Without saying a word I held out to our dear invalid the crucifix.  Rays of divine light, flames of divine fire, streamed, I might say, visibly from the figure of the crucified Saviour, and at once illumined the soul and kindled the heart of Chopin.  Burning tears streamed from his eyes.  His faith was once more revived, and with unspeakable fervor he made his confession and received the Holy Supper.  After the blessed Viaticum, penetrated by the heavenly consecration which the sacraments pour forth on pious souls, he asked for Extreme Unction.  He wished to pay lavishly the sacristan who accompanied me, and when I remarked that the sum presented by him was twenty times too much he replied, “Oh, no, for what I have received is beyond price.”

From this hour he was a saint.  The death struggle began and lasted four days.  Patience, trust in God, even joyful confidence, never left him, in spite of all his sufferings, till the last breath.  He was really happy, and called himself happy.  In the midst of the sharpest sufferings he expressed only ecstatic joy, touching love of God, thankfulness that I had led him back to God, contempt of the world and its good, and a wish for a speedy death.

He blessed his friends, and when, after an apparently last crisis, he saw himself surrounded by the crowd that day and night filled his chamber, he asked me, “Why do they not pray?” At these words all fell on their knees, and even the Protestants joined in the litanies and prayers for the dying.

Day and night he held my hand, and would not let me leave him.  “No, you will not leave me at the last moment,” he said, and leaned on my breast as a little child in a moment of danger hides itself in its mother’s breast.

Soon he called upon Jesus and Mary, with a fervor that reached to heaven; soon he kissed the crucifix in an excess of faith, hope and love.  He made the most touching utterances.  “I love God and man,” he said.  “I am happy so to die; do not weep, my sister.  My friends, do not weep.  I am happy.  I feel that I am dying.  Farewell, pray for me!”

Exhausted by deathly convulsions he said to the physicians, “Let me die.  Do not keep me longer in this world of exile.  Let me die; why do you prolong my life when I have renounced all things and God has enlightened my soul?  God calls me; why do you keep me back?”

Another time he said, “O lovely science, that only lets one suffer longer!  Could it give me back my strength, qualify me to do any good, to make any sacrifice—­but a life of fainting, of grief, of pain to all who love me, to prolong such a life—­ O lovely science!”

Then he said again:  “You let me suffer cruelly.  Perhaps you have erred about my sickness.  But God errs not.  He punishes me, and I bless him therefor.  Oh, how good is