He left France in that mood of mind which the English call “low spirits.”  The transitory interest which he had endeavored to take in political changes, soon disappeared.  He became more taciturn than ever.  If through absence of mind, a few words would escape him.  They were only exclamations of regret.  His affection for the limited number of persons whom he continued to see, was filled with that heart-rending emotion which precedes eternal farewells!  Art alone always retained its absolute power over him.  Music absorbed him during the time, now constantly shortening, in which he was able to occupy himself with it, as completely as during the days when he was full of life and hope.  Before he left Paris, he gave a concert in the saloon of M. Pleyel, one of the friends with whom his relations had been the most constant, the most frequent, and the most affectionate; who is now rendering a worthy homage to his memory, occupying himself with zeal and activity in the execution of a monument for his tomb.  At this concert, his chosen and faithful audience heard him for the last time!

He was received in London with an eagerness which had some effect in aiding him to shake off his sadness, to dissipate his mournful depression.  Perhaps he dreamed, by burying all his former habits in oblivion, he could succeed in dissipating, his melancholy!  He neglected the prescriptions of his physicians, with all the precautions which reminded him of his wretched health.  He played twice in public, and many times in private concerts.  He mingled much in society, sat up late at night, and exposed himself to considerable fatigue, without permitting himself to be deterred by any consideration for his health.  He was presented to the Queen by the Duchess of Sutherland, and the most distinguished society sought the pleasure of his acquaintance.  He went to Edinburgh, where the climate was particularly injurious to him.  He was much debilitated upon his return from Scotland; his physicians wished him to leave England immediately, but he delayed for some time his departure.  Who can read the feelings which caused this delay!...He played again at a concert given for the Poles.  It was the last mark of love sent to his beloved country—­the last look—­the last sigh—­the last regret!  He was feted, applauded, and surrounded by his own people.  He bade them all adieu,—­they did not know it was an eternal Farewell!  What thoughts must have filled his sad soul as he crossed the sea to return to Paris!  That Paris so different now for him from that which he had found without seeking in 1831!