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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/75812-0.txt b/75812-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bcbd7d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/75812-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10241 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75812 *** + + + + + + AN OUTLAW’S DIARY + + +[Illustration: + + ADMIRAL NICHOLAS HORTHY. +] + + + + + AN OUTLAW’S DIARY: + THE COMMUNE + + + By + CECILE TORMAY + +[Illustration: [Logo]] + + LONDON: + PHILIP ALLAN & CO. + QUALITY COURT + + + + + _First published in 1923_ + + + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN + BY THE HEREFORD TIMES LTD., HEREFORD. + + + + + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + ADMIRAL NICHOLAS HORTHY _frontispiece_ + ‘RED’ POSTERS _page_ 16 + ‘LENIN SPEAKING’ „ 22 + GEORGE NYISTOR „ 30 + THE JEWS CALL A MEETING „ 38 + JULIUS HEVESI _alias_ HONIG „ 48 + ALEXANDER CSIZMADIA „ 58 + JUHASZ AND PECZKAI „ 66 + COUNTRY FOLK GOING TO DRAW RATIONS „ 76 + EUGENE HAMBURGER „ 82 + ON THE BANKS OF THE IPOLY „ 88 + TIBOR SZÁMUELLY „ 96 + GEORGE LUKÁCS _alias_ LÖVINGER „ 106 + THE RED MAY-DAY „ 110 + BÉLA KÚN IN KASSA „ 116 + EUGENE SZANTO _alias_ SCHREIBER „ 122 + BÉLA KÚN AND SZÁMUELLY „ 130 + TERRORISTS (I.) „ 140 + ‘SZÁMUELLY ... TOOK HOSTAGES’ „ 142 + ALEXANDER SZABADOS _alias_ SINGER „ 146 + THE EXECUTIONERS OF THE DEATH TRAIN „ 154 + MAP OF HUNGARY „ 162 + THE LIBRARY OF COUNT GEORGE SZÁPÁRY „ 164 + ARPAD KEREKES _alias_ KOHN „ 174 + JOSEPH CZERNY AND THE LENIN BOYS „ 186 + A RECRUITING PLACARD „ 188 + THE LENIN BOYS POSE WITH A VICTIM „ 192 + TERRORISTS WITH A VICTIM „ 196 + BÉLA VAGO _alias_ WEISS „ 202 + RUMANIAN TROOPS OCCUPYING BUDAPEST „ 214 + SZÁMUELLY ... BRINGS GREETINGS „ 220 + TERRORISTS (II.) „ 224 + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. 5 + II. 21 + III. 35 + IV. 53 + V. 68 + VI. 84 + VII. 99 + VIII. 111 + IX. 125 + X. 137 + XI. 148 + XII. 162 + XIII. 177 + XIV. 189 + XV. 201 + APPENDIX 216 + + + + + AN OUTLAW’S DIARY + + + + + CHAPTER I + + + _Night of March 21st, 1919._ + +There followed a moment’s silence, the awful silence of the +executioner’s sword suspended in the air. Humanity in bondage draws its +head between its shoulders, and, like the sweat of the agonising, cold +rain, pours down the walls of the houses. Now.... + +A bestial voice shrieks again in the street: “LONG LIVE THE DICTATORSHIP +OF THE PROLETARIAT!” + +The neighbouring streets repeat the cry. A drawn shutter rattles +violently in the dark. Street doors bang as they are hurriedly closed. +Running steps clatter past the houses, accompanied by two sounds: “Long +live ... Death....” The latter is meant for us. Shots ring out at the +street corner. + +“Death to the bourgeois!” A bullet strikes a lamp and there is a shower +of glass on the pavement. A carriage drives past furiously, then stops +suddenly amid shouts. A confused noise follows and the shooting dies +away in the distance. Other cars follow its track into the maddened, +lightless town. What is happening there, beyond it, everywhere, in the +barracks, in the boulevards? Sailors are looting the inner city: a +handful of Bolsheviks have taken possession of the town. There is no +escape! + +One thought alone contains an element of relief: we have reached the +bottom of the abyss. It is disgraceful and humiliating, but it is better +than the constant sliding down and down. Now we can sink no lower. + +Presently the streets regained their former quiet, and nothing but the +throbbing of our hearts pierced the silence. + +There is no escape for us. The opened gutters have inundated us. St. +Stephen’s Hungary has fallen under the rule of Trotsky’s agent, Béla +Kun, the embezzler. And all round us events are taking place which we +have no longer the power to prevent. + +I have no idea how long this nightmare lasted. We were silent: everybody +was struggling with his own sufferings. The lamp burnt low, and again +the clock struck. I caught at its sound, and counted the strokes: nine. +Countess Chotek, who had been with us, was there no longer, nor did I +see my brother. Time went slowly on. My room appeared to me like the dim +background of a painting; figures sat in the picture rigidly, +disappeared, and then were there again. The door opened and closed. I +saw my journalist friend, Joseph Cavallier, in a chair which had been +empty a moment before. He spoke and pressed me to go—mad rumours were +circulating in the town, awful events were predicted for the night. +Lieut.-Col. Vyx and the other members of the Entente missions had been +arrested, and it was intended to disarm the British monitors on the +Danube. The Russian Red Army was advancing towards the Carpathians, the +Bolsheviks had declared for the integrity of our territory. Béla Kun’s +Directorate had declared war on the Entente. “You must escape to-night,” +said my friend; “they are going to arrest you. Come to us.” + +My mother called me and I opened her door with apprehension. She was +sitting up in bed, propped high between the pillows: her face was livid +and appeared thinner than ever. She too had heard the cries in the +street, was aware of what had happened, and knew what was in store for +us. Her haggard, harassed look inspired me with strength to face our +fate. + +“Why don’t you come here? Why can’t we talk things over in here?” She +did not mean to cause pain, but her words stabbed me. Poor dear mother! + +When Joseph Cavallier told her of his proposal she shook her head: + +“You live on the other side of the river, don’t you? Don’t let her go so +far.” Suddenly she recovered herself and turned to me: “It is raining +hard and I heard you coughing so badly all day.” + +The others had followed us into her room, and all had something to say. +My sister-in-law mentioned her brother Zsigmondy who lived near by: he +had offered me shelter in his home. My mother alone was silent. Though +she could not say it, it was she who was most anxious for me to go. She +looked at me imploringly. That decided me. + +“It can only be a question of a day or two,” I said. “Then, when they +have failed to find me here, I can come back.” + +Did I believe what I said? Did I imagine that things would happen like +that? Or did I attempt to deceive myself so that I might bear it the +more easily? I noticed a deep shadow that stole suddenly, I knew not +whence, over my mother’s face. It appeared on the other faces too, as if +all of them had aged suddenly. And beyond them, around us, in the houses +opposite, all over the town, people aged suddenly in that ghastly hour. + +They all went away and left me alone in my room. I knew I ought to +hurry, yet I stood idle in front of the open cupboard. How many, I +thought, are standing, hesitating like this to-night, how many are +hurrying and running aimlessly about, not knowing whither to turn? Will +it be the same here as in Russia? Quietly the door opened behind me: my +mother had risen and came to me so that we might be together as long as +possible. + +“I will take just a few things, very few,” I kept repeating, as if I +wanted to force the hand of fate to make my trial short. “Perhaps I may +be able to come home to-morrow....” + +My mother did not answer. She tied the parcels together for me. + +“The housekeeper must not know till to-morrow morning that you have +gone....” She looked out into the ante-room to see that no one was +about, then opened the door herself and accompanied me down the +corridor. The house seemed asleep, the sky was black, and the courtyard +underneath was like a dark shaft in which rain-water had accumulated. + +Leaning on my arm my mother walked along with me. In silence both of us +struggled to keep control over our emotions. At the front door we +stopped. Nothing was audible but the patter of the rain. My mother +raised her hand and passed it over my face, caressingly, as though she +would feel the outlines that she knew so well. + +“Take every care of yourself, my dear, dear one!” + +I was already running down the stairs. She was leaning over the +balustrade, and I heard her voice behind me, keeping me company as long +as possible, calling softly, “Good-night!” + +“Good-night....” I called back, but my voice failed me in a pain such as +I had never felt before. + +Beyond the street door there was a rattle of gunfire. I tried to keep +cheerful, and kept saying: “To-morrow I shall come back to her, +to-morrow.” I groped my way across the dark yard and knocked at the +concierge’s window. He came out, looking curiously at me in the glare of +his lantern: “There is a lot of shooting out there. It would be wiser to +stay at home.” But I shook my head and the key turned in the lock; the +door opened stealthily, and closed carefully behind me, as though +unwilling to betray me. + +Next instant I stood alone in the rain. I shuddered: my retreat was cut +off. Home, everything that was good, everything that protected me, was +behind that door, beyond my reach. + +Motor horns, human shouts, rang here and there in the distance, whilst +the rain poured in streams in the broken gutters. The road seemed +absolutely empty. Suddenly I heard steps on the other side of the +street. They had not approached from the distance but had started quite +near by; someone must therefore have stepped from out of the shadow of +the house opposite. Had he been waiting there spying on me? The steps +became hurried, passed me, crossed the street. A dark shape hugged the +wall under the recess of a door. No bell was rung. I stopped for an +instant: the incertitude of the past few weeks reappeared. The knowledge +of being watched, pursued, the torture of being deprived of my freedom, +made me catch my breath. The threat had followed me so long, appearing +and disappearing in turn, menacing me from under every porch, from every +dark corner. Should I fly from it? Should I turn down a by-street? + +Suddenly I felt tired and ill: my pulses were leaden and my brain seemed +weighed down with heavy stones. For an instant I contemplated giving in. +I seemed to be of so little significance compared with the enormity of +universal misfortune. The crash of general collapse had drowned the +small moans of individual fates. + +The shadow suddenly emerged from under the porch and barred my way. We +stared at each other. Then a well-known voice said, “Is it you?” It was +my brother Béla, who had been watching for me so that he might accompany +me. + +Only a few lamps were alight on the boulevard, and our heels crushed the +fragments of glass from the broken ones. Empty cartridge cases shone in +the puddles. + +Machine-guns stood in the middle of the street. Some men passed, +carrying a red flag; then a lorry, bristling with bayonets, rumbled +heavily by, full of armed sailors. One of these shouldered his rifle and +aimed at us. He did not shoot, and when for an instant he appeared in +the light of a lamp before the darkness swallowed him again, I could see +the bestial grin which contorted his face. The lorry disappeared, but we +could hear his voice shouting something in Russian. There are many of +these here to-day. “A bourgeois, to hell with him!” The cry of Moscow +fills Budapest. + +Frightened forms ran across the openings of the streets on the other +side, and the air was filled with wild movements and lurching fear. At +last I rang the bell of the front door which was to shelter me, and my +brother wished me Godspeed and turned back. It was some moments before +the door opened, and a woman came along, dragging her feet. She looked +at me suspiciously and seemed frightened. Where was I going? + +I murmured something, crammed some money into her hand, and brushed past +her. Here too the courtyard was absolutely dark. I hesitated in front of +the door of one of the flats: something urged me to go on, something +else drew me back. At last I knocked, and a friendly face appeared. The +table was still laid under the welcoming light of a swinging lamp: how +peaceful was the sight of that quiet little home after the howling, +dirty, soaking street! Michael Zsigmondy and his wife welcomed me, but +whether or not they had expected me I cannot say; at all events they +seemed to consider it quite a natural thing that I should have come. + +“What is the time?” + +“Past eleven.” + +There was a knock at the door.... We looked at each other. A tall, dark +young man entered. “Count Francis Hunyadi,” announced Zsigmondy, +relieved. He did not mention my name, and they carefully avoided +addressing me. The newcomer spoke: + +“Nobody knows what is happening. It is said that the Communists want to +hand the town over to the rabble to plunder.” + +I thought of my mother, who was surely thinking of me too. Behind her I +saw more faintly other faces: brothers, sisters, friends, acquaintances. +I began to tremble for all those I loved. + +Zsigmondy went to the telephone, but the exchange gave the invariable +answer: “Only official communications are permissible.” Then that +stopped too. The telephone exchanges have passed into the hands of the +Communists. + +The rain stopped; the streets livened up, and now and then the howls of +the excited rabble came up to us: “Long live the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat!” + +The children were taken into another room, and my bed was made up in the +night nursery. Bright pictures of fairy tales were on the walls, lead +soldiers and toy horses on the floor. However long I may live I shall +never again feel as old as I felt in that nursery. + + * * * * * + + _March 22nd._ + +The day was already breaking when weariness overcame me and lulled me +into something resembling sleep. It must have lasted a short time only, +then an almost physical pain about my heart woke me. I felt like a +person who has lost someone very dear to him and on awakening is +reminded of his bereavement not by memory but by grief. I shrunk from +complete awakening. Not yet, not for just one more minute! But it was in +vain I tried to hide from consciousness, swiftly I remembered +everything. Hungary was no longer. She had been betrayed, sold. _Finis +Hungariæ._ + +I found myself moaning inarticulately. My heart was wounded and +bleeding, and the blood that was flowing was the blood of all those who +were Hungarian. I pressed my clenched fists to my eyes, pressed them so +hard that my eyeballs hurt and red flashes passed before them. Then I +opened them quickly and the grey dawn stared at me with dimmed eyes. +Their day had come! + +The street seemed dead, but it was only resting from the night’s revels. +It must have been an hour later when steps interrupted the silence—a +hunchbacked little monster was coming down the street with a sheaf of +posters over his arm and a bucket in his hand. Now and then he stopped, +smeared his paste over a wall, and when he went on red posters marked +each of his stopping places. + +“Long live the Dictatorship of the Proletariat!” + +The town must be given no chance to regain its breath, to recover +consciousness. When it wakes its whole body will be covered with the red +eruption. It will be everywhere. It will cover the barracks, the royal +palace, the very churches. + +I turned away from the window: it was useless looking out: everywhere it +was the same thing. A morning paper was lying on the table. Yesterday’s +compositors’ strike was over. Socialist compositors had set the papers +of the Communists and the red was pervading the black print: “Unite, +Proletarians of the World!” This was followed by Károlyi’s proclamation: + +“To the Hungarian people! The government has resigned. Those who till +now have governed by the will of the people and with the support of the +Proletarians have come to the conclusion that circumstances require a +new orientation. Orderly production can only be secured by handing over +the power to the Proletarians. Besides the danger of anarchy in the +productive activities of the country there is the danger of foreign +politics. The Peace Conference in Paris has secretly decided that nearly +the whole of Hungary is to be occupied by armed forces. The mission of +the Entente has declared that the lines of demarcation will be +considered in future as political frontiers. The obvious reason for a +further occupation of the country is that Hungary is to be made the +battle ground of the war against the Russian Soviet troops, now fighting +on the Roumanian frontier. The territories robbed from us are intended +as the reward of those Czech and Roumanian armies which are to be used +to defeat the forces of the Russian Soviet. I, the Provisional President +of the Hungarian Popular Republic, am obliged by this decision of the +Paris Conference to appeal to the proletariat of the world for justice +and help; consequently I resign and hand over the powers of government +to the Proletariat of Hungary.—Michael Károlyi.” + +I was filled with disgust. He admits that it was he who has handed it +over! I felt with horror that this proclamation was nothing but the base +documentary evidence of the sale of a betrayed nation. + +“I alone can save Hungary!” It was with these words that Michael Károlyi +started his lies on the 31st of October, 1918. “I hand the powers of +government to the Proletariat of Hungary,” he declares on the 21st of +March, 1919, when lies fail him. In the interval he has squandered and +sold Hungary. The mask has fallen, and behind it appears boldly the +rabble which he calls the Proletariat of Hungary. Practically all its +leaders appear in the list of the “Revolutionary Government Council.” +Just as in Károlyi’s Government it is headed by a deceptive Christian +clown; Alexander Garbai is the President. The others are all foreigners. +All the People’s Commissaries are Jews, there is now and then a +Christian among the assistant commissaries, then again Jews and still +more Jews. Jews are to administer the capital, Jews are at the head of +the police. A Jew is to be governor of the Austro-Hungarian Bank. + +This list gives one furiously to think. The puppets of the October show +have been swept from the stage by the events of last night. The +demoniacal organisers, the raving wire-pullers and prompters have taken +their place, and for the first time in the long history of Hungary, +Hungarians are excluded from every inch of ground, whether in the hills +and the vales of the Carpathians, or on the boundless plains. The +country has been divided up among Czechs, Roumanians, Serbians and Jews. + +The newspaper continues to address “Everybody.” The Revolutionary +Council proclaims haughtily that it has taken over the government and +that it is going to build up its workers’, peasants’ and soldiers’ +councils. Hungary becomes a Soviet Republic. The Revolutionary Council +will start without delay a series of fundamental changes. It decrees the +socialisation of big estates, wholesale businesses, banks and means of +communication. The land reform will not take the shape of dividing up +the land into small holdings but of organising it into socialistic +productive co-operative societies. The death penalty will be imposed on +the bandits of the Counter-revolution as well as on the brigands who +indulge in looting. It will organise a powerful proletarian army. It +declares its intellectual and sentimental community with Soviet Russia. +It offers an armed alliance to the Russian Proletariat. It sends +brotherly greetings to the working masses of England, France, Italy and +America, appealing to them not to tolerate any longer the looting +expeditions of their capitalistic Governments against the Soviet +Republic of Hungary. It offers an armed alliance to the workers and +peasants of Bohemia, Roumania, Serbia and Croatia. It appeals to German +Austria and Germany to ally themselves with Moscow.... Long live the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat! Long live the Hungarian Soviet +Republic!” + +I thought of the stories related by returning prisoners of war, the +vague news of the Russian Revolution, the distant outlines of its +nefarious actors and its beginnings at Petrograd. Russia’s awful fate +filled me with anguish and apprehension. + +This was the first ordinance of the Revolutionary Council: + +“MARTIAL LAW.