DUKE DE FESENZAC.--Well, I pity him for quitting Rome. It is the finest
and most amiable city in the world. I hope to end my days there.
COUNT DE MONTALEMBERT.--And Naples!
BARON THENARD.--I prefer Naples.
M. FULCHIRON.--Yes, Naples, that’s the place. By the by, I was there
when poor Nourrit killed himself. I was staying in the house next to
his.
BARON CHARLES DUPIN.--He took his life? It was not an accident?
M. FULCHIRON.--Oh! it was a case of suicide, sure enough. He had been
hissed the previous day. He could not stand that. It was in an opera
composed expressly for him--“Polyceucte.” He threw himself from a height
of sixty feet. His voice did not please that particular public. Nourrit
was too much accustomed to sing Glück and Mozart. The Neapolitans said
of him: “Vecchico canto.”
BARON DUPIN.--Poor Nourrit! why did he not wait! Duprez has lost his
voice. Eleven years ago Duprez demolished Nourrit; to-day Nourrit would
demolish Duprez.
MARQUIS DE BOISSY.--How cold it is on this staircase.
COUNT PHILIPPE DE SEGUR.--It was even colder at the Academy the other
day. That poor Dupaty is a good man, but he made a bad speech.
BARON FEUTRIER.--I am trying to warm myself. What a frightful draught!
It is enough to drive one away.
BARON CHARLES DUPIN.--M. Français de Nantes had conceived this expedient
to rid himself of those who came to solicit favours and abridge their
solicitations: he was given to receiving people between two doors.
M. Thiers at this time had a veritable court of deputies about him.
After the session he walked out in front of me. A gigantic deputy, whose
back only I could see, stepped aside, saying: “Make way for historical
men!” And the big man let the little man pass.
Historical? May be. In what way?