English Translation

67, but you stay in the city. You have a profession here. There can be no better memory of this evening than the song of our secret homeland.* Again you raised the bow. Behavior and solemnly it flooded from the strings like the distant sound of an eternal, unstoppable stream. "Germany, Germany over everything - - - More and more intimate and devoted you brought your instrument to life, the sounds enchanted both of us. In this song, the years spent together stood up and came to life again. And we got involved in this confession that your violin spoke out for us in the middle of enemy Prague. That eye view was the most beautiful confirmation of our friendship. When the melody had faded, you put the violin in the box. We reached each other's hands and I left. The German song had become the last word. Fate never brought us together again. If I think about why we have written so rarely, I find no explanation. You probably had more important things to do than write letters. Only occasionally did a card inform me about your stay. Your last message came from Paris. On the day of our invasion of France's capital, you had thought of me again. So I learned your field post number - and wrote to you. Shreed you this letter, which has now returned with the three words added by another hand. Thus is fate - and I do not want to explain it. I lift the look from my letter, who brought me the last customer of you, and look through the fex- ster. It is summer outside. The Vltava rushes over the Wehr as at that time and the Hradshin enthrones majestically over the city. The many large windows throw back the glow of the evening sun in glowing colors. On the castle the flag of the empire flutters in the softly painting wind.