One day in 1849 Franchomme came to Madame Rubio, and said that something must be done to get money for Chopin. Madame Rubio thereupon went to Miss Stirling to acquaint her with the state of matters. When Miss Stirling heard of Chopin's want of money, she was amazed, and told her visitor that some time before she had, without the knowledge of anyone, sent Chopin 25,000 francs in a packet which, in order to conceal the sender, she got addressed and sealed in a shop. The ladies made enquiries as to the whereabouts of the money, but without result. A Scotch gentleman, a novelist (Madame Rubio had forgotten the name at the time she told the story, but was sure she would recall it, and no doubt would have done so, had not her sudden death soon after [FOOTNOTE: In the summer of 1880] intervened), proposed to consult the clairvoyant Alexandre. [FOOTNOTE: Madame Rubio always called the clairvoyant thus. See another name farther on.] The latter on being applied to told them that the packet along with a letter had been delivered to the portiere who had it then in her possession, but that he could not say more until he got some of her hair. One evening when the portiere was bathing Chopin's feet, he—who had in the meantime been communicated with—talked to her about her hair and asked her to let him cut off one lock. She allowed him to do so, and thus Alexandre was enabled to say that the money was in the clock in the portiere's room. Having got this information, they went to the woman and asked her for the packet. She turned pale, and, drawing it out of the clock, said that at the time she forgot to give it to Chopin, and when she remembered it afterwards was afraid to do so. The packet of notes was unopened. Madame Rubio supposed that the portiere thought Chopin would soon die and that then she might keep the contents of the parcel.
[FOOTNOTE: After relating that an intimate friend of Chopin's told Miss Stirling of the latter's straitened circumstances, received from her bank-notes to the amount of 25,000 francs, and handed them enclosed in an envelope to the master's portiere with the request to deliver the packet immediately to its address, Madame Audley proceeds with her story (which Franchomme's death prevented me from verifying) thus: "Here, then, was a gleam of light in this darkened sky, and the reassured friends breathed more freely." "But what was my surprise," said M. Franchomme, from whom I have the story, "when some time after I heard Chopin renew his complaints and speak of his distress in the most poignant terms. Becoming impatient, and being quite at a loss as to what was going on," I said at last to him: "But, my dear friend, you have no cause to torment yourself, you can wait for the return of your health, you have money now!"—"I, money!" exclaimed Chopin; "I have nothing."—"How! and these 25,000 francs which were sent you lately?"—"25,000 francs? Where are they? Who sent them to me? I have not received a sou!"—"Ah! really, that is too bad!" Great commotion among the friends. It was evident that the money given to the portiere had not arrived at its destination; but how to be assured of this? and what had become of it? Here was a curious enough fact, as if a little of the marvellous must always be mingled with Chopin's affairs. Paris at that time possessed a much run-after clairvoyant, the celebrated Alexis; they thought of going to consult him. But to get some information it was necessary to put him en rapport, directly or indirectly, with the person suspected. Now this person was, naturally, the portiere. By ruse or by address they got hold of a little scarf that she wore round her neck and placed it in the hands of the clairvoyant. The latter unhesitatingly declared that the 25,000 francs were behind the looking-glass in the loge. The friend who had brought them immediately presented himself to claim them; and our careful portiere, fearing, no doubt, the consequences of a too prolonged sequestration, drew the packet from behind the clock and held it out to him, saying: 'Eh bien, la v'la, vot' lettre!'">[
Chopin, however, refused to accept the whole of the 25,000 francs. According to Madame Rubio, he kept only 1,000 francs, returning the rest to Miss Stirling, whilst Franchomme, on the other hand, said that his friend kept 12,000 francs.
During Chopin's short stay in the Rue Chaillot, M. Charles Gavard, then a very young man, in fact, a youth, spent much of his time with the suffering composer:—
The invalid [he writes] avoided everything that could make me
sad, and, to shorten the hours which we passed together,
generally begged me to take a book out of his library and to
read to him. For the most part he chose some pages out of
Voltaire's Dictionnaire Philosophique. He valued very highly
the finished form of that clear and concise language, and that
so sure judgment on questions of taste. Thus, for instance, I
remember that the article on taste was one of the last I read
to him.
What M. Gavard says of how slowly, in pain, and often in loneliness, the hours passed for Chopin in the spacious, rooms of his lodgings in the Rue Chaillot, reminds me of a passage in Hector Berlioz's admirable article on his friend in the Journal des Debats (October 27, 1849):—
His weakness and his sufferings had become so great that he
could no longer either play the piano or compose; even the
slightest conversation fatigued him in an alarming manner. He
endeavoured generally to make himself understood as far as
possible by signs. Hence the kind of isolation in which he
wished to pass the last months of his life, an isolation which
many people wrongly interpreted—some attributing it to a
scornful pride, others to a melancholic temper, the one as
well as the other equally foreign to the character of this,
charming artist.
During his stay in the Rue Chaillot Chopin wrote the following note and letter to Franchomme:—
Dear friend,—Send me a little of your Bordeaux. I must take a
little wine to-day, and have none. How distrustful I am! Wrap
up the bottle, and put your seal on it. For these porters! And
I do not know who will take charge of this commission.
Yours, with all my heart.
Sunday after your departure, September 17, 1849.
Dear friend,—I am very sorry that you were not well at Le
Mans. Now, however, you are in Touraine, whose sky will have
been more favourable to you. I am less well rather than
better. MM. Cruveille, Louis, and Blache have had a
consultation, and have come to the conclusion that I ought not
to travel, but only to take lodgings in the south and remain
at Paris. After much seeking, very dear apartments, combining
all the desired conditions, have been found in the Place
Vendome, No. 12. Albrecht has now his offices there. Meara
[FOOTNOTE: This is a very common French equivalent for
O'Meara.] has been of great help to me in the search for the
apartments. In short, I shall see you all next winter—well
housed; my sister remains with me, unless she is urgently
required in her own country. I love you, and that is all I can
tell you, for I am overcome with sleep and weakness. My sister
rejoices at the idea of seeing Madame Franchomme again, and I
also do so most sincerely. This shall be as God wills. Kindest
regards to M. and Madame Forest. How much I should like to be
some days with you! Is Madame de Lauvergeat also at the sea-
side? Do not forget to remember me to her, as well as to M. de
Lauvergeat. Embrace your little ones. Write me a line. Yours
ever. My sister embraces Madame Franchomme.