We decided to set off tomorrow and first to go to Płock to Kuzikowski, then back home. God knows if that’s the right thing to do. We have already taken so many unreasonable decisions that this may also prove disastrous
Today I prayed in the chapel for the liberation of my homeland.
Russia has approached the border. Lord, have mercy on us.
First day of mobilisation. It was announced yesterday afternoon and immediately caused a fright. Władek is the most courageous and most clear-headed. "I am so clever - he told me – Good thing I bought one more horse yesterday, to replace Ralf, who was taken. Now I will be able to plough". See more
There was an attack and all the lights in the restaurant went out; the city was dark and beautiful. They haven't taken our car yet. Heroism, for now, is limited to things small and unpleasant, not horrendous, things. Torment of the unknown, grey world. Nothing exciting. Always longing for excitement - without wishing the reality of it. Smallness, greyness, and cowardice everywhere we turn.
The most unpleasant part of the mobilisation is sitting in the dark: alarms in the evenings, although there are no air raids yet.
Tonight seems to be decisive, judging at least from Chamberlain's speech. Partial mobilisation in Warsaw. Today they took my horses, Basia came back, Ralf was taken. Pity, he was born and raised on Stawisko, he was a good horse and now he goes to the turmoil of war.
Tonight, when the fate of Europe, and at the same time of so many, many peaceful, hardworking and god-fearing people is being decided, is exceptionally beautiful. A half moon in the sky speckled with small, light clouds. Warm and fine, quiet. Pleiades are visible; it is drawing towards the autumn. And all this is marred by the thought of things beyond our understanding, about the universal laws that push us and rule us. What for, why?
The second Peloponnesian war ended with the taking of Athens.
Several days ago, on Kalatówki Street in Zakopane, I suddenly run into Tuwim. The girls hadn’t met him yet, and they were delighted with him. And seeing him in this different, non-bourgeois, surrounding, set against mountains, I was struck by the whole incredibility of this phenomenon. No doubt he radiates striking qualities of greatness. A man whose utter existence is for poetry alone. Where does it stem from, and how? From here sprouts all of life’s naivety, neurasthenia, and bitterness, all his worrying about the rotten things people do. Admittedly, he is currently being excluded to some extent, it seems wherever he turns he is constantly encountering unthinkable acts - e.g. he was not notified about the Lithuania tour organized by the union.