Memories and Impressions of Helena Modjeska

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. The car comes to a stop. After several years of absence I am in Poland again. The sun sheds upon the snow myriads of sparks, which glisten like so many precious gems a purple strip of mist rises above the distant forest of dark, pointed pines, which form a background to white, humble huts, throbbing with lives of patience and toil, under the iron hand of the ruler. I feel a mysterious glow penetrating into the very depth of my heart, tears rise to my eyes; I humbly bow my head and whisper, Hail, beloved Einsteigen, meine Herrschaften, shouts the metallic voice of the conductor, waking me from my revery, and by his sudden cry in a foreign language brutally recalling to my mind the misfortunes of my country.