The daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1848-1851, 1851-04-21
Translated from tho Revue du Nouveau- Monde.
Hippolyte MOAp0n.

Monpon knew how to choose his words-no, his
verses He would never ask any but Of true poets !;
and as he understood their thoughts, he loved with
their love. Often, it might be said, he extended
the wings Of the poetry he set to music. One eve
ming, at the theatre Renaissanee, when was played
La Chaste Susamne, his last scenic work, he met
Victor Hugo:
"M. Hugo" said he, to the poet Of the Feutlles
d'Antonne, &c have never asked you what you
thought of my music when in connection with your
verse. Tell me, then?"
"M. Monpon," replied Victor Hugo, pardon
me for the simile which am going to use your
music has always appeared to me to adhere closely
to my verse, and to portray all its beauties, as a
wet cloth adheres to corpse, showing all the out
lines"
Monpon was delighted. He composed many of
his most beautiful melodies, when rolling upon an
old piece Of carpet, near his piano. One Of the
things which most diverted Monpon in the course
of his life, composed like that Of all true artists, of
work, reveres, melancholy, and burdens was the
opening of his opera "PiquilIo," written in connec
ton with Alexander Dumas and Gerard de NervaI.
and the circumstances in which this opera was
completed. Ofthe libretto agreed on between these
three, Gerard that poet that philosopher that great
worker zotthtn, had finished and given in his part.
The part of Dumas remained to be done, that Mon
pom might finish his portion. Dumas, expressly to
excite the impatience of Monpon, seemed to have
lost his faculty Of writing act two each day.
The musician had in vain urged his poet The
more Hippolyte brought of sharps to the courage
and pride Of Alexander, the more the latter added
Of B-fats and B-sharps to the same key. Monpon
grew lean, Pquillo returned to infancy, and on the
strength OF their disputes, the fellow laborers had
the appearance Of becoming enemies. One evening
their conversation turned, l know not how, upon
the national guard; it appeared that Dumas had
not, in all his life, mounted guard any more than
Alphonse Carr, which placed his civic zeal below
"and even, said he, 81 am warned that at this
moment two brave municipal guards are in pursuit
of me- with the official intention Of conducting and
reducing me to the meditations of the Hotel Bazan-
court.* Happily they are ignorant of the mysteri.
Gus domicil where we are at this moment enjoying
life.''
The ensuing day, at an early hour of the morn
ing, Hippoyte Monpon went charitably to denounce
the retired dwelling of his friend, prosecuting for
the cause the dsdaned sentry box. An hour later
when Dumas was rising to apply himself to his
breakfast he invited to finish this labor at the
Hotel Bazancourt There, the same day, he received
the visit of his musician, who brought him paper
pens, and his encouragement. "Piquillo" was fin
'ished eight days after Monpon sang to his piano
the air of Chollet.
On beautiful afternoon in August, 1S4l, in a
room at the hotel which forms the corner of Mar.
tro and Royale streets, at Orleans, he was in bed
poor Monrsn, and very i'll. The evening previous
he was still 1T the little chateau Of ST. Mesmin
with his ls~nd Emile Wander Burch; but under
standing that festival to take place there, an
feeling himself ILL., not wishing to sadden the mirth
he had announced his sudden departure for Pari.
He caused himself to be carried to the hotel an,
there ended his life, attended by his wife, VIII
watched over him with devoted love. Toward.
evening, death already in the room, but If.
had not yet departed, he was composing he said a
part Of his opera Orevre" remained Unfinished,
His wife stood gazing on him, and wished to CLASH
his hands, but he, with his two emaciated hands
which he could scarcely any longer move
marked the rythm upon the coverlet, and occa
slonally endeavored run his fingers over the Dor
der, as though upon the keys of piano. At the
same time, the notes came from his lips like tn,
sounds Of a flute scarcely articuated but seor
night descended, the fingers moved more slowl,
still. and stopped; the sounds became more fee
BILE, the lips no longer approached, and, in las
note, which God alone heard, the soul took it
fight. Thus, at the age of thirty-seven, died tn,
composer Hippolyte Monpon.
House arrest ed tn the