No, I am wrong, my beloved. I dreamt an idle dream, a lovely dream
about you and I. An after-the-war dream, if this war should ever end,
but like other dreams it has ended--in dreams.
But I must hurry, for my little watch tells me that one hour of my five
has gone, and I have much to say.
I could have married, and married brilliantly, but Poland held me back.
I did not know what I could do for my country, it all seemed so
hopeless, and yet I felt that perhaps one day ... and I felt I ought to
be single when that day came.
It was not easy, my Karl, sometimes it was hard; one man there was,
Sergius was his Christian name; he loved me madly, and sometimes I
thought--but no matter, he is dead now, killed at Tannenberg, and
I--well, I will tell you more of my story.
When the war broke out and clouded over that last beautiful summer in
1914 (I wonder will there ever be another like it in your lifetime, my
Karl? No, I don't think it can ever be quite the same after all this!),
we were all in the country. Alex was back from his school in Petrograd,
and my father kept him at home for the autumn term.
How well I remember the excitement, the mobilization, the blessing of
the colours, the wave of patriotism which swept over the country; even
I, under the influence of the specious proclamations that were issued
broadcast by the Government, with their promises of reform, and redress
for Poland after the war was over, felt more Russian than Polish. Lies!
Lies! Lies! that was what the Government promises were, my Karl.
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