itself, the Bible and Shakespeare, remained 
 the best books to him that ever were written. " I do not feel to ail any- 
 thing," he said, "except unspeakable and I think increasing weakness, as 
 of a young child, the arrival in fact of second childhood, such as is to be 
 expected when the time of departure is nigh. I am grateful to Heaven for 
 one thing, that the state of my mind continues unaltered and perfectly clear, 
 surely a blessing beyond expression, compared with what the contrary would 
 be. Let us pray to be grateful to the Great Giver of Good, and for patience 
 under whatever His will may be." 
 
 In the autumn of 1880 he grew so visibly infirm, that neither he nor 
 any one expected him to survive the winter. He was scarcely able even to 
 wish it. He was entirely occupied with his approaching change; with the 
 world and its concerns he had done for ever. His bed had been moved into 
 the drawing-room, which still bore the stamp of his wife's hand on it. Her 
 workbox and other trifles lay about in their old places. He had forbidden 
 them to be moved, and they stood within reach of his dying hand. He had 
 written: "Sometimes the image of her; gone in her car of victory, in that 
 beautiful death as if nodding to me with a smile: ' I am gone, loved one; 
 work a little longer, if thou still carest to do so, if not, follow. There is no 
 baseness and no misery here. Courage, courage to the last.' " 
 
 " I went to see him " (says Froude) ; " he was wandering when I came 
 to his side, but recognized me. ' I am very ill,' he said. ' Is it not strange 
 that they should have chosen the very oldest man in all Britain to make 
 suffer in this way?' I answered: ' We do not exactly know why they act as 
 
 20.;
 
 204 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 they do. They may have reasons that we cannot guess at.' ' Yes,' he said, 
 with a flash of the old intellect, ' it would be rash to say that they have no 
 reasons.' To his doctor he said: ' For me you can do nothing. The only 
 thing you could do you must not do, that is help me to make an end of 
 this.' When I saw him next, his speech was gone; his eyes were as if they 
 did not see, or were fixed on something far away. I cannot say whether he 
 heard me when I spoke to him, but I said: ' Ours has been a long friend- 
 ship: I will try to do what you wish.' This was on the 4th February 1881. 
 The morning following he died. He had been gone an hour when I reached 
 the house. He lay calm and still, an expression of exquisite tenderness 
 subduing his rugged features into almost feminine beauty. I have seen 
 something like it in Catholic pictures of dead saints, but never before or since 
 on any human countenance." 
 
 Carlyle himself wrote: "'For a divinity doth shape our ends, rough- 
 hew them how we may.' Often in my life I have been brought to think of 
 this, as probably every considering person has: and looking before and after 
 have felt, though reluctant enough to believe in the importance or signi- 
 ficance of so infinitesimally small an atom as oneself, that the doctrine of 
 a special Providence is in some sort natural to man. All piety points that 
 way, all logic points the other ; one has in one's darkness and limitation a 
 trembling faith, and can at least say ' Wir heissen euch hoffen,' if it be the 
 will of the Highest." 
 
 Authorities : James Anthony Froudc ; Carlyle.
 
 Uean Stani.ky.
 
 No. 94 
 
 The Death of Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, Dean of West- 
 minster. Born 13th December 1815. Died i8th 
 July 1881. 
 
 THE Dean's condition on Thursday, 14th July 1881, showed that 
 some serious illness was impending, and on Friday morning Dr. 
 Harper observed that an attack of erysipelas of the face had begun. 
 The erysipelas spread rapidly over the face, eyelids, and head, extending 
 down the neck as far as the chest and the right shoulder. The condition was 
 alarming, but Dean Stanley himself still hoped that he might be well enough 
 to conduct the marriage service of his friend Mr. Montgomery on the 28th. 
 On Sunday 17th July he grew much worse. The erysipelas had attacked 
 his throat with such severity that his utterance was feeble and indistinct. " I 
 always wished," he said, "to die at Westminster. The end has come in the 
 way that I most desired that it should come." Again he spoke: "I am 
 perfectly satisfied, perfectly happy. I have not the slightest misgiving. I 
 always wished to die at Westminster." Then his thoughts turned in another 
 direction. " I should like Vaughan to preach my funeral sermon, if he can 
 do it. I have been so very intimate with him. He has known me longest." 
 Finally, he added: " I wish to send a message of respect to the Queen. As 
 far as I understood what the duties of my office were supposed to be, in spite 
 of every incompetence, I am yet humbly trustful that I have sustained before 
 the mind of the Nation the extraordinary value of the Abbey as a religious, 
 national, and liberal institution." The Sacrament, with his earnest assent, 
 was administered by Canon Farrar to him, and to those who were gathered 
 round his bed. At the close of the service he interrupted the celebrant, and 
 gathering all his remaining strength, himself gave the final benediction. 
 
 About the middle of the day his strength became exhausted, and he 
 gradually relapsed into unconsciousness. His breathing became more and 
 more laboured, until at twenty minutes to twelve on the night of Monday, 
 i8th July 1881, it ceased altogether, and without pain Stanley passed away. 
 
 Authorities : Life by R. E. Prothero ; Dictionary of National Biograph)'. 
 
 205 D D
 
 Kdwaku Knzi.EKAi.li, 
 
 FiOiH a Print.
 
 No. 95 
 
 The Death of Edward FitzGerald. Born 3 1 st March 
 1809 i^ Suffolk. Died 14th June 1883. 
 
 FOR some time before his death FitzGerald seemed to have a fore- 
 boding that his end was not far distant. He spoke of his mother's 
 death (which was sudden, Hke his own, and at the same age). " We 
 none of us get beyond seventy-five," he said. 
 
