She was the daughter of a Polish landowner who, deeply in debt to the Jews, had married a German wife with money, and who had died just before the rebellion. Quite young, she had married Paul Lensky, an intellectual who had studied at Berlin, and had returned to Warsaw a patriot¹. Her mother had married a German merchant and gone away.

Lydia Lensky, married to the young doctor, became with him a patriot and an emancipee. They were poor, but they were very conceited². She learned nursing as a mark of her emancipation³. They represented in Poland the new movement just begun in Russia. But they were very patriotic⁴: and, at the same time, very “European”.

They had two children. Then came the great rebellion. Lensky, very ardent⁵ and full of words, went about inciting⁶ his countrymen. Little Poles flamed down the streets of Warsaw, on the way to shoot every Muscovite. So they crossed into the south of Russia, and it was common for six little insurgents⁷ to ride into a Jewish village, brandishing⁸ swords and words, emphasising the fact that they were going to shoot every living Muscovite.

Lensky was something of a fire-eater also. Lydia, tempered by her German blood, coming of a different family, was obliterated⁹, carried along in her husband’s emphasis of declaration, and his whirl of patriotism¹⁰. He was indeed a brave man, but no bravery could quite have equalled the vividness of his talk. He worked very hard, till nothing lived in him but his eyes. And Lydia, as if drugged, followed him like a shadow, serving, echoing. Sometimes she had her two children, sometimes they were left behind.

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