The foregoing list does not include any works which Cavos wrote to French or Italian texts, amounting to nearly thirty in all. In _Ilya the Hero_ Cavos made his first attempt to produce a national epic opera. Founded on the Legend of Ilya Mouromets, from the Cycle of Kiev, the opera is not lacking in spirit, and evoked great enthusiasm in its day, especially one martial aria, "Victory, victory, Russian hero!" Cavos was fortunate in having secured as librettist a very capable writer, Prince Shakovsky, who also supplied the text for _Ivan Sousanin_, the most successful of all Cavos's national operas; although we shall see in the next chapter how completely it was supplanted in the popular favour by Glinka's work dealing with the same subject. In the spring of 1840 Cavos's health began to fail, and he received leave of absence from his many arduous but lucrative official posts. He became, however, rapidly much worse and had to abandon the idea of a journey. He died in St. Petersburg on April 28th (O.S.). His loss was deeply felt by the Russian artists, to whom, unlike many of his Italian predecessors, he had always shown generous sympathy; they paid him a last tribute of respect by singing Cherubini's _Requiem_ at his funeral. The Russian musician Youry Arnold, who was well acquainted with Cavos in the later years of his life, describes him at sixty as a robust and energetic man, who was at his piano by 9 a.m., rehearsing the soloists till 1 p.m., when he took the orchestral rehearsals. If by any chance these ended a little sooner than he expected, he would occupy himself again with the soloists. At 5 p.m. he made his report to the Director of the Imperial Theatres, and then went home to dine. But he never failed to appear at the Opera House punctually at 7 o'clock. On evenings when there was no performance he devoted extra time to his soloists. He worked thus conscientiously and indefatigably year after year. He was not, however, indifferent to the pleasures of the table and was something of a _gourmet_. Even in the far-distant north he managed to obtain consignments of his favourite "_vino nero_." "He told me more than once," said Arnold, "that except with tea, he had never in the whole course of his life swallowed a mouthful of water: '_Perchè cosa snaturalle, insoffribile e nocevole!_'"