Delphine also was well aware of the unsatisfactory state of his finances, for she writes that she would like to know something about “that Jew; if he called and was able to be of service to you.”  What follows is in a vein of sadness, showing that her own life was not without its sorrows.  “Here everything is sad and lonely, but my life goes on in much the usual way; if only it will continue without further bitter sorrows and trials, I shall be able to support it.  For me the world has no more happiness, no more joy.  All those to whom I have wished well ever have rewarded me with ingratitude or caused me other tribulations.” (The italics are hers.) “After all, this existence is nothing but a great discord.”  Then, with a “que Dieu vous garde,” she bids him au revoir till the beginning of October at the latest.

Note that it was in October, 1849, that Chopin took to his deathbed; that in another passage of the letter she advised him to think of Nice for the winter; and that it was from Nice she was summoned to his bedside.  It would seem as if she had received alarming advices regarding his health; had hastened to Paris and then to the Riviera to make arrangements for him to pass the winter there; and then, learning that the worst was feared, had hurried back to solace his last hours.

Then came what is perhaps the most touching scene that has been handed down to us from the lives of the great composers.  When Delphine entered what was soon to be the death chamber, Chopin’s sister Louise and a few of his most intimate friends were gathered there.  She took her place by Louise.  When the dying man opened his eyes and saw her standing at the foot of his bed, tall, slight, draped in white, resembling a beautiful angel, and mingling her tears with those of his sister, his lips moved, and those nearest him, bending over to catch his words, heard him ask that she would sing.

Mastering her emotion by a strong effort of the will, she sang in a voice of bell-like purity the canticle to the Virgin attributed to Stradella,—­sang it so devoutly, so ethereally, that the dying man, “artist and lover of the beautiful to the very last,” whispered in ecstasy, “How exquisite!  Again, again!”

Once more she sang—­this time a psalm by Marcello.  It was the haunted hour of twilight.  The dying day draped the scene in its mysterious shadows.  Those at the bedside had sunk noiselessly on their knees.  Over the mournful accompaniment of sobs floated the voice of Delphine like a melody from heaven.

Chopin died on October 17, 1849, just as the bells of Paris were tolling the hour of three in the morning.  He was known to love flowers, and in death he literally was covered with them.  The funeral was held from the Madeleine, where Mozart’s “Requiem” was sung, the solos being taken by Pauline Viardot-Garcia, Castellan and Lablache.  Meyerbeer is said to have conducted, but this has been contradicted.