—Anybody resisting the orders of the Soviet Government or +inciting to rebellion against it will be executed. Revolutionary +tribunals will sit and try the criminals. Budapest, March 21st, 1919.” + +I jumped up: I felt I should choke unless I did something. + +“That soldier down there is still walking up and down,” said Mrs. +Zsigmondy quietly. + +“It is lucky that the house has entrances on two streets. I shall go out +by the other.” + +A sharp wind, cleared by rain, was blowing on the boulevard. The +carriages seemed to have disappeared, and only motor-cars were rushing +about, armed sailors standing on their steps and long-haired Jews, +smoking big cigars, sitting inside. The shops were closed, and red +posters flamed from their lowered shutters. + +“Long live the Soviet Republic allied to Russia!” + +The wind blew the torn down posters of the Károlyi Government over the +unswept pavements. Now and then hurrying pedestrians passed with bent +heads, their eyes expressing stunned bewilderment. They could not +understand what had happened. + +A chemist’s shop was open: that was the only concession. My head was on +fire and my chest torn with coughing. I went in. Many people were +waiting for their prescriptions. Two people whispered to each other: +“The resignation of the Government was simply a sham to frighten the +Entente into re-establishing the old lines of demarcation.” “Goodness +no, my dear sir, there has been too much of Károlyi’s cowardly +pacificism. The Bolsheviks want to reconquer the whole of Hungary.” A +lean young man standing by began to gesticulate wildly: “If that is so, +every Hungarian ought to stand by them.” The other nodded: “We shall +soon go home to Pressburg....” + +I was staggered. So they are still credulous, they still believe! I went +on sadly. When I reached the offices of the National Federation of +Hungarian Women I was taken aback. There was nobody waiting there, the +ante-room was empty. + +What a great thing we had been attempting, we women! To stop a cart +running down a slope! We wanted to spread light and confidence and +strength into the homes and people of Hungary. Was it to be all in vain, +our sufferings, our labour? + +As I opened the door into the inner office there was a sudden silence +within, and the secretary rose from his table. Familiar faces turned to +me, but they looked at me in silence, as if a question were on their +lips, as if they expected something. + +Faithful, brave women! In this moment I felt that after all everything +was not lost. What we had sown could not be trampled down, the flames we +had lit could not be extinguished. + +A young girl looked in and nodded. “Soldiers are gathering in front of +the house....” + +We began to hurry. One gathered the list of names, another threw our +appeals into a basket: “There is a corner of my house where they won’t +look for them, I shall hide them there.” Another tied some documents +together: “My husband will hide them somewhere in the National Museum.” + +“I will take these to a decorator who has hidden many other dangerous +documents,” said the secretary. + +I wrote a farewell letter to my collaborators at the long table on which +I had done so much work. “We won’t dissolve and we won’t cease to exist. +Let everyone continue our work as best she can till we meet again. And +if there is any trouble and anyone is persecuted, say that I am the +cause of all.” + +A girl leant against a cupboard and covered her eyes, while two others +dragged a heavy basket through the door: it contained our office outfit. +Suppressed sobs were audible near the wall underneath the high crucifix. +We shook hands, no one said a word, and they let me go alone. But when I +turned back from the door I saw they were all looking after me. + +The guardians of the house were some quiet, gentle nuns. I knocked at +their door and the Mother Superior opened it as if she expected me. + +“I thank you for your hospitality and pray your forgiveness if our +presence brings you misfortune.” + +“Nothing happens but what God wills,” answered the nun, with a resigned +expression on her gentle face bordered with white veiling. + +Meanwhile the soldiers had retired from the vicinity of the house, so I, +as usual, bent my way towards home. Only when I reached the beginning of +my street did I realize what I was doing. It was too late to turn back. +Something attracted me painfully, as though my heart were attached to an +invisible thread which was being drawn rapidly towards the further end +of the street. There it was that I used to turn in other times when I +felt weary. If only I could go there, just for the time necessary to +open the door, look in, and nod. And the thread pulled me harder and +harder, with ever increasing tension. I crossed the street. Just one +more step to be nearer. Just one more! As I leant forward I put my hand +to the wall of a strange house. For an instant I perceived our entrance +and saw the windows shining above. I looked at each of them separately. +The fifth was that of a room of many memorable evenings, my mother’s +window. I bowed to it, as if in greeting. Someone quite near to me bowed +at the same time. What was that? It was only my shadow that followed my +movements on the sunlit wall. Had anybody observed me? How ridiculous I +must have seemed! With hastened steps, very fast, I returned to those +who had given me shelter. + +Hours followed which have escaped my memory. News from the impenetrable +tangle filtered through in the afternoon. The town has become more and +more strange and incomprehensible: it has put its neck into the halter +while talking of reconquering the country. Reliable news is now +obtainable of Károlyi’s resignation, and the proceedings of the +ministers’ Council have been divulged by journalists. Before the meeting +Károlyi had a long secret talk with Kunfi; thence Kunfi proceeded +directly to the prison, where he made formal compact with Béla Kun and +the Communists in the name of the Social Democratic Party. The agreement +was drawn up in writing. Meanwhile, in the old House of Parliament, +Pogány-Schwarz proclaimed the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. After +that everything went quickly: barracks, arsenals and munition depots had +already been given up to the Communists. Now the post office and the +telegraph have come into their power. + +Kunfi obtained from Károlyi an order for the release of Béla Kun and his +fellow prisoners; he then drove to fetch them and they left their +prison, as Hungary’s all-powerful masters, to occupy the sleeping +capital. + +Meanwhile Károlyi was sitting with his Countess and the former Prime +Minister Berinkey in a room of the Prime-Ministerial Palace. The town +was getting restless in the dark night. Wrapped in a blanket, Károlyi +shivered and asked what was happening out there. When he was told that +his proclamation had already been read in the Workers’ Council he asked +sleepily, “What proclamation?” + +“Why, your resignation!” + +“Impossible! I scarcely remember what it contained, I was so hurried to +sign it. Its publication must be prevented.” + +An official told him that he was too late. “It is already being printed +by the papers and will appear in the morning.” + +Károlyi stammered that he had no intention of withdrawing it, he only +wanted to alter some passages. But the Communists had taken good care +that by then it should have already been telephoned to Vienna. The wires +carried the news of Károlyi’s resignation and his disgrace, and the +document, as edited by Kéri-Krammer, is preserved for the edification of +a horrified posterity. + +This is not a tale, not a figment of imagination devised to make +people’s flesh creep. In the night of the 21st of March Károlyi stood +with his narrow head bent to one side, his hollow chest heaving, in the +room formerly occupied by Stephen Tisza, and before the cock crowed +thrice.... + +This morning someone met Károlyi and his wife walking on the embankment +of the Danube. A big red carnation was glowing in his button-hole, and +his wife wore a bright-red hat in the shape of a Phrygian cap and a red +collar on her coat. Both looked happy and were laughing. “I am so +pleased,” Countess Károlyi said to a friend, “Hungary has never been so +happy as it is now.” At the Prime Minister’s house, when taking leave, +Károlyi expressed himself in the same sense. + +“It must not be forgotten,” he declared, “that, though it may ruin a few +individuals and now and then inflict hardships on certain people, it has +to be borne in the interest of the community. Let us pour oil on the +wheels of the new Government and let us do all in our power to make it a +success, because that is the interest of the Hungarian people.” + +They speak like that. Adorned ostentatiously with red flowers and a red +hat—wearing the hangman’s colours—these two human beings walk about +after having achieved their work. One of their confidants, a Communist +comrade, said of them: “Károlyi and his wife wanted a revolution that he +might become the President of the Republic. Now they want Bolshevism +that in the reaction which they hope will follow in its suit they may +rule as autocrats.” And the confidant grinned as he spoke. Is this the +solution of their enigma? I don’t know. Those who say so have stirred +the witches’ cauldron with them. + +Suddenly I saw Béla Kun. I saw him as he had appeared to me on New +Year’s Eve at the barracks when he went to incite the soldiers. Károlyi +let him, Pogány helped him. Now they sit all together. And Számuelly is +with them, so are Kunfi, Landler and Böhm. They have not yet recovered +from the first shock: their good fortune has surpassed their wildest +expectations. Even in their dreams they had never hoped for so much. + +[Illustration: + + TWO “RED” POSTERS. +] + +At Limanova and at Doberedo the Hungarians showed themselves obstinate +heroes; who would have thought that they would so easily bend their +heads under the yoke? The all-powerful Peoples’ Commissaries are already +moving. The people are crowding in front of the editorial offices of +‘The Red Newspaper,’ where Számuelly’s belongings are being packed on a +carriage. Béla Kun too is leaving the two rooms which he had hired with +Russian money under the name of Dr. Sebestyén. Whither are they going? +Into the royal castle? Into the Prime Minister’s palace, or elsewhere? +They have the widest possible choice: everything is theirs. + +There was a knock at my door. One friend after another came in bringing +news. Béla Kun has sent Communist agitators all over the country. They +drive through the villages in motor-cars, beflagged in red, and shout: +“The Dictatorship of the Proletariat has been proclaimed! Kill the +gentlefolk!” A new order has been issued: it is forbidden to wear arms; +even revolvers have to be delivered to the authorities. Only the +‘reliable people,’ Red soldiers, factory guards and workmen’s levies, +are allowed weapons. The shops remain closed: their goods are declared +common property. The newspapers are to be communised or prohibited. The +buildings of the conservative _Budapesti Hirlap_ have been occupied by +the editorial staff of ‘The Red Newspaper.’ Armed men occupy the tables, +and on the front of the building the Red flag floats. + +A message reached me from Elisabeth Kállay: she and her family have gone +into the country and she asked me to come to them. But I shook my head; +to-morrow I return to my mother. + +Many have left town. Those who could went by train, others fled by +carriage, on foot, by whatever means they could manage. All traces of +them disappear—they simply exist no longer. One political party after +another pronounces its extinction. The general officers and high +officials have disappeared from the scene. Nobody attempts to raise a +dam against the deluge, though yesterday a sluice-gate might have +stopped it. + +October 31st has returned like a haunting spectre and we live the evil +day again. Then the trap was baited with the device: ‘Independent +Hungary,’ now it is: ‘Territorial Integrity.’ The whole thing is like +the semi-conscious feeling during a nightmare that one has dreamt the +same horrors before. + +Where are those who used to be always ready to give advice to the King +in Schönbrunn and the halls of the Vienna Burg? Why do they not advise +our unfortunate nation now? And where are now those who during the war +were ready to order thousands ‘over the top’ into the jaws of death +whenever a single trench was in danger? Where is my whole haughty race +which used to go so proudly, singing a merry tune, to face death on +foreign fields? Why does it stand now, with glaring eyes, inactive, on +our fields at home? Since Károlyi’s treason, four and a half months have +passed. And this new danger finds us again without a leader, without +organisation. Running shapes are in flight. Shadows are disappearing in +the distance, shadows which once were thought the great realities of +Hungary. And those who stay with us, in offices, in poor officers’ +quarters, are but hungry, ragged, grey little shadows with bended heads. + +Wherever the red hand of Bolshevism has grasped the rod of power it has +always raised a spirit of resistance. The streets of Moscow, Petrograd, +Helsingfors, Berlin and Altona have run with the hot human blood of +revolt—Budapest alone has submitted in dizzy apathy. Is the hideous +enchantment more powerful here than elsewhere? Here, where in the time +of Károlyi’s revolution there were no more than two hundred and sixty +thousand organised workers and even yesterday no more than five thousand +Communists? What has happened? Austrian bugles have called on Hungarian +troops for too many charges during the war. Those who might have saved +us to-day are dead. + +I felt a desperate longing for action: to do something even if one had +to die in the effort, to do something which would break the charm and +free the energies benumbed by its humiliating spell! I clenched my fists +and shook my head in frenzy; it cannot remain like this. +To-morrrow—to-morrow I shall go home. And wearily I shut my tired eyes. + +The hours dragged on so slowly that they never seemed to come to an end. +Night was falling. The lamp was lit in the next room. The street door +was locked.... What was that? The slamming of it resounded as if a lid +had been banged violently on a giant box. And we are all sitting in the +box and waiting helplessly for our fate to be decided out there. As long +as the house doors were open the houses along the street seemed to hold +each other by the hand, and if one had got into trouble the slightest +movement would have been enough to warn the others. That is so no +longer. When the doors are shut the houses release each other’s hands +and each is left to itself with its own misfortune. + +Out there in the dark threatening streets the stolen motors are racing +to and fro without a stop, carrying treacherous plans, hostile orders, +all over the town. And behind the doors no one is safe until these plans +and orders have decided his fate. + +It was just before midnight when the bell rang in the ante-room. Its +sound choked the breath in our throats. Zsigmondy went out to open the +door. It was all right: only my brother Béla had sent me a message not +to go out to-morrow till he had spoken to me. + +Then we retired for a restless sleep. A lamp was burning on the table of +the night nursery; my bed was made, but I sat for a long time on its +edge, waiting like a patient in the surgeon’s waiting room. There was a +smell of printer’s ink somewhere: if only one could read in these times, +I thought. There was a newspaper on the table. No, not that. I turned +from it in disgust. I wanted to escape the present. + +How often have I found consolation in books during sad hours! But is +there a book that could lull the present sorrows to rest? I remembered +having read _Faust_ during a great storm at sea till the night had +passed, and during an evil night of the war my mother and I had read +_Toldi_ till the morning came. I wondered if to-day the armed knight +could carry me off with him as he rides to Buda to fight a last fight +for Hungary’s honour, to kiss faithfully great King Louis’s hand? I +shook my head. Was there nothing? _Hamlet_, with visionary raving eyes, +came and went, but did not arrest me. _Niels Lyne_ and _The Idiot_, and +rusty, armoured _Don Quixote_. + +A patrol passed under the window. A soldier pulled his bayonet over a +corrugated shutter as if sharpening it for some future victim. The +others laughed, then they went on. Silence followed, the silence of a +huge wicked town that gapes. + +How long will it last? Why can I not think of anything else? If I were +at home now I would count my books to pass the time. One, two, three.... +I imagined myself taking an old volume from the shelf. Kant’s _Critique +of Pure Reason_. What good is that? At the other end of my bookcase +there is another book in a parchment binding as smooth and cool as +ivory: the Iliad. I thought of it—I had bought it in Siena, a long time +ago. Bright, great heroes, Homeric songs, would mean nothing to me now. +And Dante. No, I do not want him. His _Inferno_ knows nought of the +tortures we endure. + +The horn of a solitary motor resounded through the night, and volleys +were fired in the direction of the barracks. Quietly, so as to make no +noise, I began to walk up and down in the nursery. There were books +lying about among the toys; picture-books, coloured animals, big, funny +alphabets. I looked at several; and thus a much used, shabby story book +came into my hand. + +I sat back on the edge of the bed, the book open. It brought to me the +memory of holidays, old Sundays, mild childish illnesses.... Someone is +reassuring me, kisses me, hushes me and reads in a subdued voice at my +bedside, strokes the hair from my forehead.... The pages turn quickly. +And where neither Goethe nor Arany nor Dante nor Kant could succeed in +carrying away my thoughts this revolutionary night, the eternal +fairy-tale, that consoler of children, of sick and of suffering, +triumphed. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + + _March 23rd._ + +One gets the impression that things have been like this for ever so +long, though it all started only the day before yesterday. Good Friday +was just two days ago. To-day is Sunday—but not Easter. The resurrection +has failed and the grave-diggers sit grinning on the tomb. + +In some churches the bells were ringing, in others the people had gone +to Mass, my brother’s message kept me at home. Again there was a +newspaper lying on the table. In huge black letters Béla Kun’s +proclamation to the proletariats of the world was glaring at me: “To +Everybody!” It was revolutionary incendiarism, inciting hatred. In their +old-fashioned way the church bells appealed above the roofs for love and +good-will. Meanwhile the wireless had spread broadcast the news of +Hungary’s shame and misfortune. And from Moscow there came the +triumphant answer. It is published in _The People’s Voice_: + +“This afternoon at five o’clock the Hungarian Soviet Republic got into +wireless communication with the Russian Soviet. The Hungarian Soviet +called Comrade Lenin to the apparatus. Twenty minutes later Moscow +answered: ‘Lenin speaking. Request Comrade Béla Kun should come to +wireless station.’ But Béla Kun was at the meeting of the People’s +Commissaries, so another comrade answered from the wireless station: +‘Last night the Hungarian Proletariat seized all powers, established the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat, and greets you as the leader of the +International Proletariat. The Social Democratic Party has adopted the +Communist point of view and the two parties have united. We call +ourselves the Hungarian Socialist Party. We ask for instructions in this +matter. Béla Kun is Commissary for Foreign Affairs. The Hungarian Soviet +offers the Russian Soviet a defensive and offensive alliance. Fully +armed, we turn against all the enemies of the Proletariat and ask for +information concerning the military situation.’” + +At nine in the evening Moscow called again. + +“Lenin speaking.... Hearty greetings to the Hungarian Soviet’s +Proletarian Government, in particular to Comrade Béla Kun. I have just +communicated your message to the Congress of the Communist Party of +Bolshevik Russia. Enormous enthusiasm ... we will send a report on the +military situation as soon as possible.... A permanent wireless +connection between Budapest and Moscow is absolutely necessary. With +Communist greetings, Lenin.” + +‘Lenin speaking’.... How terrible these two words sound; how terrible +the deathly silence that follows them! ‘Lenin speaking’.... So he is +there now, with his bald head bent sideways, his enigmatic smile frozen +on his broad mouth, his Kalmuk eyes open wide and his nostrils expanded +as though he smelt blood. ‘Lenin speaking’.... And Trotsky is there too, +his bestial, cruel face peering over us; his mouth broadens and the red +beard on his chin shakes. All the other Russian Jewish tyrants are there +too, and they wave their bloody hands. They may give their orders; their +lieutenants will obey, and we shall live or die according to their good +pleasure and instructions. + +My brother Béla came into the room and I learned from him that I could +not go home any more. In hasty excited sentences he told me that +yesterday evening when he had gone to see our mother the glaring lamps +of a big car had suddenly lit up the dark street. It stopped in front of +the next house, though this has no entrance from our street. Three men +dismounted from the car and kept our street door under observation. + +“Mother’s housekeeper has been talking to them this afternoon, probably +to inform them that you have left. She had scarcely returned when the +car pulled up before our door and the men asked for you. They wanted to +come up to our flat. They insisted, affirming that they came from the +police, and had to see you personally. The concièrge told them that you +had left town and banged the door in their faces. The car, however, +remained where it was and kept the house under observation. The men only +left at dawn, hoping to see you return.” + +While he told me all this I had a feeling as though an ugly hand were +groping for me in the dark, trying to get hold of me, but missing me, +passing beside me. It was the hand of Lenin. + +My brother said, following up his own thoughts: “You cannot remain with +the Zsigmondys. It is impossible for you to go home. They informed the +concierge that they would come and fetch you to-day.” + +[Illustration: + + “... LENIN SPEAKING.” +] + +My mother’s face appeared before me, a haunted expression in her blue +eyes. It would be terrible for her to see me arrested. What was I to do? +I had sent a message to Count Stephen Bethlen this morning, but he had +already left home. Everybody for whom I send has disappeared. The +threads are broken. How shall I start? Left to themselves, what can +women do at a time like this? + +I had not noticed that the Secretary of the Women’s Union had entered. +He told me that in a few days it would be impossible to travel without a +permit and advised me to leave town while it was still possible. The +Kállays had been prevented by the crowds at the station from leaving by +train to-day, but would start to-morrow, and invited me to go with them. + +I hesitated; but, after all, it was only a question of a few days. So as +soon as I was alone I wrote to my mother and told her I should leave +next day, though I did not yet know my destination, and asked her to +spend the evening with me. + +Hours have never passed so slowly. When it was quite dark I escaped from +the house. A cold wind blew through the empty streets. The tired town +had once more resigned itself to its fate and now suffered in silence; +the posters alone spoke; huge sheets covered the walls. The same words +everywhere: Proletariat ... Dictatorship ... Proletariat.... The broken +street lamps had not been repaired, and the pavement was covered with +refuse: for days the streets have not been swept. + +The staircase was in darkness. A single lamp was burning in my sister’s +sitting-room. And there, in the dim light, I saw my mother again. I was +shocked by her appearance: she seemed to have become shorter since we +had parted and her face was much thinner. Did she fret for me? Was I the +cause of this change? Never