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Maria Dąbrowska

Polish writer, novelist, essayist, journalist and playwright, author of the popular Polish historical novel Nights and Days. In 1935 was nomimated for Nobel Prize in literature.

Maria Dąbrowska

Polish writer, novelist, essayist, journalist and playwright, author of the popular Polish historical novel Nights and Days. In 1935 was nomimated for Nobel Prize in literature.

Night. Dead silence. Scary silence. I can't sleep. I keep the radio on all night. You can't hear anything like: Attention, attention, approaching… The Germans don't attack at night.

At midnight, I hear suddenly: Blaskota. Blaskota. Boleslas calls to Warsaw. This is repeated, these exact words, many times. One after another, deadly, grimly, terribly. Blaskota. Blaskota. Boleslas calls to Warsaw.

Boguś came from Rembertów. He was called up, goes to the regiment in Białystok. Cheerful and calm. He humorously hugged me and Jadzia, who was with us, and left saying: "Well, my lady sisters, take care." He asked us to care for his family as much as possible. The military authorities did less than nothing to take care of the families of the officers mobilised to the front. They did not even receive gas masks. And the entire city is after those masks. All of us already have one sealed room as an "anti-gas shelter". St. got a good quality mask at the office, we only have some little things with some kind of anti-gas feature. I go to meet Berbecki, who is the commander of the Anti-Air Defense or something like that, and I immediately witness an apparition (I had not seen him since the other war and I did not recognize him – so changed and beautiful now) and then, masks for Boguś's wife and children, which Jadzia will bring to Rembertów. And the city is so beautiful, joyful, bursting with fruit, flowers, crowds ...

In reply to my letter from Ciechocinek, Mr. Dymitr wrote me a rude letter complaining that I was talking about family issues and lakes in Gopło while Poland faces a terrible catastrophe. But I do not know what Poland and the world are facing.

A morning in the Ministry of Public Education at Rusinek’s on the matter of my passport. When I submitted the application in which I supplied the necessary details, he said: “Such a long application? You are wasting your time. Imagine the time billed for it”. This is something which I would never think of.

Then, in the Public Library, I prepared a bibliography for a drama about Bolesław Krzywousty. Terrible heat outside. At home I closed the window, stripped naked and I sat in just my blue apron. I sent a telegraph to Rudzki in which I said I would come. At 6 pm I left for the post office to send a letter to Zawodziński. Then in the Ujazdowski Park I met Aniela Zagórska. See more

Yesterday evening, there was an unexpected call from Dr. Rudzki in Ciechocinek, saying to come, that during the last few days things had been rearranged and that he has a room for me in the Presidential Manor. Right after that – a phone call from Mr. Henryk, who came by at ten in the evening and sat for an hour, very grim. As he says himself, after coming back from Jaworze he completely broke down. He was at dinner today, and it’s him in the end who encouraged me to go to Ciechocinek. "Don’t think about it," he said, "just go. This is the last trip, the last opportunity. Well. What is there to talk about, the war will happen in a few weeks at the latest."

In the morning, I applied for a passport at the local office. This time I feel good in my white coat, the most beautiful one I ever had. And a hat made of brown straw that some of the ladies gave me, it’s so lovely that I don’t look like myself, but like some elegant lady.

In the morning I went to renew my foreign passport, which expired and had not been used since October last year. After returning home, I find a letter from Dr. Rudzki, who strongly advises against treatment in Ciechocinek (it seems that Grubas got offended). Therefore, a change of decision - I won't go. Time is not only historical but also hysterical.

In the evening we went to the play "Holy Grove" at the National. Very poor with only one good joke.