 Writing to a friend, after alluding to the fatal malady by which the wife 
 of a mutual friend had been attacked, he added: "What a tragedy! So brisk, 
 so bright and good, a little woman who seemed made to live, and now the 
 doctors allot her but two years longer at most. Providence might have 
 spared ' pauvre et triste Humanite ' that trial, and it would have made no 
 difference to its supremacy. ' Voila ma petite protestation respectueuse a la 
 Providence,' as Madame de Sevigne says." Again, in a letter to one of his 
 nieces, he wrote: " It seems strange to me, to be so seemingly alert and 
 certainly alive, amid such fatalities, among younger and stronger people. 
 But even while I say so, the hair may break and the suspended Sword fall. 
 If it would but do so at once and effectually." Sixteen days later his wish 
 was fulfilled. On Wednesday, 13th June 1883, FitzGerald went to pay his 
 annual visit to his old friend the Rev. Mr. Crabbe, at Merton Rectory, and 
 the next day that gentleman wrote: " I grieve to have to tell you that our 
 dear friend Edward FitzGerald died here this morning. He came last 
 evening to pay his usual visit, but did not seem in good spirits, and did not 
 eat anything. At ten o'clock he said he would go to bed. At a quarter to 
 eight the next morning I tapped at his door to ask how he was, and, getting 
 no answer, went in and found him as if sleeping peacefully, but quite dead. 
 Avery noble character has passed away." On the following Tuesday he was 
 buried in the little churchyard of Boulge, and the stone which marks his 
 grave bears the simple inscription: "Edward FitzGerald. Born 31st March 
 1809. Died 14th June 1883. ' It is He that hath made us and not we 
 ourselves.' " 
 
 Tennyson, on hearing of his death, wrote: "I had no truer friend: he 
 was one of the kindliest of men, and I have never known one of so fine 
 and delicate a wit." 
 
 When Thackeray was asked which of his friends he loved most, replied : 
 "Why, dear old Fitz to be sure." And Carlyle spoke of him as "the 
 peaceable, affectionate, and ultra-modest man, and his innocent far niente 
 life." 
 
 FitzGerald will be perhaps best remembered by his masterly paraphrase 
 of Omar Khayyam, the Persian astronomer-poet of the eleventh century, 
 and by his translations of Calderon's Dramas. His favourite books were 
 " Don Quixote " and " Clarissa Harlowe." His favourite poet Crabbe. 
 
 Authorities : W. Aldis Wright ; Dictionary of National Biography. 
 
 207
 
 Tiiii Death of GKxtRAL Gordon. 
 
 (Khartoum, January 26th, 1885.) 
 
 Reproduced by permission 0/ Messrs. Frosi ^^ Reed, Fine Art Publishers, o^ Bristol ami London, publishers 0/ the 
 
 large etching by Herbert Dicksee.
 
 No. 96 
 
 The Death of Major-General Charles G. Gordon, C.B. 
 Born 28th January 1833. Died 26th January 1885. 
 
 "One honest man, one wise man, one peaceful man, commands a 
 hundred millions, without a baton and without a charger. He wants no 
 fortress to protect him, he stands higher than any citadel can raise him, 
 brightly conspicuous to the most distant nations, God's servant by election, 
 God's image by beneficence." — Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 GENERAL GORDON was called by the Prime Minister, Mr. Glad- 
 stone, at a memorable crisis, to a task of mercy, beyond human 
 strength. For eleven months he held out alone, drawing to himself 
 in the beleaguered city of Khartoum in Egypt the wonder and reverence of 
 the world, and then fell at his post faithful unto death. He seems to have 
 had a presentiment of the end, for so early as 13th October 1884 he wrote 
 in his Journal: "It is of course on the cards that Khartoum is taken under 
 the nose of the Expeditionary Force, which will be just too late"; and again 
 when the Expeditionary Force had reached Metemma, some seventy miles 
 from Khartoum, and he sent his steamers to meet them, he wrote: "Now 
 mark this, if the Expeditionary Force does not come in ten days, the town 
 may fall, and I have done my best for the honour of the country. Good-bye." 
 On the same day he sent his last letter to his sister, in which he said: "God 
 rules all; and as God will rule to His glory and our welfare. His will be 
 done. I am quite happy, and like Lawrence, have tried to do my duty." 
 
 Follows the sworn testimony of one of the four sergeant orderlies who 
 were attached to his person: " I was on duty on the 26th January, and was 
 with Gordon Pasha in the look-out on the top of the Palace at Khartoum. 
 As the morning star rose, the Mahdi's troops made a false attack on our 
 black troops under Feraz Pasha, but their real attack, which succeeded, was 
 made on that part of the defences which was guarded by the 5th Regiment 
 Fellaheen, under Hassan Bey. When Gordon Pasha heard the rebels in the 
 town, he said: 'It is finished: to-day Gordon will be killed,' and he went 
 down stairs, and we four sergeants followed him, taking our rifles with us. 
 Gordon Pasha took a chair and sat down at the door of the Palace, outside, 
 and we stood on his right and his left. All at once a Sheikh galloped up with 
 some Bazara Arabs, and we levelled our rifles to fire upon them, but Gordon 
 Pasha struck up our rifles with his stick, saying : ' No need of rifles to-day. 
 Gordon is to be killed.' The Sheikh spoke at first respectfully to Gordon 
 Pasha, saying that he had been sent by the Mahdi to bring him before him 
 alive: but the Pasha refused to go, and said he would die where he was; but 
 he asked that our lives might be spared, as we had not fired our rifles. Three 
 times the Sheikh repeated the Mahdi's commands, and each time Gordon 
 Pasha gave the same answer. Then the Sheikh called upon the name of 
 