in my life did I feel so moved in her +presence as then. + +And yet she seemed quite calm, and on one occasion she even laughed, +with her own hearty laughter. We talked of all sorts of things, except +the fact that I should no longer be with them on the morrow. The +children seemed quite happy, chattering among themselves in a corner. +The hours passed so happily for me that now and then I had the illusion +that the old times had returned for a moment before disappearing for +ever. + +One or the other would say: “At most it can last a week or two.” Or +again: “Colonel Vyx has been locked up and an English officer has been +assaulted in the street. Insults of this kind will surely not be taken +lying down by the Great Powers. It is impossible that the Entente should +suffer the establishment of Bolshevism in Hungary. She knew how to send +ultimatums demanding lines of demarcation, so that the Roumanians and +her other friends could loot at leisure, now she is sure to display more +energy when her own interests are at stake.” + +“Let us put no hope in anybody but ourselves,” said my brother-in-law. +“It was the Entente who brought us to this.” + +One of my nephews said: “That is the reason why so many people are +rather pleased that the Communists display hostility to the Entente. Who +knows, perhaps our territorial integrity....” + +“Don’t expect any good from these people,” I interrupted. “Among the +apostles of Communism there may be some idealists, but those who apply +it practically are all scoundrels. It is impossible, man cannot +withstand nature.” + +Suddenly someone asked if I had decided where I was going to. Should I +accept the Kállay’s invitation, or should I attempt to get across the +river Ipoly to Pressburg and thence into foreign territory? + +“Do the Kállays realise what this invitation means in these days?” + +“You must not accept it otherwise,” my mother said. + +“Wherever you go, you must mislead those who are after you,” said my +brother-in-law. “Write a letter and have it posted in another part of +the country.” + +My mother rose: “It is time to go.” + +My heart stopped beating. But she held her head high and there were no +tears in her eyes. Only when leading her down the stairs did I feel that +she leaned more heavily on me than she used to. Who will lead her when I +am gone? My nephew, Alexander Eperjessy, took her home. I asked him to +occupy my room and stay with my mother, otherwise I should not be able +to tear myself away. + +“Don’t worry about me,” mother said; “and don’t you come back till you +can do so openly and without danger.” + +I have been with her almost daily as long as I can remember, yet it was +only this evening that I really learned to appreciate her. She had never +asked for anything and yet was always ready to give. She never spoke of +herself and listened to everybody. She had no words of endearment, she +kissed vaguely and her arms were rarely caressing. She was never +demonstrative, the seat of her affections was her heart and not her +lips. And while we were walking side by side through the dark night on +our short, sad road, I felt that if this heart were one day to stop, +then mine would throb but haltingly ever after. + +We had passed the house which had given me shelter. I thought my mother +had not noticed it, being accustomed to go on towards home. But suddenly +she stopped, and, as was her wont on rare occasions, she drew my head to +her quickly and gave me a kiss which went half into the air. + +“Now, my dear, God bless you!” + +I tried to find her hand but failed. She had already left me and I could +no longer see her in the dark. I could only hear her step in the empty +street. That quaint, dear step, which sounded as if she dragged one of +her feet a little. Then that ceased too. Silence, empty silence, +dominated the night. Silently I wept, and the world disappeared in my +tears. + + * * * * * + + _March 24th._ + +Dawn. The dawn rose with a dull greyness over the ill-fated city, as +though the light had risen from the mire. Morning was in sole possession +of the dirty unswept streets. I leant far out of the window, and in the +distance I noticed two soldiers staggering painfully along. One of the +achievements of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat: prohibition of +alcohol! + +As I turned back I caught sight of my travelling bag. My mother had +packed it yesterday and had smuggled it out of the house without the +spying servant observing them. I sat down by it and waited. After a time +the house awoke and the time passed more quickly. I do not remember all +that followed: Zsigmondy changed my money, and I noticed how little I +had—one thousand six hundred crowns. I counted it over again, but that +did not make it more. My mother had wanted to give me some, but it had +all come so unexpectedly that we had only very little money in the +house, and she would need that little. + +I should have liked to put back the clock, but there was the cab waiting +in the street and they were carrying my bag down the stairs. As I waved +my hand from the corridor Mrs. Zsigmondy leant out of the door which had +opened to me so hospitably and smiled through her tears. + +When I was in the carriage it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps I +ought not to have accepted Zsigmondy’s offer to come with me to the +station: he might get into trouble; but he insisted so simply and +heartily that I could say no more. + +From behind the clouds a pale sun lit up the gloomy town. All the shops +were closed, and the tiny red flags adorning the buildings fluttered in +an icy wind. Careworn faces passed rapidly before the window of the +rattling cab. A black crowd had gathered on the pavement in front of a +pork-butcher’s shop, the signboard of which advertised luscious hams and +appetising sausages, looking now like the impossibilities of a +prehistoric age. But the shop window was absolutely empty. Further on a +baker’s shop displayed a wooden sign on which were painted beautiful +loaves and rolls. This, too, gave the impression of a diagram in a +museum, showing things of the past; it made one feel suddenly hungry. +Posters everywhere, innumerable red posters. But there were no goods in +the shops, and disappointed women slunk along the walls. + +“The Red Newspaper!” howled a tiny urchin. “The Young Proletarian!” And +he waved the papers in the air. Few passers-by bought any, but went on +with their heads drawn between their shoulders as if they expected +blows. Is this the town of the glorious revolution, this sad mass of +dirty, frightened buildings standing amidst piles of dustbins filled to +the brim? Is this the rapturous achievement for the sake of which +Hungary had to perish—a town where the factories have stopped, the shops +are closed and all work has ceased? A town where all and everybody have +but one of two thoughts: either “We have lost everything,” or “Now +everything is ours!” + +The appearance of the principal railway station was like a nightmare. +Its walls were covered with obscene drawings and dirty scribblings; it +had not been swept, and sawdust had been strewn over the mud. +Machine-guns were standing in the ankle-deep dirt, greasy pieces of +paper were flying about, unnameable filth covered the flagstones and +oozed beneath the people’s feet. A rough, impatient crowd pushed and +jostled, and the air was pervaded by an insufferable stench. + +While Zsigmondy took my ticket I looked at the people. Many of them kept +their eyes to the ground as if they wanted to hide—these were in flight. +Some swore obscenely. A sailor was examining luggage at the entrance, +and rewarded himself for his trouble by continually putting things from +them into his pocket. At a distance I saw Elisabeth Kállay. She saw me +too, but we did not take any notice of each other. Suddenly I found my +sister Mary standing by my side. She was very pale and only her eyes +greeted me. The Secretary of the Women’s Union came towards me: “The +trip won’t last long and I shall bring you news!” + +I passed the newspaper stall. Nothing but ‘Red Newspapers,’ ‘The +People’s Voice,’ ‘The Young Proletarian,’ and the little red and blue +volumes of ‘The Workmen’s Library.’ In the crowd I managed to embrace my +sister. Then, “God bless you, Zsigmondy!” + +Now I was on the platform. I had to walk a good distance before I shrank +into the corner of my compartment. The train was a long time in +starting, and human shapes were hurrying down the corridor. A fat man +tore the door open and looked inside as if searching for somebody. Then +I, too, looked on the ground like those anxious to hide. + +Suddenly the columns before the window slowly began to move. Then the +shape of goods sheds passed slowly by. The wheels rattled over the +points. Then the compartment became lighter: we had reached the open +track. And as the train gathered speed I knew that I had left the town, +with its People’s Commissaries, its police, its prisons, behind me. I +was free! + +For a moment I realised this, then again my consciousness became dimmed +and a pleasant fatigue overcame me. From the window I watched the +telegraph wires rise, then came a post and jerked them down, then they +rose again till the next post came. I turned to look at my fellow +travellers. Every seat was occupied. In one sat an officer whose +insignia of rank had been torn from his collar, leaving the marks of +three stars. His field-gray cavalry cap was ornamented with a red +rosette. As soon as Budapest was left behind us he took his cap off and +threw the rosette out of the window. An old lady looked on in alarm and +drew away from him: her husband wore the ‘red man’ ostentatiously in his +button-hole. Both seemed scared. Opposite sat a well-dressed man, who +buried his face deeply in a book, using it as a screen. I looked at it: +_The Workmen’s Library_. On the title-page was the drawing of a book +from the pages of which sprang a naked, unkempt workman, holding a +burning lamp in his hand. This lamp, I suppose, represented the light +spread by the contents of the book. I strained my eyes to catch the +title: it ran “_The Principles of Communism_, by Frederick Engels. +Translated by Ernest Garami.” + +Why read it now? I thought. Why did he not read it long ago? Why have +not all those who suffer to-day read it long ago? It was there, always, +in their midst. Its principles were set out in a thousand publications, +in a thousand minds. These little books have been doing their work for a +long time, and their wrappers were pink only because for the time being +they did not dare to demonstrate outwardly that they were red. + +“The slave is sold once for all. The proletarian has to sell himself +every day, every hour.... The slave frees himself if he abolishes the +institution of slavery. The proletarian can only free himself by +completely destroying private property. This cannot be achieved by any +other means than by a revolution.” And in the Socialist revolution there +is an end to the family, the country, and religion. + +I stared at the stranger. Why did he want to read about these things +now? They have been proclaimed aloud for tens of years. But what had +been done in Hungary to counteract them? Has anybody been at work among +the people contradicting them? Has anyone founded a popular library to +proclaim the tenets of Christ, the significance of country and family, +the primary conditions of human society, with similar persistence among +the people? The Communists worked hard. They fixed their goal and with +every action, every word, every letter, strove to achieve domination. +Meanwhile Magyardom let the decades pass passively, inactively, and now +that the earth has given way under its feet it has lost its head. + +The alarmed fellow-traveller went on reading his book, hastily turning +page after page. I should have liked to tell him that it was no good +hurrying now—he was too late. + +Just then a man stopped in the entrance of our compartment, a violin in +his grimy black hand. His low forehead was surrounded by curling +oriental black hair, his eyes were bloodshot, and one of his nostrils +was missing, as though it had been gnawed away by some animal. He +pressed his fiddle under his bristly blue chin, a smile began to spread +over his horrible syphilitic face, and with a slow rhythm the bow passed +over the chords. His body swayed to and fro with the tune, and each +movement seemed to raise a filthy stench in the compartment. The tune +and the musician became one, and above the rattling of the train sounded +the strains of the ‘Internationale.’ + +“I’ll play it again if anybody wants to learn it,” he said, as he +finished, and looked round with a sly, aggressive look. But nobody +answered. Only the man with the ‘red man’ in his button-hole jumped up +nervously and waved a twenty-crown bank-note in his hand. The filthy +black hands seized it eagerly and disappeared. Then we heard the fiddle +whining in the next compartment: the Jew-Gipsy was teaching the new tune +to the people. + +“If anybody wants to learn it....” + +Aszód!... The train stopped. I had often heard that after Budapest Aszód +had been the place where the Communists had met with the greatest +measure of success. I looked out of the window. Over the Reformatory a +huge red flag was flying, and a similar flag was hoisted over the +station. A crowd gathered in front of one of the carriages, and some +people who were late came tearing along and took their hats off. A fat +little man with Semitic features and a red rosette descended from a +reserved compartment. He might have been a broker, but now he was +addressed as “Comrade on a Political Mission.” He was received by a +deputation and people cringed before him. I noticed that the crowd was +composed of two types only: the impudent adventurer and the frightened +coward, but presently others joined them. Someone said they were +agitators from Budapest and had come with armed soldiers. Propaganda and +terror—the two means of government of the Communists. The fiddler was +one of them: he, too, was an agitator. + +I passed through the festive crowd unobserved, they being too busy to +pay any heed to the travellers. Far out beyond the platform a +dilapidated little local train was smoking. Mrs. Kállay and her two +daughters were heading for it, so I followed them. At last we dared to +get into the same compartment. We even exchanged a few words, and the +further we got from the Red town the freer we felt. + +Elisabeth Kállay whispered to me that she was hiding her diadem in her +dress, and Lenke furtively produced an old revolver from under her coat. +We could not help laughing. Other passengers also seemed to have their +secrets, for many of them were abnormally corpulent and sat +uncomfortably on their seats. Everybody was saving whatever he could, +and nowadays only that which one can carry on one’s person can be said +to belong to one. + +The air blowing in through the window was pure and sharp, and beyond the +line were lush meadows, deep, swampy fields, budding trees, white +cottages, roads, carts and peasants. Here everything seemed to be going +on as usual, as if nothing had happened. The mud of the country roads +was cleaner than that on the asphalt of the town. + +We had left the flat country of the disgraced capital and presently the +hillocks of Nográd came to meet us under the evening sky, the bare, +red-brown woods and white villages on the banks of the Galga forming the +landscape. + +A landau was waiting for us behind the station. The coachman took off +his hat respectfully and spoke to us just as in the old days. How +strange it seemed! Springless carts rattled down the road and the +elderly men in them doffed their hats: had not they yet been told that +they were in duty bound to hate those who had always protected them? A +church bell pealed somewhere on the top of a hill, and the light of a +bright fire streamed out of the door of a house. A woman stood within +its beams and made the sign of the Cross. She did not yet know that the +new power had declared war on God. + +Now the road goes up a hill, the wheels crunch on fine gravel, a gate +opens between the trees, and a sudden light flares up in the night. We +have reached the Kállays’ turretted castle. + +In a few minutes we are all sitting together in a well heated room. A +wide garden surrounds the house, the night surrounds the garden. And the +world is far away, somewhere beyond. + + * * * * * + + Berczel. _March 27th, 1919._ + +Days have passed since my arrival, yet I do not think that I shall ever +forget the first morning when I awoke here. I seemed to be floating in a +pure ocean of absolute silence. Then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, a +small voice fell from above into the ocean of silence. After the +threatening hum of the revolution in the city, the wild howling, the +panting hatred and the ominous nightly tramplings, there was such beauty +in this voice that I remember being enraptured in the semi-consciousness +of waking. + +A small bird was sitting on a twig before my window. Instead of the +abyss of human infernos, of narrow streets and worn dark walls, my eyes +lighted on a twig and a bird, and I wept out of sheer gratitude that +such things still existed. I should have liked to gather in my hands +every tiny particle of the sound so that I might send it to those who +remained prisoners among the stones of that accursed city. + +[Illustration: + + GEORGE NYISTOR. + + LABOURER. ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR AGRICULTURE. +] + +How different is life here! It is like a fairy-tale related to soothe +children at bed-time.... It is a quiet village. On the hillock can be +seen the bell tower and the shingled roof of the church. Below, at its +foot, are small cottages and small farmyards. People go to bed early in +the evening: only now and then is a window lit up. The cow bells ring, a +dog barks somewhere. And horror does not creep through the night, worry +does not sit on the threshold of the morn, threatening the dread shadow +of events to come. To-day is like yesterday and to-morrow bears no +different aspect. Sometimes I fear that conscience has died of +exhaustion within me. A clouded glass screen has risen between me and +the world. Even the village seems to be beyond the screen and there is +nothing on this side of it but a castle, a wide park, and narrow, +useless little paths on which the past treads undisturbed. These are set +with white seats which have not been provided for fatigue. Beds of +flowers which only exist in order to be beautiful, dark violets, without +a purpose but just to flower. + +A white lace hat appears and disappears in the cool sunshine: the widow +of Benjamin Kállay passes under my window. Her husband, the most +brilliant Finance Minister of Francis Joseph’s reign, the inspiring +spirit of the Monarchy’s Eastern policy, the governor of Bosnia and +Herzegovina, had been a scholar and a historian. The old lady had been +the uncrowned queen of the small southern provinces and one of the most +beautiful women of the receptions at the Vienna Burg. Now she discusses +with the bailiff the spring sowings, though when the harvest comes they +may no longer be hers. For that matter, are the house and gardens still +her own? Everything is uncertain. She also worries about a son and a +daughter. Elisabeth Kállay had been the one Hungarian maid of honour of +Queen Zita, accordingly the Communists eye her with distrust. Frederick +Kállay is an aide-de-camp to the Archduke Joseph and had left Budapest +with him. She has had no news since then. “Good God, what are we coming +to?” + +When she says this her two daughters rise in revolt: they will have no +despondency. I like to hear them speak: they voice the fine, strong +vitality of my race: + +“And you, why are you always staring into the air?” Elisabeth has put +her hand on my shoulder. “Instead of moping like this you had better go +and commit your thoughts and sorrows to paper.” + +“I have taken a good many notes. When I left I asked my young nephew to +keep them for me. But what’s the good of going on with them?” + +Elisabeth Kállay, however, urged me on: “Go on writing your diary; it +will come in useful some day.” + +Thus one evening, when I was left to myself, I took up my pen and looked +back on the past days and gathered fading memories. It is a practice, +however, that makes things both easier and harder. This diary affords +the relief of self-confession, but it also tortures me by compelling me +to live the past over again. And who shall say if I shall ever reach the +end? + +I looked up from my writing: Lenke Kállay appeared at my window, holding +her head high. She brought news, good news. Elisabeth said: “Let no one +dare to speak of evil tidings.” + +Stephen Bethlen is in Vienna and has petitioned the Powers through the +French High Commissioner, M. Alizé, for help against Bolshevism. The +Entente is certain to intervene and will send troops to checkmate the +Proletarian Dictators. Thirty thousand French soldiers have embarked at +Marseilles, with General Pétain in command. + +“It won’t continue like this much longer. We shall get on our legs again +presently.” + +Did they say it, or did I? We have said it for a thousand years and when +the men grew tired of saying it the women said it. They said it during +the Tartar invasion, after the defeat at Mohács. To-day we say it again, +though everything has collapsed, though we have been robbed of our all +and are the most unfortunate people on earth. + +Yet we still trust and have faith. Why? Nobody knows. Yet how often have +I felt in me that faith which is stronger than our fate, and how often +have I noticed it flaming up in others! What is it? The mysterious +desire for existence? Or is it more than that, is it the subconscious +knowledge of our vitality? + +It is like the belief in the miraculous deer—an old legend which is ever +present in the Hungarian mind in time of trouble. It tells how among the +endless swamps of Maeotis, at the beginning of time, a white deer with +shining antlers appeared to two brothers who were lost in the morass. +The divine deer lured them on and guided them over invisible tracks. And +to this day, whenever we fall in the morass the miraculous animal +appears, gleaming white and leaping lightly across the bog, and guiding +us along invisible tracks towards the future. + +Things can’t remain like this: we shall get on our legs again presently. +The Miraculous Deer is leading us. + + * * * * * + + _March 28th._ + +The folding doors of the big drawing-room on the first floor open +quietly, and in the room beyond books with gilt backings are set among +flowers. The fire is already burning brightly in the porcelain stove in +the dining-room, whilst above the red-shaded lamp the ceiling appears +heavy and dark. Between the windows stands a chest that once belonged to +Imre Thököly: the walls are ornamented with Oriental dishes and old +Chinese plates.... The footman stands stiff in his black dress coat: his +white shirt gleams, and his hands holding the dish are gloved in white. +Little silver buttons glitter on the page’s jacket. + +My thoughts fly homeward: in the villages there is still a sense of +home, which has long since departed from the towns. I thought of the +past winter, the closed shops, the scanty tables. If only I could give +that sense of home to somebody.... And again I feel the glass screen +raised between myself and reality. + +Mrs. Benjamin Kállay, dressed in white silk, presides over the table. +Her head is held up a trifle haughtily; her sharp profile is crowned +with snow-white hair, and her full chin disappears in lace. Somehow she +reminds me of a portrait of Louis XV.... Presently she nods and rises: +her gait is solemn and slow: the wings of the door open before her and +we follow her into the drawing-room. + +Outside, drums are being beaten in the village, and now and then a scrap +of the crier’s announcement reaches our ears. + +“The revolutionary council.... Revolutionary tribunals ... the president +and two members ... prosecuting commissary ... clerk of the court.... No +restrictions whatever ... any hour of the day ... in the open ... death +sentence ... carried out without delay....” + +I had a curious impression that the words seemed to have little +connection with what was said: ‘Lenin speaking....’ Nobody actually said +that, yet I seemed to hear those two words as a sort of refrain. + +The drumming went on: + +“False reports ... revolutionary tribunal ... executed.... The +Revolutionary Council is abolished.... In the Soviet republic all rank, +title and nobility are abolished....” + +At this moment the footman brought the coffee on a silver tray: “Is it +your Excellency’s pleasure that coffee be served here?” + +How incongruous it all seemed! The huge room, the unreal continuation of +the old aristocratic life. Is it real, or is it a mirage? The snow-white +lady, her head erect, among her lace, sitting in an arm-chair. Her two +daughters, one leaning gracefully over her embroidery, the other turning +the leaves of a book. The huge Venetian glass chandelier, which once +shone over Maria Theresa, spreads a gentle light. On the wall, between +two pastels representing children, the Empire clock of gilded wood ticks +slowly, and its ticking sounds as if ripe corn were being rubbed +together. Slowly life is passing before our eyes, a grain of life with +every moment that departs beyond recall. + +The mirage is still there. Nothing is altered. But outside, the filthy +tide is rising, spreads and rolls onwards from the Red town, covers the +fields, touches the villages, laps at the walls of the cottages. It +comes nearer and nearer; and the wind which it raises drives before it +phantoms which rush by and in their flight glare in through the windows. +Elsewhere it is different. The glitter of the peasant’s scythe menaces +the castle. The despoiled landlords have to flee or become the bailiffs +of Béla Kun’s ‘Co-operatives of Production’ on their own estates. Our +fate is coming without doubt. But still, here in the great drawing-room, +life has not yet altered. These people round me are just waiting for +whatever is to come, and whether death or reprieve be their destiny, +they are faithful to the blood which is in them. + + + + + CHAPTER III + + + _March 29th._ + +Communists from Aszód have arrived in the village. The glass screen +between myself and reality has suddenly cracked. The agitators dragged a +table in front of the town hall, climbed on it and addressed the crowd. +When we asked the coachman what had happened, he looked down and gave an +embarrassed, evasive answer: + +“They are going to stay till to-morrow....” + +These Communists boasted that the workmen of the aeroplane works at +Aszód had got the town in their power and that the directorate had had +the lord of Iklad, Count Ráday, and his wife, arrested. + +The news has only just reached us. When the Rádays heard of the +proclamation of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat they wanted to go to +Budapest with the manager of the aeroplane works. But the Communists of +Aszód were quicker than they. They closed the barriers, and the Lord +Lieutenant of the county and his wife, who had nursed the wounded in the +hospital of Aszód during the war, were escorted back by armed Red +soldiers, some of whom she had herself nursed back to life. They locked +the Countess up in the Reformatory, the Count and the manager they put +up against the wall. A firing squad was drawn up: a lieutenant enquired +if all was ready. At the last moment they let them go. It was all done +for amusement, to give them a good fright. One often hears of such +things nowadays; the novelty and strangeness of it are wearing off. + +Countess Ráday did not know that her husband was still alive until he +returned to her. + +But this villainy was relieved by a generous action. When the people of +Iklad heard what had been done to their landlord and benefactor, they +rose and armed themselves with scythes, and went to his rescue, but +before they reached Aszód the prisoners had been sent to Budapest. For a +long time this band of armed peasants threatened the Reformatory. +Unfortunately not every village is like Iklad and not all landlords like +Count Ráday. + +Other news reached us too, uncertainly and stealthily, from castles and +towns. Then the first newspapers came from the capital: the great day +they had prepared and announced had at last dawned, and we shrank from +its contact. With what a voice was it proclaimed! Our language had never +yet been prostituted in this way, their alien press uses our tongue to +torture us. It spits on our past with grinning contempt and drags in the +mire everything that might still promise a better future. The triumph of +the revolution howls from its pages. Vulgar brutalities, foaming, abject +hatred, are enclosed in the wrappings of world-saving theories. + +The only paper of the Counter-revolution has been suppressed: the +conservative _Budapesti Hirlap_ has been strangled and the subscribers +sent ‘The Red Newspaper.’ The newspapers which have been allowed to +continue their existence approve, fawn, incite and lend their old +reputation to facilitate the conquest of the groping, tottering +countryside. Unsuspecting people absorb the poison from the papers to +which they have been accustomed. Ideas become confused; even the honest +lose their bearings. The papers propagate their news as ordered by the +head of the Bolshevist press-directorate—a Jew. + +If ever the time comes to call to account this soul-killing, defeatist, +alien press, which revelled over the revolution, over Károlyi, the +capitulation, the Republic, the foreign occupation, and now lauds Béla +Kun and Bolshevism; should ever that time come, I can imagine the +defence: ‘... the terror, ... brutal force....’ But why do the papers +carry on? Why do they not stop publication? The press-dictator +elucidates this point when he declares proudly, “the Free Union of +Journalists played an important rôle in the preparation and realisation +of the political revolution in October and the social upheaval of +to-day.” These mouthpieces of Hungarian public opinion have for the last +few decades been exclusively Jews. + +Though I shudder with disgust yet I cannot resist the temptation of +taking the newspaper into my hand, and I read ‘The People’s Voice’ of +March 25th: + +“The work has begun.... The courage to demolish, the relentlessness of +destruction and the unfaltering determination to rebuild, these are the +spiritual instruments by which the Proletarian State must be established +and its socialism must be realised.” + +What can be their physical instruments when destruction is only a +spiritual aid? I read on: “Lenin predicts victory in the near future!... +The Russian Red army is victorious on the Galician frontier, and the +enemy is in flight. The victory surpasses all hopes.... The position of +the Imperialist Government in England is shaken. Hungarian events have +caused the downfall of Clemenceau.... Serbian imperialism is on the +verge of complete collapse. The southern counties have accepted the +principle of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. There are signs of +disruption in Serbia. The Proletariat is preparing for the final +battle.” + +The papers lie in a heap, and I pick them up at random: “The +Revolutionary Government has decided to raise a Red army. It has been +decided to change the names of the barracks from that of imperialist +kings and militarist generals. In future they will bear the names of +Lenin, Marx, Liebknecht, Rosa Luxemburg....” + +A Red army instead of the national army. Instead of Francis Joseph and +Maria-Theresa barracks we shall have Lenin and Rosa Luxemburg barracks. + +“Austria has recognised the Hungarian Soviet Republic and has accredited +the envoys of Béla Kun.... Two new Soviet Republics: On the 28th a +Soviet Republic was proclaimed in Wiener Neustadt. In Chotin the +Bessarabian Soviet Republic has been proclaimed. At the elections for +the Workers’ Councils in Brunswick the Communists have gained a +victory.” + +My nerves began to give way: though it might be all untrue, I could +stand it no longer. I fled, out of the room, out of the house, out of +the garden.... In the village the drum was beating. “The Revolutionary +Government has decreed....” I turned back. Is it impossible to get away +from it for a moment? I locked the garden door behind me so that I +should hear it no longer. A white dog was playing on the lawn and its +mistress followed; she was carrying a Viennese newspaper. + +“At the request of Clemenceau allied troops under General Mangin are to +be sent against Béla Kun’s Soviet Republic. Balfour protests. The +British——” + +“We are the prisoners of the Entente and what happens inside the prison +depends upon the gaolers.” + +Suddenly the window panes rattled with the vibration of a distant, dull +boom. + +“Guns!” we both exclaimed simultaneously. “From the direction of the +Ipoly river. Far away.... At last!...” Then we suddenly looked at each +other in amazement; what we felt seemed so incredible. It is to our +enemies that we must look for liberation, to France, to the country of +Franchet d’Espérey, Colonel Vyx, and to our little neighbours who for +months have been robbing and tearing our country. What has happened to +us? + +Humanity has sometimes forgotten for centuries the plans and the power +of the Jews. The fate of Egypt, the conquest of Canaan, the dissolution +of Rome, the religious strife in Byzantium, the decline of Spain ... +these and many other things. And far away are the great persecutions of +the Jews, which were always the consequence of too much audacity, too +great activity, on the part of the chosen people. These persecutions, +the fruits of exasperation, were never of long duration, and after them +Jewry quickly sank back into obscurity, whence it threw sand into the +eyes of the peoples that they might be blind for a generation and +forget. + +In the years before the war the suspicions of the Hungarian nation, so +often aroused before, had been lulled to sleep. We saw how the Jews, +coming from the East, took possession of the land after acquiring the +liquor shops of the villages. From the little draper’s shop in the town +they laid grasping hands on our whole economic life. We saw them during +the war withdrawing into safety and acquiring millions while our own +folk gained crutches. We heard that the Zionist Congress of Paris +carried the following resolution: “Jewry must try to get possession of +Budapest first, then Hungary, so as to have a base for the establishment +of its world-rule.” And many of us read in 1917, during the war, the +declaration of their leading spirit in Hungary, published in _Világ_, +the mouthpiece of Freemasonry: “We reserve our institutions, our means +and our men for a superhuman effort later on.” Now the _later on_ has +arrived, has emerged from obscurity. Twenty-four Jewish People’s +Commissaries lead the rest and pronounce judgment of life and death upon +Hungary. + +The sound of an enemy gun is heard in the distance, and suffering +humanity breathes freer and thinks of liberation. Perhaps it will come +nearer and shoot down the walls of our prison.... But no: happier +nations would never be able to understand that that was needed. + + * * * * * + + _March 30th–31st._ + +Items of news arrive daily, but there is no sequence. Only a few days +ago it was announced that ‘the British Foreign Secretary protests. +London will not permit it.... Thirty thousand French troops have +embarked in Marseilles....’ Now the talk is of General Mangin’s +Anglo-French armies: he is on the way and has taken the field against +the Bolsheviks. + +[Illustration: + + THE JEWS CALL A MEETING AND DECIDE TO ORGANISE A JEWISH RED REGIMENT + TO FIGHT FOR BOLSHEVISM. +] + +I put out my candle and sat alone in the dark. A vision of spectres rose +about me, shaking their heads, apathetic spectres of suppressed doubts +which extinguished all hope. What if nobody comes to our help, if the +nations allow us to perish miserably while they stand round and watch us +being eaten up by the worms which arise from our own decay? Surely we +cannot descend utterly into the depths unless the victorious Great +Powers permit it? Why do they not prevent it, if they do not want +Bolshevism? With Károlyi for ever cringing, Colonel Vyx, the head of the +Entente’s Military Mission has stopped at nothing. Taking advantage of +his position he has trodden for months on our self-respect. He has +treated the Eastern bulwark of Europe, a highly cultured people with a +lineage as ancient as his own nation’s, like the French officers treat +the savages in their own colonies. Why did this egotistical little Jew +of Alsatian origin, possessed of plenipotentiary powers, withdraw all +the French troops from Budapest on the eve of the proclamation of the +Dictatorship? Why did he permit the Posts and Telegraphs, over which he +had absolute censorial sway, to serve Béla Kun in the preparation of his +revolution? + +Some day these questions will be answered. The message signed by Colonel +Vyx, published in the papers of the 26th, although the provinces only +got the news to-day, throws some light upon one point. The Military +Mission of the Entente unexpectedly _appeals_ “in the name of +conciliation and justice” to the Revolutionary Government “to give +without delay every possible publicity to the following communication.” +It refers to the document in which Károlyi announces his resignation: +“In his proclamation to the Hungarian people the President of the +Republic said that the Mission of the Entente had stated that it would +in the future consider the lines of demarcation as political frontiers. +I formally declare that this is an erroneous interpretation of the words +used.... It has never been intended to suggest such political +frontiers.” + +So it appears that once again Michael Károlyi has deceived the nation. +But is it not curious that Colonel Vyx’s mission has delayed this +explanation until now? Why did it not take action at once, when Károlyi +endeavoured to justify his resignation by the alleged finality of +frontiers fixed in the Entente’s note? Why did it allow him to use +nationalist arguments in order to throw Hungary into the arms of +Bolshevism? And why did Colonel Vyx permit Béla Kun to creep in under +the same nationalist flag which had covered Károlyi’s exit? + +Who consented to play the game of these two abject creatures in the +fateful hour when the stakes were a country’s fate? The tardy +explanation of the Entente Mission inevitably creates the impression +that Colonel Vyx played into their hands, or, at the least, that he +showed considerable partisanship in their favour. + +The exposure of Károlyi’s deception concerning the fixing of frontiers +shows the falsity of Béla Kun’s battle-cry: “For territorial integrity!” +Now that he wields both armed forces and finances, he sings another +tune. He has declared to a correspondent of the Viennese _Neue Freie +Presse_: “In Soviet Hungary we do not insist on territorial +integrity.... We do not recognise any economic frontiers.” These are the +men who have Hungary’s fate at their mercy! The very thought makes one’s +blood boil. Is all our ancient pride of race, all our glorious history, +to be thus trampled under foot by Jews? Why does the Entente delay? Why +does it give Bolshevism time to recruit an army for its own support? + +_The Red Soldier_, a new daily paper, has just appeared in Budapest. +Propaganda is active: Pogány recruits, Számuelly directs. What a +nightmare it is! The cradle of the Red army is draped with low-class +comedy. Its advertisements take the shape of newspaper paragraphs and +vicious posters. From a world of brothels, of cheap upholstery, of +merry-go-rounds, of foul-mouthed agitators speaking from red stands, is +the Red army recruited. + +It is proposed to hold Red soldiers’ gala performances at the theatres, +and the newspapers are devoting unending columns to rapturous approval +of the idea. “The temple of the Muses stands in festive attire!” Yes—and +to the sounds of the Internationale the crowd rushes the free seats. In +every theatre a different leader will address the audience: the Galician +Neros will mount the stage and play their parts. “There is no such thing +as one’s own country! Long live the country of all the Proletarians! An +army is the tool of nationalist society. Death to militarism! Long live +the Red army!” + +Someone knocks at my window: it is Elisabeth Kállay in a fur coat +standing in the twilight. Yes, by all means let us go. The evening has +become heavy and unbearable indoors. Let us get some fresh air. + +We walked along the river Galga, and frost from the hills came on the +breath of the icy wind. Coming home we crossed the courtyard. There was +a light in the stable and a pink-cheeked, fair little girl was sitting +on the threshold. Indoors a woman was sitting on a stool beside a cow +and one could hear the milk squirting regularly, sharply, into the pail. +The coachman doffed his hat and remained bareheaded, a farmer who was +leaning against the wall stood up and saluted us. I could not help +thinking of the war-cry of ‘The Red Newspaper’: “Class war must be +carried into the villages!” + +They were talking of the agitators in Aszód. + +“Let them bark,” said the farmer placidly; “first we’ll see what those +people in Budapest are up to.” + +I could not distinguish his face but it seemed to me that it was not an +individual but the whole Hungarian peasantry, suspicious, cautious, who +had spoken. The Hungarian peasant speaks little and is not over-fond of +work. Now he leans on his plough and watches gravely who shall be the +owner of the soil. + +“Michael Károlyi has promised it to us. It is true he did not redeem his +pledge, and what he gave of his own was, as it turned out later, no +longer his property.” + +“The Communists have promised even more,” said Elisabeth Kállay in the +cautious way which the times had taught us. + +“They only promise the townsfolk that everything is to be theirs,” said +the farmer; “here they say that the land too, is common property.” + +“Well, well,” said the coachman, “it is not easy to understand these +new-fangled laws.” + +“That is why we first listened to the Communists,” continued the farmer +reflectively. “We wanted to see what was going to happen to the land. +But later on....” He remained silent for a time, as if debating with +himself if he ought to speak out or not. So the coachman continued: + +“When they started to talk about the law abolishing religion, we did not +like it.” + +“That’s so,” agreed the farmer; “nor did we like it when they made a law +that, if I may be excused mentioning such things, if people lived +together for a year in free love, that should make them a lawfully +wedded couple.” There was silence for a time. The men, ashamed to talk +to us of these matters, seemed to whisper among themselves. + +“But what roused the women into white heat,” the farmer laughed, “was +the decision that even a married man could marry like this over and over +again, as his old marriage was automatically dissolved by any subsequent +union.” + +The former gravity had disappeared. + +“After that the Communists were in a hurry, I can tell you, to get on +their carts. They would not dare to come back here at any price.” + +The woman had finished the milking some while ago and was standing in +the stable door beside the child. Now she spoke from her dark corner: + +“They said they would make picture-shows of the churches, and that there +would be no more illegitimate children, nor any inheritance, and that +the State would take over our children.” + +At these words the little girl clung crying to her mother’s skirts. +“Mummie dear,” she implored, “you won’t let the horrid State take me +away from you....” The woman shook her head. The coachman laughed and +said: “I don’t know, if you are really naughty....” + +The child howled, so her mother picked her up in her arms and in that +one tender movement negatived all Communist ordinances. She disappeared, +carrying the weeping child and seeming to become one with it. I followed +them with my eyes: beyond them, set in a sea of darkness, were the soft +outlines of the sleeping village: the roofs of the cottages alone were +visible under the starry sky. And Lenin is to come here too! + +Bled white, the villages sleep and offer no resistance. But in their +very dreams the villagers cling to the soil; and the soil is their +country, and their country