The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1876-07-26

ERROR"-HER LAST REMARKS AND FINAL
REQUEsT-sHE DIED IN THE ROOM WHERE
SHE Had WORKED.
Especial Correspondence Of the New York Times
ROME, July 8, 1876.
venture to give q free translation OF sonle
records Of George Sands Illness and death,
made by q Partisan journalist, friend OF
the family and visitor at Nohant. After
stating that he received the details nc gives
from the daughter OF Nine. Dudeyant, Nine.
Clesenger, and from one OF the physicians,
the writer says that at first one would hardy
have been justified in declaring that the
hour Of the great septuagenarian naa
come.
DR.. Papet discovered with terror paraiy-
sis of the bowels, and knew from that mo-
ment that the life OF his dear patient was
lost. Without communicating this convIc-
ton to Maurice Sand and his wife, he
acknowledged the gravity OF the malady
and expressed desire for assistance and
consultation. In the morning other physl-
clans were called in, and one, DR.. Pean,
brought from Paris. DR.. Fayre, my lnior-
mant, a guest OF Nohant, was also in con-
slant attendance. Unhappily science, like
affection, proved powerless before a
disease-paralyss Of stomach-incurable
by reason of a neglect to treat ito
even reveal it in its first stages. Nothing
could be done, and it may be said that
George Sand endured an eight-days' agony
a long and fearful martyrdom, OF which she
felt from the first the fatal issue. One day.
when writhing on her couch, she moaned
out, "Oh, can you not make me die
sooner p, Another time she said: My
God, this is death have not called for
! it, but do not regret lifc."
These two cries were perhaps her sole
plants, il so they may be called. she
| knew how to endure her fortunes without
complaining, and she retained to the last
the calm reserve and introversion so pccu-
| liar to her. Those who were admitted to
her intimacy know how little communica-
tive she was. She died without talking OF
herself, as she had lived. During the rare
respites from pain allowed her, she would
turn on her children, and on the friends
grouped around her bed, her grand,
expressive eyes, and try to smlle.
On the morning OF the GA! peloIe
her death she asked for her little grand
dauohtcrs Aurore and Gabrielle, the chill
Gren Of Maurice Sand. She had for them
tender and doting fondness. The eldest,
Anrore, whom she called "Lolo," was the
object OF her incessant and passionate wor-
shin. She had constituted herself the in
structrice of the child, attending wholly to
her education. When they had brought the
two little girls to her bedside, "Oh, my dar-
lincs.v she said, chow love you!" She
| fixed on them tender, yearnlng gaze-a
gaze hungry and profound, which seemed
to say: ii will look at you well, for soon L
shall see you no more"
| On Wednesday the weather was dark ana
stormy, with high winds; the patient suffer-
ed more than on preceding days, and when
the evening came the Doctor who watched
beside her felt that the end was near. Mau-
rice Sand coming into her chamber, she per-
ceiyed him, and said: Go away, my son;
20 away!" She had that modcsty OF death
which impeled the old Roman to cover
his face when he felt his end approach
ing. She feared for others the CHASTITY
sight of the last struggle. At 3 O'CLOCK on
the morning OF Thursday, DIR. FaTre per-
ceiyed under the tinger-nails Of the sufferer
n violet tinge, and knew that she would
soon suffer no more. Then the circulation
| grew slow and the delicate hands colo.
These sad indications we've necessary to TX
the term of that long agony; for there was
no struggle, and she preserved to the last
instant her perfect consciousness. A short
time before she expired she said, OF rather
sighed, "Aboyc all, let them restrain from
DESTROYING the verdurc." They thought at
the moment that her mind was wandering;
| but it was an error. Her children have
since remembered that near the wall which
separates the garden Of Nohant from the
cemetery is u little rising ground on
which pines have been planted. These
trees extend their branches over the
wall and cast 4 shadow on the cor
ner OF the cemetery where she was 70
be laid, beside her father, her mother, and
her little children. Doubtless it was OF
this group OF pines that the dying woman
thought, and desirin. that it might shade
her grave, uttered that tender injunction
that the yerdurc should be respected, or
perhaps she thought Of all the lovely little
green things that grew on the spot, and
hoped that they would not be needlessly
trampled upon when she came to be laid
away in their midst. She died at about.
1880 o'clock, sinking to death as child
falls asleep. In this part OF the country
they say when a man has lived badly and
died hard, tsHe had crooked soul, that is
why it had so much trouble in getting out
of his body" The soul OF George Sand
was straight and honest even in error.
After many adieus, murmured into her
ear OF uttered aloud in the form OF an lnyo-
cation 10 the DlFlne McICy, uil ielG Hei w
her daughter, who made for her the last sad
toilet.
George Sand had not died in her bed, but
on a little lounge, to which she had been
moved the day before; for among the pecu-
liar agonies of the disease from which she
suffered is u constant and imperative desire
for change of position.
George Sand passed away in a storm, and
torrents OF rain fell on her funeral cortege
and on her coffin, drenchins its crowns OF
pensces. But soft over her grave fell the
sunshine and played the south wind of the
morning-as though in haste to heal the
wounds made in the green turf she so much
loved. AS the tempest seemed typical Of
the stormy scenes, Of the passion and the
agony, OF her early life-of the uproar made
against law and social order by her first re-
bellious spirit-may the succeeding calm
and sunlight be also typical of the absolu-
ton OF heaven and the charity of earth.
May the good she did as an artist "li G
after" her, may the evil she wrought as
moralist be entered with her Dones."-
Grace GREENWOOD.
RISUOp WHIppIE-HIS VIEW OF THE CIjs-