 209
 
 2IO A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 God the most High, and drawing his sword, he rushed at Gordon Pasha 
 and cut him down through his left shoulder. The Pasha looked him straight 
 in the face and made no resistance. So he died, and his head was cut off 
 and taken to the Mahdi at Omdurman. The body was buried close to the 
 gate of the Palace where he fell." Khartoum fell, and Gordon was killed on 
 the 26th January 1885. The Mahdi, Mohammed Ahmed, died at Khartoum 
 of typhus fever, 21st June 1885. Before his death Gordon Pasha had sent 
 down the steamers at his disposal to meet the Expeditionary Force at 
 Metemma, where they arrived on the 21st January, and Kasm el Mous, who 
 was in charge of the steamers, pressed Sir Charles Wilson (commanding the 
 British Force) to proceed without delay to Khartoum, not that he feared for 
 Gordon, but because the Nile was falling. There seems no valid reason for 
 Sir Charles Wilson's delay at Metemma until the 24th January, on which 
 day he made a desperate push for Khartoum, arriving on the 26th, only to 
 find Gordon dead and the city in the hands of the Mahdi. His description 
 of the river fight is worth recording here. 
 
 " The gun in the turret of our steamer was capitally served by the black 
 gunners under their Captain, Abdullah Effendi, who laid the gun each time, 
 and fired it himself. The gunners, who had nothing on but a cloth round their 
 waists, looked more like demons than men in the thick smoke, and one huge 
 giant was the very incarnation of savagery, drunk with war. The shooting 
 was fairly good, and we heard afterwards that we had dismounted one of the 
 guns in the enemy's battery, but at the time we could not see the effect. After 
 we had run the gauntlet, and the fire was turned on our consort, the Soudanese 
 set up a wild cry of delight, raising their rifles in their hands and shaking 
 them in the air. We kept on to the junction of the two Niles, when it became 
 plain to every one that Khartoum had fallen into the Mahdi's hands; for not 
 only were there hundreds of Dervishes ranged under their banners, standing 
 on the sand spit close to the town, ready to resist our landing, but no flag 
 was flying in Khartoum, and not a shot was fired in our assistance. Here, 
 too, if not before, we should have met the two steamers I knew Gordon still 
 had at Khartoum. I at once gave the order to turn and run full speed down 
 the river. It was hopeless to attempt a landing, or to communicate with the 
 shore, under such a fire. The sight at this moment was very grand; the 
 masses of the enemy with their fluttering banners near Khartoum, the long 
 rows of riflemen in the shelter trenches at Omdurman, the numerous groups 
 of men on Tuti Island, the bursting shells, and the water torn up by hundreds 
 of bullets and occasional heavier shot, made an impression never to be for- 
 gotten. Looking out over the stormy scene, it seemed impossible that we 
 should escape. Directly we turned round the Soudanese, who had been wild 
 with excitement and firing away cheerily, completely collapsed. Poor fellows! 
 they had lost in Khartoum wives, families, and all they possessed. Kasm el 
 Mous sank into a corner of the turrte with his mantle wrapped round his
 
 CHARLES G. GORDON, C.B. 211 
 
 head, and even the brave gunner-captain forsook his gun. ' What is the use 
 of firing?' said he; 'I have lost all.' " 
 As Tennyson wrote: 
 
 " Warrior of God! Man's friend! not laid below 
 But somewhere dead, far in the vast Soudan, 
 
 Thou livest in men's hearts, for all men know 
 This earth has borne no simpler, nobler man." 
 
 " His name, 
 Graven on memorial columns, is a song 
 Heard in the future. His example reaches hand 
 Far thro' all years, and everywhere it meets 
 And kindles generous purpose, and the strength 
 To mould it into action, pure as his." 
 
 " He was a man," says General Sir William Butler, "as unselfish as 
 Sidney, of courage as dauntless as Wolfe, of honour stainless as Outram, 
 of faith as steadfast as More. . . . With Gordon the harmony of life and 
 death was complete." 
 
 Authorities ; Sir Charles Wilson's Narrative ; A. E. Hake ; Newspapers current.
 
 FKiinEKic Wii.i.iAM. t'RowN Pkince of Prussia.
 
 No. 97 
 
 The Death of Frederick III of Prussia. Born i8th 
 Oaober 1831. Died 15th June 1888. 
 
 IN November 1887 the Emperor Frederick, at that time Crown Prince 
 of Prussia, lay between Hfe and death at San Remo ; he was suffering 
 from an affection of the throat which was pronounced by the German 
 doctors to be cancer, but this was strenuously denied by the English specialist, 
 Morell Mackenzie, who had been brought over from England at the urgent 
 wish of the Crown Princess, to attend upon her husband. Prince William 
 of Prussia (afterwards the Emperor William) travelled from Berlin to San 
 Remo to see his father, hoping to combat his mother's influence and obtain 
 the dismissal of the English doctor. " Bismarck," he said, *' never makes a 
 mistake, and he considers our German scientists far in advance of the English 
 in matters of diagnosis." He was unsuccessful, however, and soon returned 
 to Berlin where the Czar of Russia was expected, and Prince William's 
 presence was absolutely necessary. So the days dragged on in the Royal 
 household, until at last the Crown Prince experienced so much difficulty in 
 breathing that the operation of tracheotomy had to be performed. 
 