is Great Hungary. + +My heart went out to the villages. The village, the Hungarian village, +is selfish like a child, indifferent like a sign-post, and as strong as +wind and weather. Its sins are the wild revels derived from its +vineyards; the desire for fecundity in men, women and soil alike. Its +blessings are sowing and reaping. + +There is here a ray of hope. Will the Hungarian village be our +salvation? + + * * * * * + + _April 1st–2nd._ + +Even a few days seems a long time when one is counting the hours. And +now the second week has gone and there is no sign of our distress coming +to an end. + +Bolshevism is destroying with the impudence of ignorance and building +with the inexperience of barbarism. Lenin decreed that the old order +should be ruthlessly destroyed and the new order constructed without +delay. The Bolsheviks of Budapest hasten to obey. With such insatiable +zeal do they set to work that their topsy-turvy legislation is but a +disclosure and a legalisation of their previous arbitrary actions. + +The papers give practically no other news. They aim blows at human +ethical conceptions and at Hungarian life. They provide a defence for +evil-doers and for brigands. + +The Jewish Commissary for Justice has proscribed the administration of +justice, for he has suspended the sittings of the law-courts! + +Never before have I realised to what an extent we are at these people’s +mercy. Károlyi set the criminals free; the criminals let crime loose to +supply their needs. Immorality and lawlessness require the freedom of +crime for their sway. To produce unlimited means for its rule Bolshevism +abolishes the private property of others, distributes it among its own +adherents, and uses it to pay its servants. + +Anxiety is now perpetually with me: I feel like a person going late at +night through a dark abandoned street who hears moaning from behind a +closed window. It is impossible to enter: no policeman can be found. +What is happening? Dark speculations haunt one’s mind as long as night +endures. + +Class hatred has established spies and watchers in all the houses of +Budapest: the secret agents of the new power are to be found in every +house; they watch, blackmail, and report. On their good-will depends the +distribution of food tickets within the house, and those whom they +suspect are deprived of bread. Their sanction is required to obtain +permits if one requires wood, soap, or boot laces, and Proletarians +alone receive the permits. There is a meatless week in Budapest. The +countryside is refusing to send supplies, and food is running short. Yet +they proclaim boisterously that Plenty is the outcome of social +production! It is the business of the ‘confidential man’ in every house +to see that the Proletarian should not notice the wolf at the door. But +it is the intellectual workers who are on short rations: the middle +classes are to be deprived of food tickets. Everything is for the +Proletarian. Such privileges have never before been known, but it is not +love for the Proletarian that inspires these privileges; it is the +hatred for the Hungarian Christian citizens, the delight in their +sufferings, that are the principles upon which the new rulers govern. + +Under the guise of philanthropy Galician Jews and Proletarian rabble are +planted among the hated bourgeoisie. The kitchen is common property and +the middle-class occupier is obliged to put his furniture at the +disposal of the intruders. Home is home no longer. Even in the +restricted area assigned to them the bourgeoisie is to have no peace. +The Jewish Dictator of the capital has decreed: “Baths for the +Proletarian children!” It sounds a very human provision, but is really +only a pretence for new provocation. A tendencious poster has appeared, +announcing that the bourgeoise women who “from their silken couches used +to step into their perfumed baths” shall make room for dear little +Proletarian children, who till now were deprived of the luxury of +cleanliness. The order runs: + +“... We also requisition the bath-rooms of private dwellings once a +week, on Saturdays, for the whole day, for the gratuitous bathing of the +children sent by schools and nursery schools with their certificates. +The owners of the bath-rooms have to provide gratuitously the necessary +fuel, lighting, towels and soap.—Moritz Preuss.” + +And the class they call bourgeois can buy neither fuel nor soap! They +want the bourgeoisie to perish, perhaps they revel in the idea that they +may thus introduce vermin and infection into clean homes. Abroad they +create the impression of being philanthropists, and at home they amuse +the rabble. For days the houses of Budapest have been terrified by the +rumour that Tibor Számuelly intends to allow the mob three hours’ +plunder. + +My own home was continually in my mind. I could see my mother sitting +alone among her household gods. I could see her walking through the +rooms, touching now one thing, now another, things that remind her of my +grandmother, of my great-grandmother, of old times, things that are part +of her life.... She cannot write to me, nor can I write to her. I long +to go to her for a day, or only for an hour.... + +As I said this Elisabeth Kállay looked at me: + +“Do you know how many of us are already in prison? Do you want to go +there too?” + +It seemed to me that my mother’s face was leaning over me and that she +repeated: “Don’t worry about me, and don’t come home till....” + +A carriage drove through the gate, came slowly up the drive and stopped +in front of the house. A carriage in the village! The hospitable +generation which lived before us saw nothing terrifying in that. But now +I asked myself: “Have they come to requisition? Are they agitators, +Socialist delegates, or detectives? Are they on my track?” + +My heart beat fast, and a plan occurred to me. I resolved that if they +came for me I would escape by the other side of the house, where there +is a little door under the walnut staircase, and that thence I should +make for the vineyards, and over the hillock on to the main road. I was +quite astonished to find how exactly I remembered every ditch, every +lane, as if from the very start I had observed the country with a view +to a possible escape. + +Then came a sound of movement and of laughter, starting under the porch +and spreading all over the house. The newcomer was a friend, Baroness +Apor, lady-in-waiting to the Archduchess Augusta. She brought us +newspapers and news. A Vienna paper gave a long account of how Count +Louis Salm had boxed the ears of Michael Károlyi in the street—the +latter was in Vienna on behalf of the Revolutionary Cabinet. As he was +emerging from the door of a house of doubtful reputation Count Salm ran +up to him: “Take that for the Italian front, that for Hungary ...” and +as the blows fell each was similarly explained. A crowd gathered round +them and a cab was passing. Károlyi made desperate signs for it to stop. +Then Count Salm exclaimed: “Look at him, this is Michael Károlyi who has +betrayed Hungary!” The cabman swore a big oath, lashed out with his whip +at Károlyi, turned his horse and drove on, while the blows were still +falling hard. I wish it had been a Hungarian who had given them! + +Baroness Apor told us that Archduke Joseph’s palace had been occupied by +the Red commander. The furniture had been carried off and ‘communised’ +by the comrades. + +The Archduke and the Archduchess had been compelled to flee on the +evening of the 21st. They escaped on foot in pouring rain, to the +accompaniment of a good deal of shooting in the town, and hid with some +faithful friends until next evening. Then they managed to escape in a +ramshackle old coach through the excise barriers of Buda and made off +for the hills. The Archduke travelled south with two aide-de-camps; the +Archduchess went to Alcsuth after having given all her jewels to her +husband for travelling expenses. He will attempt to get into +communication with the French commander in the hope of raising the +nation. + +New hope!... The room seemed to brighten up and life ceased to seem a +burden. Perhaps after a week, or a few days.... No, neither after a few +days, nor hereafter—because when it came to crossing the frontier into +occupied territory the Archduke turned back: he could not bring himself +to leave that last bit of our country which is the only hope of our +resurrection. + +Meanwhile his son had been arrested and had been taken on a springless +cart to Kanizsa, his guards telling him all the way that Számuelly was +waiting there to settle his business. They asked him if he wanted a +‘black coat’ for his journey, and pointed to trees: “This one would do +nicely, or do you prefer that one?” Now he is imprisoned in Budapest. + +So is the former Prime Minister, Alexander Wekerle, and Bishop Count +Mikes, and Count George Károlyi who hates the Communists. Countess +Raphael Zichy stayed at home, refusing to leave. Is she repeating her +famous saying: “There is no terror, there is only cowardice!” + +“Under pretence of looking for arms,” Baroness Apor told us, “armed Red +soldiers invade houses at night. The safe deposits have been broken open +and pilfered by the Government. It is impossible to withdraw money from +the banks. All jewelry worth more than two thousand crowns becomes +‘public property.’ Mine has been taken too. A friend of mine preferred +to throw her pearls into the Danube. Anybody who still possesses +anything is hiding it if he can. There is a perfect exodus to the hills +of Buda. At first people only buried little jewel-cases. Then came the +rumour of a new order. The larders were going to be ransacked. Off to +the hills went the barrels of lard, the boxes of sugar and tea, the +household linen.” + +One of us broke in: + +“Yes, but what do people say, how long will this last?” + +“Nobody knows. People are in despair. News is contradicted as soon as +published. Károlyi negotiates with the Missions of the Entente in the +name of the Bolshevik Government. The Italians, they say, are +sympathetic. It is even said that they are disposed to recognise the +Soviet Republic. The Italian delegate, Prince Borghese, is a great +friend of Béla Kun and the beautiful Jewesses of the Commune. It is also +rumoured that a Boer general called Smuts is to be sent here to force +the Bolshevik crowd to resign.” Baroness Apor glared rigidly before her +as if she saw something terrible. “Számuelly is getting more and more to +the fore,” she continued after a short pause. “The Government threatens +in his name whenever it wants to cause alarm. The others are busy +drawing up the new Constitution. They speak and issue orders as if +things were to remain like this for ever.” + +None of us said anything. Our thoughts were so similar that speech was +superfluous. + + * * * * * + + _April 4th._ + +Sometimes nobody visits us for days; but it happens occasionally that +people come to see us. As soon as I hear their steps on the gravel I run +and hide in my room. The other day while I was sitting there Countess +Dessewffy was saying in the drawing-room that the police were after me, +but that she knew I had made good my escape to Switzerland. It seemed +quite amusing. With the exception of one friend nobody knows that I am +here or who I am. This is Baron Jeszenszky, whose property is near by, +at Kövesd. He often goes to Budapest. Then we wait impatiently for the +news he brings back. Anything that gives hope finds credence with us. +Baron Jeszenszky waves his hand in despair: “Mark my words, this will +never come to an end.” + +The more we contradict him the more pessimistic he becomes. If, however, +we agree, he gets angry and becomes hopeful. “What lack of faith!” + +I feel similarly inclined, and so does everybody else, for we express +our doubt only in the hope of being contradicted; we try hard to raise +some hope in ourselves and are angry when it is thrown over. + +We went early to bed and I read Sir Thomas More. The book opened where +the conquering Utopys reaches his island where he is going to found the +realm of universal happiness: + +“... But Kyng Utopys, whose name, as conqueror, the Iland beareth (for +before his tyme it was called Abraxa) which also brought the rude and +wild people to that excellent perfection in al good fassions, humanitye +and civile gentilnes, wherein they nowe goe beyond al the people of the +world: even at his firste arrivinge and enteringe upon the lande, +furthwith obteynyge the victory....” + +Sir Thomas More, the forefather of Socialism, imagined it like that. He +wanted to found his land of universal happiness on a gentle, civilised +people. Will there ever be people like that on this earth? Until there +is, Socialism will remain the island of Utopia. + + * * * * * + + _April 5th._ + +The men of the village Directorate came up to the castle to-day. There +was some formality about their visit, and they wore their black Sunday +hats. Mrs. Benjamin Kállay received them herself. The bad man of the +village spoke the loudest among them, and whenever this occurred the +others cast their eyes down and nudged their neighbours: “Come, speak +up, now!” I thought of the little peacock-blue Sèvres vases up in the +drawing-room; the Persian dishes and the old hand-painted fans in the +glass-case. How were they going to describe them in their inventory? + +One of them declared that no more wine must be brought up from the +cellar, for prohibition had been enforced. Nothing in the house must be +removed, for it all belongs henceforth to the State. The others nodded +as they looked around. “The people from the towns are going to come +soon.” And so they left without making an inventory. + +The day has not yet come, but what of the morrow? Incertitude is +increasing daily. Everything becomes transitory. In one’s plans one does +not even dare to make arrangements for the following day. Generally one +makes no plans at all. Days and hours become independent units, without +continuity or cohesion among them. + +The Sunday hats of the Directorate were flocking back to the garden +gate. One of them lingered behind, then seized the opportunity of +turning back. He stood there before us, an old man, humble, hat in hand, +with sad eyes: + +“Dear little lady,” he stuttered shamefacedly, “might I ask your +Excellency for a little wine? Nobody will know. I want it for an +invalid. A young woman who is dying.” A bottle was given to him and he +hid it furtively under his coat. + +The Soviet Government threatens with its summary jurisdiction anyone +found drinking wine. Not even the sick are allowed any. But drunken +soldiers stagger unmolested in the gutter. The People’s Commissaries +have champagne orgies in their special trains and throw the empty +bottles from the windows. They have drinking bouts in the Soviet House +of Budapest, the former Hotel Hungaria, which they have requisitioned. +The occupants were expelled without notice and within a few hours the +Commissaries, some with their wives, others with their mistresses, +occupied the place. + +[Illustration: + + JULIUS HEVESI _alias_ HÖNIG. + + VICE-COMMISSARY, MINISTRY FOR SOCIALISATION. +] + +Everything I see, everything I hear, carries my thoughts to the guilty +town, bids them seek among its million people, for the sake of one! +To-day I received the first message from home. Charles Kiss, our +faithful friend, has escaped from among the accursed walls and brought +me a letter from my mother. She is well; she has already left for our +cottage among the hills of Buda. She was in want of nothing, nobody +interfered with her. They have not been looking for me. Thus Kiss +brought me nothing but good news. + +While I listened to him I was filled with joy: “Then there is no longer +any reason why I should not go home!” At this his face changed suddenly. +No, not yet, better wait a little longer.... And as he argued the point +I suspected his former statements more and more. So they had only been +designed to re-assure me! + +Hans Freitag, Councillor at the German Legation, had come to see my +mother and had warned her that I ought to escape if I were still there. +Now the removal of my mother to the hills had a different meaning to me: +my mother had to choose between her flat in town and her cottage in the +hills. Need for choice came suddenly and she had moved the previous day. +But I learnt that the flat was now occupied by very decent people; the +Red soldiers who brought them behaved quite nicely. They had put +altogether three families and a school into the flat; they were Jews and +Proletarians but it was all right, no harm had been done, everything had +gone smoothly. Only a little furniture and a few pictures were left +behind in the flat. + +Slowly I began to visualise the whole thing. Red soldiers.... That meant +she had been expelled by force. All sorts of insignificant trifles swept +through my head. The tiny treasures of the old show-case.... The +snuff-box which had a tinkling little tune hidden within it.... The +yellow porcelain dame with her crinoline and her unnaturally slender +waist.... Where have they gone to, those friends of my childhood? And +the ash-tray which used to stand near the clock? Has it gone? And the +watercolours? And my mother’s work-basket, her patience cards? The +crucifix from Ravenna on my bookcase? Who has removed it? My +manuscripts, my books, my pictures? + +The Jewish Commissary of Education had decreed that books left in houses +became the property of the Soviet Republic. All collections of books +have to be reported. Valuable pictures become common property. + +Charles Kiss re-assured me: “Everything is still there,” but I could +believe his kind-hearted statements no longer. A torturing picture +haunted me incessantly: I saw a home pulled to pieces, strange people in +our rooms and the front door, through which my lonely mother had to +leave, wide open. + +The subject had been changed a long while ago, but I had not noticed it. +I realised it only when I heard someone say: “It will last longer than +we had expected.” + +I shuddered as a hopeless silence ensued. The ticking of the clock above +fell on our ears. One by one the minutes dropped into eternity seeming +to make time unbearable. Yet from the silence of despair victorious hope +dared to raise its head. + +“The People’s Commissaries seem to be already quarrelling among +themselves,” said Charles Kiss. “They are even said to have come to +blows. Számuelly wanted to get the Red army into his own hands.” + +“Yes, they may quarrel over a question of power, but when it comes to +oppressing us they hold together.” + +“Yet it ended with the downfall of Pogány. The adherents of Számuelly +informed the Soldiers’ Council that he intended to abolish the system of +‘confidential men’ which had been so successful in poisoning the mind of +the remnant of our army. Now the Social-Communists require a +well-disciplined, serviceable army. + +“Marxism only sticks to its principles, ends and catch-words as long as +they serve as weapons to attack society. The ‘confidential men’ would +not stand the plan. It happened yesterday. In the afternoon they drew up +the International Red Regiment, which is ready for any mischief. +Accompanied by an infuriated mob of dissatisfied workmen and hungry +good-for-nothings they went up to the Royal Castle. They invaded St. +George’s Square, clamouring for Pogány. The ‘confidential men’ of the +regiment broke into the Commissariat of War. From the balconies they +urged their men on. The system of ‘confidential men’ to which Pogány +owed his shameful power, by means of which he had removed Ministers of +War and terrorised the whole nation into submission, now became the +instrument of his own downfall.” + +The dogs barked somewhere in the grounds. This alone broke the silence. +Then Charles Kiss went on: + +“In a few minutes the news spread over the town. Many heard the howling +of the demonstrators who were cursing Pogány. People were already saying +that he had been hanged and that Béla Kun had been hanged at his side. +Later on it turned out that the news was false. All that had happened +was that the Cabinet had increased the number of its members and had +made certain changes. There are now more Jewish People’s Commissaries +than ever. Pogány and Számuelly have become Commissaries for Education. +Béla Kun controls the War Office. Then people found a new ray of hope. +We put all our confidence in General Smuts.” + +“So the news was true after all?” + +“We expected a lot of him,” Kiss went on. “Budapest was confident that a +British general, one of the Delegates of the Paris Peace Conference, +would not come to an agreement with Béla Kun and his company. The town +was full of hope. Everybody had some good news. Számuelly’s declaration +was attributed to the general’s coming.” + +“What sort of declaration?” + +He took a newspaper out of his pocket and spread it over the table. +There it was, in huge type, in a conspicuous place. It was +characteristic of the world we lived in that it was considered within +the province of the Minister of Education to make such a declaration. + +“For several days unscrupulous elements have been spreading the news +that I intend giving permission for general plundering. This is a base +calumny and a disgraceful lie. I appeal to the Comrades to give me an +opportunity to face the scoundrels who spread this news and to make an +example of them. I ask them to help me to put those who spread this news +before a Revolutionary Tribunal and have summary justice meted out to +them. Tibor Számuelly, Assistant People’s Commissary for Education.” + +“When it became known,” Kiss went on, “that General Smuts, though he had +ordered rooms in an hotel, had not even entered the town but had +summoned Béla Kun to the railway station, there was no limit to our +illusions. But it did not last. This morning the Communists informed us +triumphantly of their success; the Entente had entered into negotiations +with the Governments of Moscow and Budapest....” + +My mind reverted to Brest-Litovsk. We did not know it at the time, but +it was there that we lost the war. Now even the victors may lose it in +Budapest and Moscow. + +“General Smuts came here,” Kiss added sadly, “not to threaten but to +negotiate. The journalist friends of the People’s Commissaries told us +that General Smuts had offered the Government a favourable line of +demarcation. If Béla Kun will consent to come to some arrangement, the +Powers are prepared to compel the Roumanians to retire eastwards and to +form a neutral zone occupied by British, French and Italian troops. The +journalists also say that the General will recommend in Paris that the +interested States should hold a conference which would finally fix their +respective frontiers. He promised to use his influence to persuade the +Powers to invite Béla Kun’s Government to Paris. He will have the +blockade raised and provide fats and other articles of which we are in +need. All he required in compensation was the cessation of all attempts +to spread the idea of a world-revolution. The success made Béla Kun +dizzy. He would be satisfied with nothing. The attempt of the Entente to +compromise with him has strengthened his position incredibly, and now he +is proclaiming to the world that the Great Powers are afraid of him. He +wants no increase of territory, he wants free trade and free propaganda +in the neighbouring States.” + +Last autumn, the great collapsing Monarchy appealed to Wilson and asked +for his intervention. Through Mr. Lansing, his Secretary of State, he +sent the following answer: “We will not negotiate with you.” And with +cruel irony he referred the peace-begging Power to its little +neighbours. Then he did not deign to speak to us, but he has no +hesitation in bargaining with Béla Kun. Are they really afraid of him? +Or do they think that he will surrender Hungarian nationality in +exchange for the freedom of Bolshevism? Is the national ideal of Hungary +more dangerous in the eyes of the Entente than the national ideal of the +Jews? The British General has gone. His steps die away in the distance. +He has knocked at our window and we could not move and appeal to him. +The villains have tied our hands and gagged us and we strain at our +bonds in helpless agony. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + + _April 6th._ + +The woman for whom we were asked for wine yesterday was buried to-day. +The coffin was placed on the ground in the clean-swept little farmyard, +and her mother arranged the corpse as though she were putting it to bed. +Suddenly she knelt down beside the coffin and with her trembling, rugged +old hand stroked the rough boards and cried aloud: “Good God, why hast +thou taken her from me, why could not I die in her place?...” + +Thus do mothers address grim death. What will they say when the attempt +is made to take their living children from them? Her lament became +louder and louder and dominated the ceremony. The Cantor said farewell +to the deceased in verses, singing them to an old-fashioned melody which +he repeated over and over again. This melody contained the memory of +ancient bards and the sorrows of wandering troubadours; the verses +mentioned by name all the mourning relations, each of whom, as his name +was pronounced, sobbed loudly, as though expressing his personal grief +in the general mourning. When the husband was named he pressed his face +into his doffed hat and his shoulders shook with sobs. The others had +their turn, but the old woman alone lamented from the beginning to the +end. + +Everybody wept over his own sorrow, in the coffin alone there were no +tears. The tree in the yard stretched over it, and as the branches +swayed in the wind the dim sunlight threw their shadow over the coffin. +The shadow revealed that there were fresh buds on the branches, signs of +nature’s resurrection, and I realised that spring was coming. + +“_In Paradisum_....” The priest blessed the coffin, blessed it as he +blesses an infant at a christening, the couples at a wedding, with the +same large movement which has served since the time of Christ for the +blessing on this earth of new life, of love and of death. + +In Budapest the Red Power has decreed that from this day Christ’s +churches are to be closed and kinematographs established in them. The +Christian priesthood is threatened with the halter. The teaching orders +are expelled and the nuns driven from the bedside of the sick and the +cradles of the orphans. The dresses of their Orders are torn from them. +Their buildings become Communist meeting-places and the scenes of secret +orgies. + +Theoretical Socialism has declared that religion is the private affair +of the individual. Now that it has got past the stage of theory and has +entered that of bloodthirsty reality religion has ceased to be a private +affair, for not even the soul must possess private property. Private +property has been abolished and common property has been substituted. +Religion is no longer a private affair, it is public business. And +public business in Hungary is now controlled in the name of the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat by twenty-six Jewish People’s +Commissaries, who this day crucify the Word with the same panting hatred +with which they crucified Him two thousand years ago. And the people +stand now as before, unimpressed, at the foot of the Cross, again not +understanding what is being crucified above its head with laughter, +contempt and hatred. + +It is easier to drive cattle on than human beings; this the Communists +realise. By taking from the people its religion they take everything +from them but the couch, the platter and the cup; they deprive them at a +stroke of morals, philosophy and beauty. + +The people knelt round the coffin and prayed, because someone was there +to tell them to pray; they turned to their inner selves, above the cup +and the platter, because there was someone who told them that there was +a God above. + +Then the funeral procession wended its way out of the little farmyard. +Four men lifted the coffin, one of them the dead woman’s husband. His +head leant against the boards as though leaning on her shoulder. The +weeping crowd followed them up the hill-side. The bell tolled in the +steeple above the roofs. And the bell was still ringing for the dead +when, the funeral over, the mood of the people had changed. The girls, +gay in their finery, displayed their charms. Two farmers bargained over +the purchase of a cow. A young man pinched the arm of a grinning +maid.... + + * * * * * + + _April 7th._ + +News reached us to-day. After driving the King from Schönbrunn, Vienna +has driven him from Eckartsau too. An escort of British officers +protected him and his family. Henceforth he is to live in Prangins. Thus +the little mountainous region whence long ago Rudolph, Count of +Habsburg, set out towards the Imperial Crown, bearing in his hand his +great destiny, has now, after eight hundred years, received his heir, +holding nothing in his hand but the past. But there is as much force in +an historical past as in an historical future. + +The event provokes a few sardonic lines, set among the brief news items +of the Red papers. The French mob shouted insults at its King when he +was taken to the Temple. To-day the rabble shouts too. But the Hungarian +nation has nothing in common with the rabble. The same crowd which +knocked down one night the statue of Francis Joseph in Budapest and +smashed the effigies of kings on the millenary memorial, is now vomiting +insults shamelessly in the columns of its newspapers. But it is the +foreign hand, the foreign voice, that acts and speaks. + +The double-headed eagle which swooped down on so many thrones of Europe, +has returned with broken wings to the mountains. Its shadow passed like +a cloud over the fields of lost battles. + +A short notice is all that the foreigners’ press has to give to the King +of Hungary. Those who fawned before him in endless columns so long as +they could use him against the country, now have no more to give to him +when he in turn can give no longer. Cowardice knows no mean between +cringing and slinging mud. As for the Hungarians, whatever they may +think, in presence of the misfortune of a man and a King, they bow +respectfully and in silence. + +King Charles IV. expiates not only his own mistakes, but those of his +predecessors for four centuries. The descendant pays with the loss of +his country, because the ancestors would never make Hungary their home. +The dynasty allowed its advisers systematically to weaken Hungary. And +this camarilla, to keep the people of the Great Plain in check, has let +loose upon it every possible nationality, ending with the immigrant +gabardined fathers of Béla Kun and Számuelly. But it was not alone upon +us, it was upon them too. The Habsburgs never understood that our +strength was their strength and our weakness their weakness. Their whole +country was made up of peoples which were attracted by their kindred +beyond the borders. The peoples of the Monarchy were all looking +outward. The petted Austrians looked towards Germany, the Poles towards +Warsaw, their favourites, the Czechs, towards the Slav giant, the +Roumanians towards young Roumania, the Southern Slavs towards Serbia, +the Italians towards Italy, the Jews towards the Jewish Internationale. +The Hungarians alone had no such kin. We did not look longingly +anywhere, nobody tempted us beyond the frontiers. And yet the rulers +preferred all the other peoples to us, and loaded them with goods, +treasures and power. + +And now the peoples have gone, taking with them our land, our goods, our +treasures. This is the harvest of four hundred years policy of _divide +et impera_; the peoples are divided, but the Habsburgs rule no longer +over them. Between the torn pieces the crown has fallen to the ground. + + * * * * * + + _April 8th._ + +There were elections yesterday in what is left of Hungary. Now that +Socialism is in power it shows how it carries out the principles of +universal suffrage and secret ballot, which for decades were the +catch-words with which it endeavoured to seduce the electorate. The time +has come when no obstacle to Marxism exists, all ways and means are at +its disposal. In the village since early morning men and women have been +flocking to the communal hall. In the Soviet Republic, Proletarians +alone have a vote, but those who do not avail themselves of their right +are deprived of their food tickets and are liable to be summoned before +the Revolutionary Tribunal. Priests have no votes. Hungarian gentry +cultivating their own land have no votes, nor have crippled heroes nor +invalided officers. Lawyers are not Proletarians. But any Russian or +foreign Jew can vote if he is a Proletarian. And the Jews who, before +the social upheaval, claimed that they belonged to cultured classes, +have now turned Proletarians. Even the sons of bank directors. At the +town hall door stood a man who handed out the printed list of the +official candidates. + +The voters looked at the list. One or two read it and swore. + +“Let’s cross this one out and write our cousin’s name instead,” the +women advised. The returning officers shouted: “Let no one dare to cross +out the names of candidates or substitute others in their place!” + +“Well, Mr. Comrade,” a labourer asked, “then what am I to do with this +bit of paper?” + +“You just go and vote with it, comrade,” was the answer, and the ticket +was taken out of his hand. + +“Devil take it!” exclaimed the men, passing lists over the table. And in +this spirit the proud and triumphant Proletariat elected its council. + +In the neighbouring villages and even in Budapest it was done in the +same way. Comrade Landler’s emissaries had prepared the lists of +candidates in advance. Preliminary meetings and the assembling of crowds +were prohibited. Even the privileged class of Budapest working men only +saw the printed list of the candidates when the voters entered the +booth. + +Somebody who had visited Budapest told us who were the candidates of the +People’s Commissaries. In one single constituency there were twenty-two +comrades whose name was Weiss—a typically Jewish name. Under the +supervision of Red soldiers everything went off smoothly. In one single +ward only was there any disturbance. There the terrorists had not dared +to forbid gatherings; consequently the electors put their heads +together, made up a list of their own, and defeated the official +candidates. This little incident was quickly settled by the Commissary +for the Interior: he simply annulled the election and the official list +was declared duly elected. Socialism has shown how it applies its own +principles when it achieves power. The advocates of the unrestricted +freedom of the press tolerate nothing but the official newspapers. The +champions of free assembly will not tolerate the gathering of a few +people in the street. Those who incessantly clamoured for a reduction of +working hours have introduced forced labour. The frenzied enemies of +militarism shout at their recruiting meetings: “Join the Red army!” The +foul-mouthed demagogues of secret universal suffrage impose on the +people their official candidates. + +The foreign intruders have put the roof on the edifice of which +Hungarian labourers had been the masons and bricklayers. Does Hungarian +labour see at last for what ends its trade-unions have been used? Those +who attained power through the trade-unions are now attempting to +destroy them. By a single decree the Jewish tyrants of the Soviet +Republic have abolished the unions. The Commissaries of Hungary boldly +declare in their official newspaper, ‘The People’s Voice’: + +“Part of their task has been achieved by the power displayed in the +great battle of class war.... They caused the upheaval of the +Proletarian Revolution. Class war is marching on victoriously and has +left trade-unionism behind it. It has become superfluous. The +humanitarian task of trade-union organisations must come under State +control.” + + * * * * * + + _April 9th._ + +Catastrophes get more and more frequent, evil spreads and takes root. +Early in the morning of the 7th a Soviet Republic was proclaimed in +Münich. Will Bolshevism stop there or will it involve unfortunate Red +Austria? If our premonitions are realised the horrible rule which +attempts the subjugation of the world will extend from the Eastern +border of Asia to the banks of the Rhine. + +Bestial tyranny spreads like a deluge over the earth, and the bloodless +victims of the war are dragged helplessly into the vortex. It has +already swept away towns, countries, even continents in its uncurbed +stream. It has surged up from under the earth through the gratings of +gutters, through the doors of dark dwellings, down the marble staircases +of banks, over the columns of the newspapers. The groping, mystical +Slav, the high-spirited yet conservative Hungarian, the meditative +clumsy Teuton, what a contrast of races! Yet the realisation of the +Soviet system has been accompanied in every case by wonderfully similar +symptoms. The awful conception shows no trace whatever of the racial +characteristics of the three peoples, yet it has been carried through on +the same plan and by people of the same psychology in Moscow, Budapest +and Münich. + +When Russia collapsed Kerensky was ready, and Trotsky’s spirit was +watching behind Lenin’s shadow. When Hungary was fainting and reeling +from loss of blood, there, behind Károlyi, were Kunfi, Jászi and Pogány +on the look-out, and they were followed by Béla Kun and his band. And +when Bavaria began to totter, Kurt Eisner was waiting to organise the +first act. As with us and with Russia, the second act followed and there +stood Max Levian (Lewy), the Moscow Jew, to proclaim the repetition of +the Proletarian Republic and the replica of Hungarian and Russian +Bolshevism. + +While I was tracing the connection of the bloody events, my mind turned +to certain incidents of the past. Early spring was looking through my +window and gentle winds fanned my face. But I thought of a dense, sticky +fog. It was from the fog that a man’s howl rose: “Long live the +Revolution! To death with Tisza!” There it was again, howling from the +staircase of the House of Parliament: “Let us see no more soldiers!” +What demoniacal power, hidden by the fog, prompted these cries? What +power cast its spell to lure a haughty, brave nation into shame, +cowardice and perdition? Months have passed since I first asked this +question, and the obvious answer revolted my conscience, which required +time to be convinced. But Calvary has taught me the lesson. Now I seek +no longer, I know. It is not by accident that the scourge and the +executioner, the law and the law-giver, the judge and the sentence, of +the Turanian Hungarians, the Teutonic Bavarians and the Slav Russians +were one and the same. The racial differences of the three peoples are +too great to render that mysterious resemblance possible. It is clear +that it must originate from the soul of another people which lives among +them, but not with them, and has triumphed over all three. The demon of +the Revolution is not an individual, not a party, but a race among the +races. + +[Illustration: + + ALEXANDER CSIZMADIA. + + LABOURER. ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR AGRICULTURE. +] + +The Jews are the last people of the Ancient East who survived among the +newer peoples of shorter history. As the carriers of biblical tradition +they have been assured a certain tolerance and they look for the +accomplishment of certain ancient curses. Despised in some places, they +were feared in others, but everywhere they remained for ever foreigners. + +The Jew comes uninvited and declines to go when dismissed. He spreads +and yet holds together. He penetrates the bodies of the nations. He +invisibly organises his own nation among alien peoples. He creates laws +beyond the law. He denies the conception of ‘patrie’ but has a ‘patrie’ +of his own which wanders and settles with him. He scoffs at other +people’s conception of God and yet builds churches of his own +everywhere. He laments the fallen walls of Jerusalem and drags the ruins +invisibly with him. He complains of his isolation but builds secret ways +as arteries of the boundless city which has by now spread practically +throughout the world. His connections and communications reach +everywhere. Otherwise how can it be possible that his finances and his +press should, wherever they may be centred, strive for the same goal all +over the world? How is it that his racial interests are identical in a +Ruthenian village and in the heart of New York? He praises one +individual, and the praise rings over the globe. He condemns another, +and that man’s ruin begins wherever he be. Orders are given in +mysterious secrecy. What the Jew finds ridiculous in other people, he +keeps fanatically alive in himself. He teaches anarchy and rebellion +only to the gentiles, he himself obeys blindly the directions of his +invisible leaders. + +Mirabeau was led towards the Revolution by Moses Mendelssohn and the +influence of beautiful Jewesses. They were there, in Paris, behind every +revolution, and they appear in history among the leading spirits of the +Commune of 1871. But they are only visible during the hours of +incitement and success; they are not to be found among the martyrs and +the sufferers. When the returning powers of order proceeded to take +revenge on the Commune, Marx and Leo Frankel had fled. + +It was during the days of the Turkish Revolution that a Jew said proudly +to my father: “We made that: the Young Turks are Jews.” I remember at +the time of the Portuguese Revolution Marquis Vasconcellos, the +Portuguese Minister in Rome, telling me: “The Revolution of Lisbon is +instigated by Jews and Freemasons.” And to-day, when the greater half of +Europe is in the throes of revolution, the Jews lead everywhere in +accordance with their concerted plans. Plans like these cannot be +conceived in a few months or a few years. How, then, is it possible that +people have not noticed it? How could such a worldwide conspiracy be +concealed when so many people were involved? The easy-going and blind, +the bribed, wicked or stupid agents of the nation did not know what the +game was. The organisers in the background belonged to the only human +race which has survived antiquity and has remembered how to guard a +secret. That is the reason why not a single traitor was found among +them. + + * * * * * + + _April 10th._ + +Baron Jeszenszky paid us a visit. + +“You would not recognise Budapest any longer. There are queues in front +of all the restaurants. Many people take up their seat on the kerb early +in the morning, so as to make sure of a dinner. They have to take +tickets beforehand if they want to get a meal, just as one used to book +one’s seat for the theatre. The meals too are like stage meals, for they +consist of tiny portions of bad food which have to be gulped down in a +hurry because the following number is waiting impatiently. A porridge of +millet, greens and stewed cabbage, that is the menu. That is the food +for which people wait for hours and pay exorbitant sums. They enter +hungry and leave hungry. They stagger, sick with hunger. Everybody is +emaciated.” + +Only the new privileged classes, the families of People’s Commissaries, +the millionaires of the Revolution and the body-guard of the Cabinet, +the ‘Terror Boys,’ live well. I thought of the Batthyány palace. A band +of terrorists occupied it in the first days of the Commune, and they +have remained there ever since. The grand drawing-room, where I used to +see masses of azaleas between the magnificent old furniture, is theirs, +with everything that artistic and beauty-loving generations have +collected. I wonder who listens now to the ticking of the old clock +which once belonged to Michael Apafi, Prince of Transylvania? What hands +finger the ivory Christ of Countess Louis Batthyány? Dreadful tales are +told of the palace. It is said that those who are dragged there by the +terrorists are never seen again. + +Baron Jeszenszky then spoke of other things. + +“Palaces are treated worse than other places. The finer the mansion the +dirtier the people who are installed in it. Cooking ranges are put into +the drawing-rooms, their chimneys rest against the brocade-covered +walls. Libraries are transformed into sculleries. + +Somebody mentioned the National Club. + +“The whole place is unspeakably filthy,” Jeszenszky said. “The silver, +the whole equipment, the library, have all been confiscated. The office +which