Perhaps you
have erred about my sickness. But God errs not. He punishes
me, and I bless him therefor. Oh, how good is God to punish me
here below! Oh, how good God is!"
His usual language was always elegant, with well chosen words,
but at last to express all his thankfulness and, at the same
time, all the misery of those who die unreconciled to God, he
cried, "Without you I should have croaked (krepiren) like a
pig."
While dying he still called on the names of Jesus, Mary,
Joseph, kissed the crucifix and pressed it to his heart with
the cry "Now I am at the source of Blessedness!"
Thus died Chopin, and in truth, his death was the most
beautiful concerto of all his life.
The worthy abbe must have had a phenomenal memory. I hope that it
was an exact one. His story is given in its entirety because of
its novelty. The only thing that makes me feel in the least
sceptical is that La Mara,--the pen name of a writer on musical
subjects,--translated these letters into German. But every one
agrees that Chopin's end was serene; indeed it is one of the
musical death-beds of history, another was Mozart's.
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