 On the 7th February 1888, the Crown Prince was on the point of 
 starting for a drive with his wife in an open victoria. The wind was cold 
 and brought on a paroxysm of suffocation so that the doctors decided that 
 there was no time to lose. " An hour or two," said Morell Mackenzie, "and 
 it may be too late." The Crown Prince descended from the carriage, and 
 with a sad glance at his wife, re-entered the house, and the operation was 
 performed under chloroform. Two hours later his wife came out from her 
 husband's room and said to her maid of honour, shaken with sobs, "Fritz 
 has got the tube in his throat." 
 
 The old Emperor William, the hero of the Franco-Prussian war, died 
 in Berlin on the 9th of March 1888, and by his death the Crown Prince 
 became Emperor. In the garden of their villa at San Remo, when the news 
 came, all was hurry and confusion, officers and servants hurried in all 
 directions, for His Majesty the Emperor Frederick had ordered the large 
 drawing-room to be lighted up for a state occasion, and every one was 
 ordered to attend. It was a strange and striking scene, this re-entry into 
 public life as it were of one who was already looked upon as dead, and a 
 thrill ran through the whole assembly as a door opened and the commanding 
 figure of the Emperor appeared, as noble and grand in presence as of yore. 
 He could not speak, but, advancing to a small table in the room on which 
 were placed writing materials, he stooped and wrote a few lines which he 
 signed for the first time, "Frederick Emperor of Germany." His secretary 
 read aloud what he had written. It was the announcement of his father's 
 death and of his own accession to the throne; then turning towards his wife 
 who had entered the room with him, he bowed low to her as if paying 
 
 21-; E E
 
 2 14 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 homage to her courage and affection, and tenderly tied round her neck, as 
 his first gift, the ribbon of the Order of the Black Eagle. She threw her 
 arms around him and burst into tears on his shoulder. The Emperor wrote 
 his thanks to Dr. Morell Mackenzie, "for having made me live long enough 
 to make this public recognition of my dear wife's courage and constancy." 
 
 He died at Potsdam on the 15th of June 1888. 
 
 He was brave and just, and pure in heart: he cared not for his own 
 enjoyment nor to preserve his own life: he cared only for what he thought 
 right. Such a man was worthy to be an Emperor. 
 
 Authority : Histories and newspapers of the time.
 
 No. 98 
 A Japanese Fisherman 
 
 " IT WAS married to a man much older than myself, and my brother, who 
 I was eighteen years of age, lived with us. We had a good boat, a little 
 J- piece of ground, and I was skilful at the loom, so we managed to live 
 well. In summer our fishing boats used to go out at night, and when the 
 fleet was out you could see the line of torch-fires two or three miles away 
 like a string of stars. They did not go out if the weather was threatening, 
 but in certain months great storms arose so suddenly that the boats were 
 sometimes caught before they could hoist sail. The sea was as still as the 
 Temple pond when my husband and brother sailed for the night fishing, but 
 before daybreak the typhoon arose. All the boats had come back except my 
 husband's; for my husband and my brother had gone out farther than the 
 others, so that they were unable to return as quickly. And all the people 
 were looking and waiting. Every minute the waves seemed to grow higher 
 and higher, and the wind to become more terrible, and the other boats had 
 to be dragged far up the shore to save them. Then suddenly we saw my 
 husband's boat coming very very quickly. We were so glad. It came quite 
 near so that I could see the face of my husband, and the face of my brother. 
 But suddenly a great wave struck the boat upon its side and turned it down 
 into the water so that it did not come up again. And then we saw my 
 husband and my brother swimming, but we could see them only when the 
 waves lifted them up. Tall like hills the waves were, and the head of my 
 husband, and the head of my brother, would go up, up, up and then down, 
 and each time they rose to the top of a wave so that we could see them, 
 they would cry out " Help! Help!" 
 
 " But the strong men were afraid, the sea was too terrible and I was only 
 a woman. Then my brother could not be seen any more. My husband was 
 old but very strong, and he swam a long time, so near that I could see that 
 his face was like the face of one in fear, and he called out, " Help me! " but 
 none could help him, and he also went down at last. And yet I could see 
 his face before he went down. 
 
 " And for a long time after that, every night I used to see his poor face 
 as I saw it then, so that I could not sleep, only could weep, and I prayed and 
 prayed that I might not dream that dream. Now it never comes, but I can still 
 see his face even as I speak. In that time my son was only a little child." 
 
 Not without sobs she concluded her simple recital. Then suddenly 
 bowing her head to the matting, and wiping away her tears with her long 
 sleeves, she humbly prayed our pardon for her exhibition of emotion and 
 laughed, the soft low laugh " de rigueur" of Japanese politeness. 
 
 "Everything is only for a day, both that which remembers, and that 
 which is remembered." 
 
 "Transient is all. All being born must die. And being born are dead. 
 And being dead are glad to be at rest." — The Buddhist Sutra of Nirvana. 
 
 In the hamlet of Hamamura on the Sea of Japan, 1892, from " Glimpses of Unfamiliar 
 Japan," p. 514, vol. ii, by Lafcadio Hearn. 
 
 215
 
 K. L. .SrK\"iCNso.N.
 
 No. 99 
 
 The Death of Robert Louis Stevenson. Born at Edin- 
 burgh, 13th November 1850. Died in Samoa, 
 3rd December 1894. 
 