disposes of the property of the Church has been established there. +An unfrocked priest of the Piarist Order sits there organising the +despoiling of the Church and the confiscation of the property of the +various creeds. The provincial Soviets receive their orders to attack +convents and the palaces of bishops from this place.” + +Evening was darkening the windows. The clock struck. For a while we +stayed with Jeszenszky, then we walked towards the village. + +“Let us look at that house which is for sale,” said Elisabeth Kállay, as +we turned off the main road. + +We crossed a small farmyard. The house was surrounded by mud, and it +took some time before the good wife could be found. She asked us to wait +as the master was out, and brought us chairs. A young man strolled out +from the stable, doffed his hat, and sat down on the stairs. Now and +then he looked stealthily at us, then went on smoking his pipe in +silence. + +Lenke Kállay spoke to him. + +“One knows little that is good and little that is bad about this new +order,” he said cautiously. “There are some who like it and some who +don’t. It may be true that the Government intends to give every farmer +three hundred acres and make them free of taxes.” Then he cast his eyes +down and began to stir the mud with the point of his boot. “You see, +they will confiscate nothing but big fortunes, and that for justice’s +sake.” + +The sound of a cart was heard approaching from the main road. Elisabeth +Kállay turned in that direction. + +“I have heard that carts and horses are being requisitioned for the Red +army.” + +The attitude of the man changed suddenly. He raised his head +threateningly and his voice was full of rage: “Just let them try. I will +knock down the first who touches mine!” + + * * * * * + + _April 11th–13th._ + +Palm Sunday. Spring has come. Easter is approaching through awakening +nature, and yet this Palm Sunday is very different from all those I can +remember. The days of persecution, forgotten for thousands of years, are +rising from their grave and haunting us. Life is like the ravings of a +fever-stricken brain; the Christian faith is persecuted in Hungary +to-day. Our churches are in danger. Kunfi, the People’s Commissary for +Education, the Jew who has so often changed his religion, has decreed +that the priests must read from the pulpit every Sunday for three weeks +only that which they are directed to read. + +The apathetic village has cast off its apathy: as if rising in defence +of its property it becomes demonstrative. In the be-ribboned costumes of +the country, girls in white shirts, with long waists and short skirts, +women in shawls, are going up the hill-side. Behind them comes the +throng of men. The procession has a determined obstinate look about it. +Besides its faith, beyond its prayers, there is in the soul of this +people the old Hungarian spirit of rebellion. There are many of them; +the whole village, even the invalids, have turned up. The banners of the +church are swaying slowly, higher and higher up the hill. A cross, +carried aloft, shows against the sky. The little sun-kissed square in +front of the church swarms with men in black and women in all colours of +the rainbow. Bells ring and the smell of incense pervades the cold air +of the church. Palm leaves are consecrated by the priest at the altar. + +I hid behind the Kállays in the dim light of the oratory. The crowd +surged at the end of the aisle, furrowed faces, seamed with toil. In +front of them little girls, starched little figures rendered +artificially ugly, their tightly-plaited hair standing up on the sides +of their heads, like little horns ornamented with ribbons. The boys +stood on the other side. Those who stood bare-footed on the cold flags +raised their feet alternately to warm them against their legs. A tall +boy nudged his small brother. The little one looked back, but prayed on +without laughing. Even the children seemed more serious than usual. I +have never seen a more serious crowd. + +The poor village organ struggled pantingly with the Gregorian chants. +Under the motionless church banners the human voices rose, some high, +some low, a little out of tune and clumsy. Yet the ancient liturgical +song, the thousand-year-old mournful song of Palm Sunday was very +touching. + +“... And they betrayed the Son of Man to be crucified....” + +These words, so often heard, fell like blows on my heart, and had now a +new meaning for me. I felt that this Palm Sunday was not a commemoration +of the past, but a statement of the dark happenings of the present. +Christ was undergoing a fresh Passion on this earth. The ancient +plaintive tune of the Passion continued in the church. + +“... Then did they spit in His face, and buffeted Him; and others smote +Him with the palms of their hands, saying Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, +who is he that smote Thee?” + +As if all the church were thinking the same, a shudder went through the +crowd: _the same people had smitten Him two thousand years ago_. + +“... And when He was accused, He answered nothing....” + +It seemed an awful duty to repeat the cry of the Jews from the Gospels: +“Let Him be crucified!” And the words followed by which the people of +Jerusalem accepted the responsibility for the sentence: + +“His blood be on us and on our children!” + +There was a moment’s silence, as if the people were following the burden +carried by their voices. And then, as from afar, the song resumed: + +“... And led him away to crucify Him....” + +The organ, like a decrepit old shepherd, gathered the flock together. +The voices rose in unison and clamoured in such despair as has probably +never been heard in this our land: + +“... My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” + +The people chanted it with pale faces, with broken hearts, and in that +moment every one of them was Christ and Christ’s words were their own. + +The sounds had died away, and yet a feeling as of a wound remained. The +church door opened and through the doorway the bright sunshine floated +in. And the centuries-old hymn of Hungarian Catholicism rang out in a +last appeal. It spread, rose, and mingled with spring, and its eastern +rhythm and western faith clamoured to the endless blue sky. + + * * * * * + + _April 14th._ + +Nowadays I often feel like one who has lost his way in an unknown +country on a dark night. He dares not move: he stands in the dark and +waits for the sun to rise. But sunrise never seems to come, his terror +becomes insufferable, and his mind becomes unhinged. + +The whole of Hungary is in darkness to-day. Those who were once together +are separated. Each isolated district bears its tribulation in solitude. +What is happening in Transylvania, in Upper Hungary, down in the South, +beyond the Danube, or in Budapest itself? In the dark one hears nothing +but the awful crash of collapse, one is ignorant what has fallen down +and where the cataclysm happened. Then all of a sudden news comes in +secret whispers. The whole country is falling. In Transylvania and in +the South the Roumanians and Serbians rule with the scourge in their +hands. In Upper Hungary the Czechs labour to fill the prisons. They +persecute and punish everything Hungarian. But for that, life must be +more tolerable there than in the Red area, because there people have the +hope of resurrection. The events here, if they are to continue, can only +end in death. In Budapest and in all that remains of Hungary the +miscreants are erecting gallows. At first they promised integrity, +bread, peace and freedom. Now they are sneering at our territorial +integrity. They give us starvation instead of bread, a Red army instead +of peace. Here and there the disillusioned, betrayed victims raise their +voices. Deception, as a means of government, can never be anything but +transitory, and can only be followed by the honest truth or by +terrorism. What will become of us? How often have we asked that +question? + +I gazed out upon Nature’s calendar. When I left home it was still +winter; it snowed now and then and the bare branches showed up black +against the bleak sky. Then one day the sickle of the moon appeared, +like the windblown flame of a torch, above the hillock, and green clouds +covered the bushes. The green clouds have turned into young leaves and +beyond the hillock above the steeple night raises a round red disk in +the sky. Many days have passed. Enough days for the moon to grow to its +full size. + + * * * * * + + _The Night of April 14th–15th._ + +The embers have died in the stove. I watched them for a long time: now +they are collapsing, and it is cold. There has never been a cold like +this, yet I sit here and write, though there is no reason for it. But +after all, I do not write for others, I do not write to keep a record of +my thoughts, I write only to relieve my feelings. + +Charles Kiss came this evening, running the gauntlet of the police in +order to bring me news. + +It may be an afterthought, but it seems to me that I knew he was coming. +I believe I felt something impending, something I had feared for days, +something unavoidable. In the evening the others had discussed the +coming Easter festivities. I did not join in the conversation; I kept +out of it whenever I could, and perhaps it was this that gave me a +lonely feeling. There is such a thing as presentiment. + +I am not allowed to stay here. + +To-day everybody who is Hungarian is outlawed and homeless on every inch +of Hungarian soil. To their bloodhounds our ‘rulers’ throw the lives of +those who dare to fight against them. I have fought against them and my +life has been proscribed. + +They have selected for the deed a certain Mikulics, a one-eyed +terrorist, nicknamed ‘the Cyclops’ by the others. I never heard of him +before, but it appears that he is the plenipotentiary chief of the Air +Service. Számuelly said of him that he was so cruel that even he could +not stand up against him. This man has been commissioned to settle with +me. He himself said: “I must do away with her.” And henceforth my life +will depend upon my ability to avoid him. There is another one also who +is after me, and he too is quite unknown to me. He is the head of the +newly-established Secret Service, and is a bosom friend of Számuelly. He +is called Otto Korvin, though his real name is Klein. He is a +hunchbacked little Jew who used to be a bank clerk. + +The idea of it fills me with terror. A hand seems to be feeling for me, +slowly, steadily, trying to grasp me. I have had that feeling ever since +Charles Kiss told me about it. Faithful friend! How concerned he was, +and how pale he looked; he could only talk in whispers. When his +carriage stopped under the porch, Lenke Kállay shouted to him: + +“Do you bring good news?” + +“I’ll tell you when we are alone.” And when no one else was within +earshot he told us the news he brought. I remember clearly that I nodded +and wondered at the same time why I did so. My mother has been +examined.... Eight armed soldiers surrounded our cottage. Meanwhile +detectives examined everybody in the house separately. It lasted two +hours. They were threatening and declared that it was useless to try to +deceive them, they were on my track and knew full well where I was. + +My mother showed the letter I had written to her and declared it had +reached her from the other side of the Danube. That was all she knew +about me. She seemed cool and composed all the time and she looked so +haughtily at them that suddenly they ceased calling her comrade. They +even took their hats off and talked to her bareheaded. After they had +left, my sister Mary found my mother in her room lying on the sofa. She +was in a state of collapse and cried bitterly. On her table lay the +warrant for my arrest. + +“I cannot bear the sight of it,” she said. “Put it somewhere where I +cannot see it.” + +No tears came to my eyes, and yet I was sobbing inwardly and unseen. I +saw by their faces that they thought I was quite collected. + +My brothers and sisters were questioned too, principally Vera, who had +worked so much with me in the interests of the Counter-revolution, and +Géza. They were called to the police station. Charles Kiss also was +arrested. He came before a Jewish monster called Juhász, the head of the +investigation department of the political police. The other officials +were just like him. The office was all dirt, confusion and Jews. + +“They filled me with disgust and when I found myself unguarded I +escaped.” He laughed like a naughty boy who had played a prank. And I +laughed too, though my heart was breaking. Then suddenly I thought, what +if they were to arrest my mother in my place? Or take some other +hostage?... The room reeled round me at the thought. + +“I must go home and give myself up,” I stammered. + +All of them began to argue at this. It would be sheer madness, they +said; nobody would suffer for me. + +“I shall bring disaster on this house too....” I tried to find words to +express my regret. Meanwhile the others were planning my escape. I only +realised this when T heard that my family wanted me to fly the country. + +[Illustration: + + BÉLA JUHASZ _alias_ GOLDSTEIN. + + A CHIEF OF THE SECRET POLICE. +] + +[Illustration: + + JOSEPH PECZKAI. + + ONE OF SZÁMUELLY’S “DEATH TRAIN” COMPANY. +] + +“Through Balassagyarmat....” I heard Elisabeth approve the plan. Aladár +Huszár was sure to help me across the river Ipoly. + +It was Lenke Kállay who pointed out that it was essential that the +servants should not know whither I went. I was to travel to Aszód as if +I were going to Budapest, turn back there and go to Balassagyarmat. I +shuddered with disgust: the station of Aszód with its red flags, the fat +political delegate, the fiddler, the Internationale, came to my mind. I +remembered a seat on the platform and reflected that I should have to +sit there from seven in the morning till five in the afternoon. The +people would be able to look at me without my being able to hide my +face. + +As soon as I was alone these details assailed me with redoubled force. I +leant my forehead against the windowpane, which felt smooth and cold, +and soothed me as a cool hand might have done. I looked at my watch. It +had stopped: I had forgotten to wind it up. A carriage rattled by under +the window; it was taking Charles Kiss to the station. To-morrow at the +same time it would carry me, and I shall be alone. I had refused to go +with him, my fate must not be shared by others: anyone arrested in my +company would be dragged down with me to the same disaster. Let him go, +if possible, in peace; let him make his escape, my gratitude will go +with him. No one has ever shown me greater kindness than he. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + + _April 15th–16th._ + +My last day in Berczel. It seems to me as if a mischievous hand had +passed over the pleasant picture and had effaced it. Here and there a +tinge remained. This morning the sun was shining on the lawn in front of +my window and in its golden rays the dog scampered eagerly. Afternoon +wore quickly on, and the sun shone no longer. The ears of corn rustled +together in the gilt clock on the wall. How many grains are there still +in store for me? + +Young George Kállay went for Baron Jeszenszky, whose advice was certain +to be worth having. When he was told what had happened he grasped the +situation at once. He wrote me a letter of recommendation to the +dismissed magistrate of Aszód and took charge of my papers. + +“I shall put them up the chimney. They may not find them there.” + +Beyond the garden on the crest of the hillocks the train from Aszód was +passing along like a tiny, smoking toy. This train had been haunting me +the whole day. Now it was gone. For this one day I need not fear the +arrival of the bloodhounds. And if they should come to-morrow they will +find the place empty. + +“A carriage from the station should be here by now,” said Lenke. So they +had been thinking of the same thing. The horn of a motor-car resounded +on the main road. Mrs. Kállay looked up from her embroidery: “I had a +bad dream last night. I dreamt that a big motor stopped in front of the +house and that detectives stepped out of it.” + +The car had passed the garden gate, but the shock it had given us +remained. Now I could think of one thing only; the slow passage of time +and the wish that it would pass faster. If only I were gone from here +and knew that the people who had befriended me were no longer incurring +danger on my behalf! I made a miserable attempt to say something to that +effect: “Thank you, and please forgive me.” Henriette Apor gave me her +box of matches: there were only a few left in it, yet it was a precious +gift, for there had been no matches in the house for a long time. + +I never thought a human being could be so alone in the world. Now +everybody must be for himself only. I had premonitions of death, and +thought of those I had seen, whose deaths I had witnessed. I began to +understand their feelings at the approaching struggle in which none +could render them aid. It had been of no use to hold their hands, to +adjust their pillows, to sit up with them. And now there was nobody even +to hold my hand, to sit up with me. + +The rain began to fall in scattered drops, as though a sad spirit had +wept upon the window panes. On that fateful night of March it had rained +thus when I left my home and the streets resounded with the shout: “Long +live the Dictatorship of the Proletariat!” These had been the words that +brought calamity upon us. Here with the rain the feeling of outlawry and +isolation seized me, and I faced a dark vindictive world. I shut my +eyes, wishing I could escape from myself. + +I may have slumbered restlessly, tossing about, for a few minutes; then +I jumped up as if I had been shaken and began to dress with needless +speed by the light of the candle. It was dark outside when the door of +my room opened quietly. Elisabeth Kállay was standing there. She came to +bid me farewell, and the action steadied me. We shook hands: “God bless +you!” + +When the big gate of the castle opened before me, the piercing cold cut +me like a knife, and I shrank back. Night stood in front of me like a +damp black wall, through which I must pass. For an instant I felt as if +someone were dogging my footsteps. The gate slammed with a bang behind +me and made me feel as if all gates had closed on me and as if I were +excluded from everything; a homeless, countryless, beggarly wanderer on +earth. + +I penetrated deeper and deeper into the damp blackness, making my way +through the garden towards the stables where the carriage was waiting +for me.... The wheels splashed in the mud, rain poured, my shoulders and +my skirt round my knees were soaked. Dawn was breaking when we reached +the main road. + +From the wayside station a dark, cold little train carried me through +the frosty morning. I may have fallen asleep for awhile, but I remember +the last violent jerk: Aszód! It was just the same: putrid filth covered +the platform. There, on the side of a waggon, was the inscription +written in human excrement: “Death to the bourgeois!” The station was if +possible even dirtier than before. Notwithstanding the early hour, a sad +and sleepy deputation with red flags was waiting there. One of them said +at the exit that there was going to be a recruiting meeting, a comrade +from Budapest was going to make a speech, his special train was already +signalled. This made me hurry. The parcel of food given me before I +started was pulled from under my arm, but it did not matter. My valise +was already in the cloak-room and I hurried off towards the town. A red +flag was floating on the Reformatory like a piece of raw flesh. There +were flags everywhere, and strange big posters covered the walls. The +lines on them appeared to represent mad knots of tangled intestines. +When I looked more closely, my eyes made out the outlines of horrible +soldiers, pregnant giant women, skulls, bloodstained workmen, bare to +the waist, glaring at me. “Join the Red army!” “Alcohol is dead!” “To +arms, Proletarians!” + +I was so tired that everything frightened me. The bare trees on the +sidewalk stood in a row as if waiting for victims to be hanged on them. +The dais which stood covered with red under the grey sky in the middle +of the market place looked like a scaffold and the houses seemed to +watch it wickedly, disdainfully. The streets were covered with mud: the +repulsive mess spread all over the place and the houses alone seemed to +keep it within its bed. If one of them had been removed, it seemed that +the mud would have overflowed the whole country. + +People lived in these surroundings, dragged themselves resignedly along +in the black mire, surrounded by the monstrous posters. Nobody rebelled, +they just let themselves sink and drown. This resignation stretched +beyond the town, and the whole country surrendered to its fate. + +A Jew dressed like a townsman except for his cap passed in a carriage, +stopped, and beckoned. Two men of the working class ran up to him. He +pointed towards the market and gave orders. The men listened +respectfully. Then the man in the cap looked at me, and as his gaze fell +on me I felt the blood rush to my head, for he turned back as if he knew +me. It seemed to me that I too recognised this weak face, these thick, +soft lips, these shapeless ears. Perhaps it has bowed before me over the +counter of some Budapest bank, this puffy face which now looked slimy +and dark as if it had been shaped out of the mud. But it passed from my +sight. + +A number of Red soldiers were loafing in front of a low house. They wore +flat caps ornamented with red ribbons, and red-bordered blouses after +the Russian pattern. This group impressed me strangely and filled me +with anxiety: they were not Hungarian soldiers, they were enemies. They +were the armed servants of a foreign power, the sole relics of our +disbanded army! The Red army! Hungarian national guards, Hungarian +hussars, were you disbanded to become like these? This was the first +time I had seen the Red guards of the Soviet. + +Behind the soldiers the walls were posted with orders and regulations. A +door was wide open and machine-guns could be seen pointing from the +disordered yard within. A few steps further a woman was