You were a true chevalier, a true Pole, the last Don Quixote in this age of sceptics, plunderers, and interlopers.

Blessed be the chance that made us acquainted! You lived retired, solitary, unknown, in a miserable hovel just outside of Bucharest.

So goes the world! You were in hiding--you who had nothing to hide from either God or man--you who deserved a crown.

Alas! the Russian Government had the poor taste not to appreciate your exploits, and you feared that it would claim and obtain your extradition.

At our first meeting I pleased you, and you took me into your friendship; I spoke Polish, and you loved music.