 " /'~^ TEVENSON wrote hard all the morning of the last day (3rd 
 ^^^ December 1894) at his half-finished book, ' Weir of Hermiston,' 
 V — 7 which he judged the best he had ever written, and the sense of 
 successful effort made him buoyant and happy as nothing else could. In the 
 afternoon the mail fell to be answered; not business correspondence, for this 
 was left till later, but replies to the long kindly letters of distant friends received 
 but two days since, and still bright in memory. At sunset he came down 
 stairs; rallied his wife about the forebodings she could not shake off; talked 
 of a lecturing tour in America that he was eager to make, ' as he was now so 
 well,' and played a game of cards with her to drive away her melancholy. 
 He said he was hungry; begged her assistance to help him make a salad for 
 the evening meal; and to enhance the little feast he brought up a bottle of 
 old Burgundy from the cellar. He was helping his wife in the verandah and 
 talking gaily, when suddenly he put both hands to his head and cried out: 
 'What is this!' Then he asked quickly, ' Do I look strange?' Even as he 
 did so he fell on his knees beside her. He was helped into the great hall by 
 his wife and his body-servant Sosimo, losing consciousness instantly as he 
 lay back in the armchair that had once been his grandfather's. Little time 
 was lost in bringing the doctors — Anderson of the man-of-war and his friend 
 Dr. Funk. They looked at him and shook their heads; they laboured 
 strenuously and left nothing undone, but he had passed the bounds of human 
 skill. The dying man lay back in the chair breathing heavily; his family 
 about him frenzied with grief as they realized that all hope was past. The 
 dozen and more Samoans who formed part of the little clan of which he was 
 chief, sat in a wide semicircle on the floor, their reverent and sorrow-stricken 
 faces all fixed upon their dying master. A narrow bed was brought into the 
 centre of the room ; the Master was laid gently upon it. Slower and slower 
 grew his respiration ; wider the interval between the long deep breaths. He 
 died at ten minutes past eight on Monday evening, the 3rd of December, in the 
 forty-fifth year of his age. ... A meeting of chiefs was held to apportion 
 the work and divide the men into parties. Forty were sent with knives and 
 axes to cut a path up the steep face of the mountain, and the writer himself 
 led another party to the summit, men chosen from the immediate family, to 
 dig the grave where it was Mr. Stevenson's wish that he should lie. Nothing 
 more picturesque could be imagined than the narrow ledge that forms the 
 summit of Vaca; a place no wider than a room and flat as a table. On either 
 side the land descends precipitously; in front lies the vast ocean and the 
 surf-swept reefs ; to the right and left green mountains rise, densely covered 
 with primaeval forest. Here he was laid." 
 
 217
 
 2i8 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 This brave bright one was fortunate in his death : to him came not that 
 evil fate foreshadowed by himself. "Most of us," he wrote, "even if by 
 reason of great strength and the dignity of gray hairs we retain some degree 
 of public respect in the latter days of our existence, will find a falling away of 
 friends and a solitude making itself round us day by day until we are left alone 
 with the hired sick-nurse. For the attraction of a man's character is apt to be 
 outlived like the attraction of his body; and the power to love grows feeble 
 in its turn, as well as the power to inspire love in others. It is only with a 
 few rare natures that friendship is added to friendship, love to love, and the 
 man keeps growing richer in affection after his head is white and his back 
 weary, and he prepares to go down into the dust of death." 
 
 .'Authority : A printed letter addressed to friends by Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, stepson of 
 R. L. Stevenson. Dated December 1894.
 
 TllK KllAI.IFA AliDALLA EL TaAISHI AND HIS EMIRS, KILLED AT 
 
 Um Dkbkkikat on November 24, 1899. 
 
 l-'rom a phott\^aph f>y pi:ymission o/ Sir Rt^s^inald Win^ate.
 
 No. loo 
 
 The Death of the Khalifa, Abdulla el Taashi, the 
 2ist November 1899. 
 
 "T "X TAR Office, 30th January 1900. The following despatch has been 
 \ /\ / received . . . from Colonel Sir Reginald Wingate, commanding 
 » » troops on the White Nile, to His Excellency Major-General the 
 Rt. Hon. Lord Kitchener of Khartoum, G.C.B. 
 
 "Sir, In accordance with your instructions to me to proceed with a flying 
 column towards Gedid and to deal with the Dervish forces under the Emir 
 Ahmed Fedil and the Khalifa Abdulla, which were expected to be in that 
 neighbourhood, I have the honour to inform you that at 4 p.m. on the 21st 
 November I left Fachi Shoya with a force of 3,700 men. The troops 
 bivouacked from 6 to 10 p.m. on the 21st November, five miles south-west 
 of Fachi Shoya, and then marched during the night in bright moonlight to 
 the vicinity of Nefisa, fifteen miles. During the advance the cavalry scouted two 
 miles to the front, and drove in ten Dervish horsemen, whilst the camel corps 
 covered both flanks and rear. Our information led us to believe that a strong 
 force of Dervishes under the Emir Ahmed Fedil, with a considerable quantity 
 of grain, was then at Nefisa on the way to rejoin the main Dervish army under 
 the Khalifa at Gedid. ... A Dervish deserter reported the Khalifa's force to 
 be encamped some seven miles to the south-east. At 3 a.m. the enemy's 
 position was reported about three miles distant, and the force was deployed 
 into fighting formation, and, with as little noise as possible, continued to 
 advance. In the distance the beating of the enemy's drums could be heard, 
 but the sound died away, and at 3.40 a.m. the rising ground was reached where 
 the long grass with which it was covered effectually screened our movements. 
 As the light improved large bodies of shouting Dervishes were seen advancing, 
 but our steady volleys and gun and maxim fire kept theirs under, and it 
 gradually slackened. The whole line was now advanced down the gentle 
 slope towards the Dervish position, and drove the retiring enemy towards 
 their camp, which lay concealed in the midst of trees; as the troops advanced 
 numbers of the enemy surrendered and were given the ' Aman ' (mercy). 
 Thousands of women and children were found in the camp which, most 
 fortunately, had not been reached by our fire, and it was soon evident that the 
 entire force had surrendered. Immediately in front of the line of advance of 
 the 9th Sudanese a large number of the enemy were seen lying dead, huddled 
 together in a comparatively small space ; on examination these proved to be the 
 bodies of the Khalifa Abdulla el Taashi, the Emir Ahmed Fedil, the Khalifa's 
 two brothers, the Mahdi's son, and a number of other well-known leaders. 
 At a short distance behind them lay their dead horses, and from the few men 
 still alive we learnt that the Khalifa, having failed in his attempt to reach the 
 rising ground where we had forestalled him, had then endeavoured to make 
 a turning movement, which had been crushed by our fire. Seeing his followers 
 
