I hastened to him. He pressed my hand, but
bade me at once to depart, while he assured me he loved me
much, but did not wish to speak to me.
Imagine, if you can, what a night I passed! Next day was the
13th, the day of St. Edward, the patron of my poor brother. I
said mass for the repose of his soul and prayed for Chopin's
soul. "My God," I cried, "if the soul of my brother Edward is
pleasing to thee, give me, this day, the soul of Frederic."
In double distress I then went to the melancholy abode of our
poor sick man.
I found him at breakfast, which was served as carefully as
ever, and after he had asked me to partake I said: "My friend,
today is the name day of my poor brother." "Oh, do not let us
speak of it!" he cried. "Dearest friend," I continued, "you
must give me something for my brother's name day." "What shall
I give you?" "Your soul." "Ah! I understand. Here it is; take
it!"
At these words unspeakable joy and anguish seized me. What
should I say to him? What should I do to restore his faith,
how not to lose instead of saving this beloved soul? How
should I begin to bring it back to God? I flung myself on my
knees, and after a moment of collecting my thoughts I cried in
the depths of my heart, "Draw it to Thee, Thyself, my God!"
Without saying a word I held out to our dear invalid the
crucifix.
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