 219
 
 220 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 retiring he made an ineffectual attempt to rally them, but recognizing that 
 the day was lost, he had called on his Emirs to dismount from their horses, 
 and, seating himself on his 'furwa,' or sheepskin prayer-mat, as is the custom 
 of Arab chiefs who disdain to surrender, he had placed Khalifa Ali Wad 
 Helu on his right, and Ahmed Fedil on his left, whilst the remaining Emirs 
 seated themselves round him, with their bodyguard in line some twenty 
 paces in front, and in this position they had unflinchingly met their death. 
 The total Dervish losses during the fighting are estimated at i,ooo men 
 killed and wounded, and 9,400 prisoners including women and children." 
 
 Authority: " London Gazette," 30th January 1900.
 
 Admiral Toco. 
 
 From a photot^raph hy C. iicfschcl
 
 No. loi 
 Togo's Address to the Spirits. 
 
 ADMIRAL TOGO to-day attended the funeral services of a number 
 of officers and men who were killed at Port Arthur while serving 
 under him, and read a eulogy on them. He said: 
 " As I stand before your spirits, I can hardly express my feelings. Your 
 personality is fresh in my memory. Your corporeal existence has ceased, 
 but your passing from the world has been in the gallant discharge of your 
 duty, by virtue of which the enemy's fleet on this side of the world has been 
 completely disabled. Our combined fleet retains the undisputed command 
 of the seas. / trust this imll bring peace and rest to your spirits. It is my 
 agreeable duty to avail myself of the occasion of my presence in this city, 
 whither I have been called by the Emperor, to report our successes to the 
 spirits of those who sacrificed their earthly existence for the attainment of so 
 great a result. The report is rendered most humbly by me in person." 
 
 HEIHACHIRO TOGO, 
 
 " Admiral of the combined fleets." 
 
 221 F F
 
 Tsf Tsi, Dowager Emtress of China. 
 
 KwANG-Su, Emperor of China. 
 
 Tsv Tsi, Do\v.\ger Empress 
 OF China. 
 (In Youth.)
 
 No. 1 02 
 
 TheDeathofthe Emperor and Dowager Empress of China. 
 
 November 1908. 
 
 THE death of the Emperor of China necessarily aroused universal 
 attention. Kwang-Hsu was barely eighteen years old when his 
 aunt, the Dowager Empress Tsu-Tsi, Regent of the Empire, 
 handed over to him the reins of government. Kwang-Hsu was the twelfth 
 Emperor who has reigned over China of " the Great Purity," as the Manchu 
 dynasty is called. His reign began at the age of five years under the co- 
 regency of the Empress of the Eastern, and the Empress of the Western 
 palaces. The former died in 1881, and from that time the Dowager Empress 
 ruled alone as Regent. Including the years of the regency, the hapless 
 Emperor's reign had lasted nearly thirty-three years, the third in point of 
 length of any of the Emperors of the Manchu Dynasty, and his reign is known 
 as that of Kwang-Hsu, or "The glorious succession "; for the name under 
 which an Emperor of China reigns is not his own, but is one chosen for him, 
 and has generally some symbolic interpretation. Although the Emperor 
 suffered much at the hands of the Dowager Empress, he did not appear to 
 regard her with any special animosity. Their relations, though rigidly 
 formal, were friendly enough. If there were any feeling on his part as to 
 the check his government received by the coup cTetat of 1898, when the 
 Dowager Empress re-assumed the reins of government, he did not seem to 
 feel that his arbitrary old relative was responsible for it. He continued to 
 issue edicts, but on all grave affairs, and at the meeting of the Grand 
 Council, the Dowager Empress was always present, and the decisions were 
 held to be the result of their joint opinions. The Emperor occupied a palace 
 fronting on the great lake as elegant and luxurious as her Majesty's. He 
 was passionately fond of music, and played on a number of Chinese 
 instruments: he had even tried his hand on a piano! He was also a clever 
 mechanician, and an admirer of western knowledge. His death was said to 
 be due to cardiac weakness. He made a speech less than an hour before his 
 death. The Dowager Empress suffered a paralytic stroke on 12th November 
 on learning the precarious condition of the Emperor. Prince Ching was 
 despatched by her to the Royal Mausoleum, on the Eastern Hills, to make 
 offerings there in the hope of propitiating the spirits of her ancestors whom 
 she thought were beckoning her thither. On the 14th November she 
 summoned the Grand Council, and lying prone on the ground and fully 
 dressed in her robes of ceremony, she ordered edicts to be prepared announc- 
 ing the succession of Pu-yi, and the Regency of Prince Chun. Both their 
 Majesties awaited death in their full official robes surrounded by hundreds of 
 Court officials. 
 
 The last edict of the Dowager Empress Tsu-Tsi, just before her death at 
 the age of seventy-two, was as follows: "I, of humble virtue had the 
 
 223
 
 224 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 honour to receive appointment among the Consorts of His Majesty Hsien- 
 feng. The succession to the throne of my son, the Emperor Tung-chih, in 
 1861 occurred at a time when rebellions were raging. The Taiping rebels, 
 the Mohammedan rebels, and the Kweichau aborigines caused disturbance 
 and spread disorder. The coast provinces were in sore distress; misery 
 everywhere met the eye. Co-operating with the Eastern Empress Dowager, 
 I carried on the Government, toiling by night and day. I employed the 
 good in office, and hearkened to admonition, and by the bounty of Heaven 
 I suppressed the rebellions and restored peace. When His Majesty Kwang- 
 Hsu succeeded to the throne the crisis was still more serious. Within the 
 Empire was calamity, and from abroad came recurring peril. In 1906 I 
 issued a decree preparing for the grant of a Constitution, and this year I 
 have proclaimed the date when it shall be granted. Happily my strength 
 was always robust, and I maintained my vigour, but since last summer I 
 have been often indisposed. With the affairs of state pressing I could find 
 no repose. I lost my sleep and my appetite: my strength began to fail. 
 Still I never rested for a single day. On Saturday last occurred the death of 
 the Emperor, my nephew Kwang-Hsu. My grief overwhelms me. I can 
 bear up no longer. My sickness is dangerous, and all hope of recovery has 
 vanished. At the present time a gradual development in the introduction 
 of reform has been reached. His Majesty the new Emperor is of tender 
 years, and needs instruction. The Prince Regent and the Ministers are to 
 aid him to strengthen the nation's foundation. His Majesty must forget his 
 personal grief, and strive diligently that hereafter he may bring fresh lustre 
 to the achievements of his ancestors. This is my earnest hope. 
 
 TSU-TSI." 
 
 Note. — At the time of the foreign military occupation of Pekin in 1900-1901, when the 
 Empress Dowager, the Emperor, and the whole Court fled, the Palace treasure, amounting 
 in bullion to more than nine millions sterling, was entrusted by the Empress Dowager, first 
 to the charge and protection of the American General, Chaifee, and afterwards to the 
 English General, Sir A. Gaselee. This money was safely returned at the conclusion of the 
 military occupation.
 
 No. 103 
 
 The Death of Lieutenant-Commander Sakuma Tsuhmu 
 and his companions in the Japanese submarine 
 which sunk in Hiroshima Bay 1910. 
 
 IN this accident every man in the submarine perished. When the vessel 
 was raised the following letter was found written by the commander: 
 I have no words to beg pardon for losing His Majesty's boat and 
 for killing my men, owing to my carelessness. But all the crew have well 
 discharged their duties till their death and have worked with fortitude. We 
 have lost our lives in order to discharge our duties for the sake of the 
 country. Our only regret is, however, that this accident may, we fear, lead 
 the public to a mistaken conclusion, and may cause a hindrance to the 
 development of the submarine. We earnestly hope, therefore, that without 
 incurring such a mistake, you will make efforts with all your power for the 
 investigation and development of the submarine. If you accept this wish of 
 ours we have nothing further to desire. 
 
 Cause of the Sinking 
 As we went down too far at the time of the submarine trip, we tried to 
 shut the sluice valve, but the chain gave way. Then we shut it with our 
 hands, but it was too late. The stern (was) filled with water. (The boat) 
 went down at an incline of about 25 degrees. 
 
 The Condition After Sinking 
 
 The incline is about 13 degrees. 
 
 As the electric generator was submerged, the electric light was put out. 
 Poisonous gas has been generated. We feel difficulty in breathing. 
 
 On the 15th at 10 a.m. the boat sank. In this poisonous gas, we did our 
 utmost to pump out the water with the hand-pump. 
 
 When the boat went down, we drained the main tank. As the light was 
 put out, we could not see the gauge. But we think that the water in the 
 main tank was completely drained out. The electric current is entirely out of 
 use. The acid in the electric battery comes out, but very little. Sea-water 
 enters (the electric battery), and chlorine gas is not generated. Our sole 
 hope depends upon the hand-pump. 
 
 (So far, I have written by the light of the observation tower. 11 h. 
 
 45 m-)- 
 
 The clothes of the crew are mostly wet by the water which comes in, 
 
 and we feel cold. 
 
 I always used to maintain that the crew of a submarine should take 
 scrupulous care, and, at the same time, should work with a brave heart. 
 And I also used to say that we should not shrink on account of too much 
 
 225
 
 226 A BOOK OF LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 prudence. There may be some who laugh at this failure. But I firmly 
 believe what I have said above is true. 
 
 The sounder in the observation tower shows 52 (feet). We have 
 endeavoured to pump out the water, but the boat does not move till 
 12 o'clock. As the depth of the sea at this point is about 10 fathoms, the 
 sounder may be right. 
 
 The officers and men on a submarine should be selected from the 
 selected, as trouble would occur at such a moment as the present. I am 
 glad all my men have discharged their duties admirably. I am greatly 
 satisfied. 
 
 I have always been prepared for death on leaving home. My will is 
 already put in the drawer of t\iQ. Karasaki. (But it is my private affair. Have 
 no need to say about. Please, my dear friends, Taguchi and Asami, take 
 it to my father.) 
 
 Farewell 
 
 I humbly ask Your Majesty the Emperor to be so graceful as not to let 
 the bereaved families of my men be subjected to destitution. This is the 
 only anxiety which occupies my mind at present. 
 
 Please present my best regards to the following men (the order of the 
 names is not observed). Minister Saito, Vice-Admiral Shimamura, Vice- 
 Admiral Fujii, Rear- Admiral Nawa, Rear-Admiral Yamashita, Rear-Admiral 
 Narita. 
 
 (The air-pressure becomes high, and I feel as if my ear drums are 
 bursting). 
 
 Captain Oguri, Captain Ide, Commander Matsui (Jun-ichi), Captain 
 Matsumura (Tatsu), Lt. Commander Matsumura (Kiku) (my elder brother). 
 
 Captain Funakoshi, Teacher Tsunataro Narita, Teacher Kokinji Ikuta. 
 
 12.30. I feel great pain in breathing. 
 
 I thought I had blown out gasoline, but I have been intoxicated by 
 gasoline. 
 
 Commander Nakano 
 
 It is now 12.40 
 
 Here ends the record of Lieutenant Sakuma. It ended, as his duty did, 
 literally only with his last breath. We are proud of our dead hero, but 
 prouder still in the certain knowledge that every officer and every man in 
 the Japanese navy would bravely do their duty, as Lieutenant Sakuma and 
 his humble heroes did, faithful even unto death.
 
 DEATH 
 
 O Eloquent, Just, and Mighty Death! whom none could advise, thou 
 hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the 
 world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised. 
 Thou hast drawn together all the far stretched greatness, all the pride, 
 cruelty, and ambition of men, and covered it all over with these two narrow 
 words, " Hie Jacet! " — Sir Walter Raleigh, History of the Worlds lib. vi, 
 cap. 6. 
 
 " Look in my face. My name is Might-have-been. 
 I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell." 
 
 Rossetti. 
 
 " And if there be no meeting after death. 
 If all be darkness, silence, yet 'tis rest. 
 Be not afraid ye weary hearts that weep, 
 For God's will giveth his beloved sleep, 
 And if an endless sleep He wills: — so best." 
 
 Huxley. 
 
 228
 
 THE INFINITE 
 
 GOD called a man from dreams into the vestibule of Heaven. " Come 
 thou hither and see the glory of my house!" and to the angels 
 round His throne, He said: "Take him, strip off his robes of flesh, 
 cleanse his vision, put new breath into his nostrils, but touch not with any 
 change his human heart — the heart that weeps and trembles." It was done; 
 and with a mighty angel as guide, the man stood ready for an infinite 
 voyage. They launched without sound or farewell from the terraces of 
 Heaven, and wheeled away into endless space. Sometimes with the solemn 
 flight of angel wings, they passed through Saharas of darkness; through 
 wildernesses of death, separating worlds of life: sometimes they swept over 
 frontiers, quickening under prophetic motions from God. Then from an 
 immeasurable distance light dawned as through a shapeless film, and in 
 unspeakable space swept to them, and they with unthinkable pace to the 
 light. In a moment the rushing of planets was upon them ; in a moment the 
 blazing of suns around them. Then came eternities of twilight that revealed 
 but were not revealed. On the right hand and on the left mighty constella- 
 tions built up triumphal gates whose archways, whose architraves seemed 
 ghostly from infinitude. Without measure were the architraves, past number 
 were the archways, beyond memory the gates. Within were stairs that 
 circled eternities around; above was below, and below was above to the man 
 stripped of his gravitating body. Depth was transcended by height insur- 
 mountable; height was swallowed up in depth unfathomable. Suddenly as 
 they rode thus, from infinite to infinite, suddenly as they tilted over abysmal 
 worlds, a mighty cry arose that systems more mysterious, worlds more 
 billowy, other heights and other depths were coming, were nearing, were at 
 hand. Then the man sighed and stopped; shuddered and wept. His over- 
 laden heart poured itself forth in tears and he said: "Angel! I will go no 
 further, for my spirit aches with this infinity. Insufferable is the Glory of God. 
 Let me lie down in my grave, and hide me from the oppression of the Infinite, 
 for end I see there is none!" Then from all the listening stars that shone 
 around issued a choral voice: "The man speaks truly: end there is none!" 
 The angel solemnly demanded: " End there is none! Is there indeed no end? 
 Is this the sorrow that kills you?" but no voice answered, that he himself 
 might answer. 
 
 Then the angel threw up his glorious hands towards the Heaven of 
 Heavens and said: "To the universe of God there is no end; lo! also there 
 is no beginning." 
 
 From "Jean Paul Richter," translated by De Quincey. 
 
 229 
 
 G G
 
 GOD 
 
 HE is great and incomprehensible by the senses and 
 consequently His nature is beyond human conception. 
 From those who do not know Him, He is at a 
 greater distance than the limits of space, and to those who 
 acquire a knowledge of Him, He is near: and while residing 
 in animate creatures is perceived, although obscurely, by those 
 who apply their thoughts to Him. 
 
 He is not perceptible to vision, nor is He describable by 
 means of speech ; neither can He be the object of any of the 
 organs of sense; nor can He be conceived by the aid of 
 austerities, nor of religious rites, but a person whose mind is 
 purified by the light of true knowledge, through incessant 
 contemplation, perceives Him, the most pure God. 
 
 Such is the invisible Supreme Being. He should be seen 
 in the heart, the mind being perfectly freed from all impurity. 
 
 God, who spreads over the mind and all the senses, 
 imparts a knowledge of Himself to the heart of man. 
 
 From the " Vedas," translated by Raja Ram Mohun Roy. 
 
 231
 
 CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO. 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
 
 ill. 
 
 ^ book is u :
 
 ""-U-; 
 
 'y^^f •^""^'^ 
 
 
 LJC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 D 001 113 423