standing on the +pavement talking through an open window. She kept glancing anxiously +behind her and I heard her sigh. Nowadays only those who look round in +fear and sigh can be trusted, so I went up to her. + +“Can you tell me where M. Sárkány, the magistrate, lives?” + +“That door there.” The woman looked frightened and went away quickly. I +entered a small house. + +“No, Comrade Sárkány is not in, he has left town.” + +The earth seemed to give way under me. What was I to do? Could they let +me in, I asked. I had come from far and was tired. But it was no good. +Then I said I had a message, and at this I was allowed to enter. It was +still early in the day. I had a long time to wait. Then Mme. Sárkány +came in. While she read Baron Jeszenszky’s letter, she became more and +more excited. + +“Then.... I see.... That is the reason ... the Reds have been looking +this morning for a lady and a gentleman.” + +I thought of Charles Kiss. Was it possible they were looking for us? + +“You cannot stay here,” said Mme. Sárkány. “The house is watched. +Bokányi has come from Budapest and is going to give an address in the +market place. There are journalists with him. They are going to be +quartered here and they are sure to recognise you.” She turned very +pale. “No, you cannot stay here. The best thing you can do is to take +the next train and travel on to Hatvan.” + +The instinct of self-preservation rebelled in me so that I was +astonished at the heat with which I replied: “That would be to run +straight into the prison gate. Why does everybody send me nearer +Budapest, when the train is the most likely place where I could be +recognised?” + +“Here you are not in safety for a minute.” + +“If I could get a carriage....” Then a sudden idea came to me. “I could +go to Iklad, to Countess Ráday....” + +Mme. Sárkány nodded and left the room at once. How long she was away I +could not tell, I only know that she came back once more and told me to +get ready as there would be a carriage for me presently. I was very +cold, and asked for a cup of tea. Then I hesitated before making my next +request. Could I have a few matches? In great haste she gave me some. +“Be quick.... Be quick!” + +The door was torn open and an old lady stood on the threshold. Her face +was grey and she clasped her head between her hands. + +“It is too late. The Reds have taken the carriage!” + +I went out all the same. Three soldiers stood near a cart and I pressed +money into the hand of one of them. He looked at it stealthily so that +the others should not see. I implored them to let me have the cart. I +did not want to go far, not half an hour, and I would send it back.... +While they were debating the matter I suddenly jumped into the cart and +the driver whipped up his horses. “To the station, for my luggage!” + +The soldiers shouted insults after us but the noise of the wheels +drowned their words. The cart was covered with liquid manure. There was +a hole in one of the bottom boards and through it I could watch the road +running past. I shuddered; once more I had to cross this awful town. + +At the station I snatched my valise. “Be quick! Drive on!” Then suddenly +I caught sight of the mud-faced man with the cap. The coachman looked +back at me and seemed to understand my trouble; he gave the horses their +heads and the rickety little cart flew over the sea of mud. The puffy +face looked after me, but we turned off into a side street and the low +houses and closed shops were quickly left behind. Astonished faces +peeped out of the windows: I must have looked rather quaint in my town +dress on a manure cart! Motor-cars passed from the opposite direction, +probably carrying agitators from Budapest. Nowadays one only sees Jews +in motor-cars. Instinctively I covered my face with my handkerchief. The +road passed under the walls of a fine old castle: its outlines appeared +for an instant against the grey sky from among the trees of the park. It +was the only spot of beauty in the sea of mud. + +“The one who lived there committed suicide,” the driver said, pointing +with his whip towards the castle. The board put across the cart which +served me as a seat was jumping to and fro. I caught hold of the edges +of the cart and leant forward. + +“Who lived there?” + +“It used to be a boarding school. Little ladies were taught in it.” + +I asked for more details. + +“Well, you see,” he said, weighing his words, “when the new order of +things came, a comrade was sent down here. He was no older than fifteen +and he was a Jew, the beggar was. He used to declaim to the school +children in the market place....” + +I asked him to go on. + +“I am ashamed to speak of these things,” the man grumbled, “but, with +your leave, that son of a bitch used to explain aloud there in the +market place how children were produced. He also said that one need not +obey one’s parents. He also said that it did not matter if girls went +wrong, it was only the priests who pretended that it was a sin. No more +need to worry about bastards, the State would look after them.” He +pushed his hat back on his head and expectorated violently. “Damn his +eyes! No more God, no more honour! Here in the boarding school he said +the same thing as in the market place. He encouraged the little misses +to make love freely with the boys. He had pictures to show them how it +was done. The headmistress just wept and wrung her hands. At last she +did for herself.” + +The cart rattled. Something seemed to shake within me too. I looked down +and saw the road through the hole in the bottom: the earth receded +rapidly under the cart. When I looked up at last the town was no longer +in sight. I had left the execution ground. + +Rain now began to fall anew, but I did not heed it, for a fresh breeze +was blowing over the fields, and those whom I met, peasants on carts or +on foot, were different from those in town. A village came in view, a +house, a garden full of flowers. The cart entered the yard of Iklad, and +a girl came running towards me from the corridor: + +“They are not at home! Since they have been taken to Aszód they have not +been allowed to come home.” + +I was very cold and very tired: “Might I stay here a little—till the +train for Balassagyarmat comes?” + +“Please don’t!” exclaimed the frightened girl. “We are expecting the +Communists every minute. They are coming to requisition things.” + +“Of course, it does not matter....” And I thought of the heavy clang +with which the gate of Berczel had closed behind me. All gates were +closed as this one now. + +“Let us go,” I said to the coachman. + +By this time the girl had recovered her senses. “You might go to the +house of the railway guard, and wait for the train there. Uncle Nagy, +the guard, is a kind man, he’ll let you.” And she added something about +bringing me some dinner when the Communists were gone. + +Under centenarian trees, on the other side of the road, the guard’s +house was hidden beside the roadway. A fowl-house, a little stack of +wood, a garden with quaint little flower-beds.... A tall elderly man, +dressed in the blouse of the railway guards, came towards me. He touched +his cap and asked me what I wanted. The office was closed, the train +would not arrive till five.... So he was going to send me away too.... I +felt again how tired I was, wet to the bone, and ravenously hungry. I +spoke slowly, so as to gain time and to be able to stay for a little +longer under a roof, out of the rain, and also to nurse my hopes a +little. But the man did not send me away. He shrugged his shoulders: + +“Of course you are welcome to stay here if you like. But you won’t find +it over comfortable.” + +I laughed from sheer joy, laughed aloud. I could stay, and it was my +host who apologised! Tears came to my eyes: comfort? He did not realise +what royal comfort he offered me. A corner where I would withdraw out of +sight, a nook whence I should not be driven, a seat which is not +drenched with rain and on which I might rest. + +His wife came in too, a kindly little woman, aged before her time. She +invited me into the room and wiped a chair with her apron, then began +splitting wood in the kitchen. When the fire had burnt up she opened the +door so as to let in the warmth. + +Warmth! As it slowly thawed me it also thawed my heart. At first my mind +remained inactive, I was just happy. Then I began slowly to take notice +of the things around me. Under the low roof, above the piled-up bed, a +text was hanging in a gaudy frame. I read it over and over again during +my long wait, and yet I cannot remember it. Oleographs and family +portraits hung on the walls, the women sitting in stiff poses, the men +with long, waxed moustaches. A fretwork basket stood on the chest of +drawers. Everything shone in a reddish, warm light. A red piece of cloth +served as a curtain over the window. And as I sat on my hard chair the +guard’s hut seemed slowly to become strangely familiar to me, as did the +room with its cheap ornaments, as if I had been there before. But then +the house stood in another landscape, far away, on the Carso, amidst +bleak rock, on a wild mountain. Then I was young, and writing my first +novel: _Stonecrop_. That other house, to which I had given the youth of +my creative power, stood between two tunnels. And it dawned upon me that +perhaps there was no such thing as hazard, that even little guards’ +houses return to you the love you have once bestowed upon them. + +Something caught my eye, I had not noticed it before—a calendar hung on +the whitewashed wall and I read in the dim, reddish light: April 16, +1919. That recalled me to reality. Carriages passed on the road coming +from the direction of Aszód—stolen carriages, and in them sat +suspicious-looking people, Jews in fur coats, and they all drove into +the courtyard of the castle. I watched them from behind the red +curtains. They entered the house noisily: was it not all theirs? And the +windows of the castle stared in rigid astonishment out into the garden, +as if they wondered what was happening behind them. + +Hours passed by. In the castle yard the Communists were packing up, +taking whatever they fancied. I sat quietly in my room and looked out +through the window. Sometimes a noise made me draw back, then I returned +to my post of observation. It may have been about noon when a +hand-driven trolley car arrived from Aszód. Voices issued commands in +the small office and steps were heard all over the house. I held my +breath in alarm. At last they went, and silence ensued. Dinner was ready +in the kitchen: there was a smell of boiled potatoes. I was very hungry +and the good woman offered me some, but there were so few on the little +earthenware dish. “No, thank you, it is too early.” + +Later on the girl sent a message from the castle that the Communists had +eaten or carried away everything eatable from the kitchen and the +larder. She could send me no food, but would I write my name down so +that she might inform the Countess when she came home? I remembered the +_alias_ Elisabeth Kállay had selected for me to hide my identity when I +came to Balassagyarmat: ‘Elisabeth Földváry’.... I repeated it to myself +several times. It seemed funny that henceforth this should be the name +by which I should be known. The guard’s wife tore the date from the +calendar and told me I could write it down on that, but I did not do so, +and she took no notice. She came and went, working in the house like an +ant, tidied up her kitchen, then took the red curtain from the window +and began to wash the window panes. + +The rain had stopped and a cold wind whistled and howled, driving the +clouds before it. In the house the signal bells hummed all the while. +The guard came in, rolling a grimy little signal flag in his hands, and +spoke to his wife about the Communists. If this went on much longer they +would carry off everything from the castle. He spoke to me too, and told +me that when the people from Aszód had arrested Count Ráday he had been +compelled to wash the Jews’ cars in the street. “But he gave it them! He +turned up the sleeves of his shirt and ordered the scoundrels to watch +him, saying ‘now you shall learn how to do this job properly!’” The +guard laughed to himself: the story pleased him immensely: “But then the +men of Iklád got out their scythes, and the next two villages joined +them. They were going to fetch the Count and the Countess with six +horses, because each village insisted on supplying at least two horses +for his carriage....” + +Suddenly the guard went out. I saw his cap in front of the window and he +held the signal flag in his hand. With a great clatter a clumsy goods +train passed over the rails. Soldiers with red ribbons were escorting it +and shouted at him as they passed. A chalked inscription ornamented the +black waggons: ‘Long live Béla Kun! Long live the Red army!’ + +“The vagabonds, they are conveying arms! And as for the Directory of +Aszód, they are a lot of cruel Jew boys. The people live in terror of +them. Even at night the inhabitants have no rest. During the war the +Czech deserters were kept in cotton wool at the aeroplane factory. Now +they are the greatest Communist heroes. They steal more than all the +others together.” Then he scowled. “But things will be different soon! +It is no good giving us a lot of their worthless banknotes. They won’t +take us in. We railwaymen will have something to say in the matter!” + +The telephone rang in the office: Aszód on the line, my train was +signalled. My lassitude vanished suddenly, but as I stepped out of the +little house I felt as if a veil had been torn from my face, and the +exposure seemed physically painful. + +[Illustration: + + COUNTRYFOLK GOING TO DRAW RATIONS. +] + +Slowly, hissing and panting, the train approached. People were sitting +on top of the waggons, people hung from the steps, and even the buffers +had their riders. I tried to get up but was pushed back. I ran along the +train but not a door would open, for inside the people were pressed +against them. I ran on and on, saying to myself ‘anywhere, anyhow will +do.’ I struggled with another door-handle. The train started. What on +earth shall I do if I lose it? The guard came to my rescue at last, but +boxes and trunks blocked the door. Someone pushed me forward, someone +else pulled. My bag hit me in the back. And then I could move no more +and the train carried me away. + +I had got into an old condemned carriage and an icy wind blew unhindered +through its unglazed windows. People were crowding against one another +on the narrow floor—women, soldiers, an officer, a dirty fat man. Wedged +between them, I stood on one leg, the only foothold I could secure, +indeed I was practically suspended by the pressure of their fetid +bodies. But as things were I thought myself lucky. I had to take my +ticket on the train, and when the conductor forced his way to our +compartment he asked me for my trade-union permit. So now they were +going to make me get off again, I thought. I pretended to look for it in +my bag, but the officer who was crushed up against me spoke to the +conductor and shewed him some paper: “make the ticket out for two.” The +conductor did so and the officer pocketed tickets for himself and for +me. I paid him the fare, he too was going to Balassagyarmat. + +Suddenly I found myself standing on both feet, and thus I noticed that +the crowd had diminished. At every small station someone got off and +there were no new passengers. Now one could look through the window into +the corridor of the carriage preceding ours. A young man in a fur coat +sat there smoking; he wore a soft hat and his face was flushed with the +cold. For a time I looked at him indifferently; then suddenly I began to +feel uneasy. I didn’t want to see him, yet I felt my eyes attracted by +him. My apprehensions steadily increased: I was angry with myself, it +was all imagination! But if this man should be searching for me?... + +We reached the station which serves Berczel: I had left it twelve hours +earlier, in the morning. How tired I had become since then! The door of +the next carriage opened suddenly and the man in the fur coat jumped on +to the platform and strode towards the stationmaster’s office. He was +searching for me! I was as convinced of it as if somebody had told me. +He was going to Berczel and he would not find me there! I felt +incredibly happy. He had but to turn his head.... Good-night, comrade! +Good luck! All sorts of mocking words came to my mind and I felt like +making faces at him. + +Passengers elbowed their way past me and several got out. The door +remained open and the cold streaming in brought me to my senses. I +turned my back to the door and looked at the path wending its way across +the green squares of fields and meadows. Suddenly I felt as if something +had struck me on the chest: the man in the short fur coat was standing +in the door looking at me! He was resting his chin in his hand and held +his head a little on one side as if he were trying to remember +something. Every drop of blood left my face. Without thinking, +instinctively, in self-defence, I turned to the opposite window. But I +could not see the landscape, everything was blurred before my eyes. + +How long did it last? I only know that I felt as if something had +vanished behind me. The minutes seemed to gather into masses and fall +into hollow space. I felt I was falling with them. Good God, how long is +this to last? Let him clutch me by the shoulders, if he likes, let him +arrest me, but let something happen, let the suspense come to an end! +Then I began to take heart: after all, what does it matter now? At least +let the scoundrels see that I am not afraid. I pulled myself up, as high +as I could, and forced a smile to my lips. + +The train started and the shock banged the door to. Was it possible? For +an instant I felt the reckless delight of salvation sweep through me: I +breathed freely: I scolded and cheered myself mentally. Poor fool, how +could you have such delusions! Then the whole carriage reeled before my +eyes: the man in the short fur coat was sitting on a box next to me! He +was sitting there with his knees drawn up like a mischievous imp. + +In spite of myself my jaw began to tremble: I was afraid with a fear I +had never known before, and notwithstanding the cold the sweat rolled +down my face. But still I managed to keep myself erect and presently +forced myself once more to smile. All sorts of possibilities coursed +madly through my head. If I were arrested nobody would know of my fate, +and the one-eyed monster into whose hands I was to be delivered could +dispose of me without difficulty. My mother did not know that I was +travelling, the Kállays whom I had left, the Huszárs to whom I was +going, would each be ignorant that I was not safely with the other. One +could invoke the Entente Mission on behalf of prisoners at Budapest, but +if I were trapped now, nobody would seek me until too late.... + +The man was still sitting on the box. He rolled a cigarette, blew out +the smoke and now and then looked up at me. I shall never forget his +eyes. Some travellers got into the train at the next station and the +corridor again became crowded. Two men who wore red buttons in their +coat lapels waxed enthusiastic over the revolution: “That we should have +lived to see it!” One could guess that they were speaking from fear. The +man on the box nodded. How contemptible were these people who were +Hungarians and had sold themselves to the foreigners; the whole thing +was degrading and dirty; my pride revolted at it. To be arrested by this +scum; miserably, without an attempt to escape; to wait for fate like one +paralysed, unable to move! My passivity suddenly weighed on me like a +great shame. I grasped my bag and forced my way through the crowd into +the next compartment. There too the passengers stood jammed between the +seats. Next to me was wedged a man whose face I remembered vaguely. He +had a thin, fair moustache and wandering eyes, and kept making notes in +a book, tearing out the pages and going on writing. However, I soon gave +up watching him, for I noticed that the man in the short fur coat who +was sitting in the corridor got up every now and then and looked into +the compartment as if he were watching me. I waited for an opportune +moment, and when he sat down on his box and was out of sight of me, I +snatched up my bag and went further along the train. I had no plan, I +only wanted to go on, get away, do something. It might succeed. I might +escape at the next station. I might jump off the train. + +As I was moving away from the fair-haired scribbling man, he suddenly +pushed something between the handle of my bag and my hand. Then I +remembered how curiously he had looked at me and had then written in his +book and torn the page out. I thought I felt a scrap of paper in my +palm, but I went on quickly from carriage to carriage, each more crowded +than the other, between human bodies, boxes, trunks, baskets. I was +pushed about, handled roughly, and sworn at. Whenever anybody looked at +me I felt as if my face were being skinned. Why did they all look at me +so familiarly as if they had seen me before? Why had I not got a face +like everybody else? I pushed on. Suddenly I could go no further, I had +come to the end of the train, to the last carriage. There was an empty +place near a broken window; all the sparks of the engine were blown into +it by the wind, so nobody wanted it. I withdrew into that corner and +covered my face with a handkerchief; it protected me and hid me. Nobody +paid any attention to me so I opened the little paper in my hand. A +sentence was written on it in irregular halting lines. I remember every +word: + +“A warrant against you, with your portrait, is circulating here. Escape. +If caught they will do for you.” + +Was it death, or was it just fear I felt then? I carefully tore the +paper into little bits and threw them out of the window. Everything was +in a haze; there were people in the compartment, I could hear voices, +but everything seemed remote.... I was alone with myself. About an hour +may have passed, perhaps more: I liked to think that time was flying, I +liked my little corner, although the wind blew through it and cut my +face like a knife. My limbs ached on the hard seat and I was ravenously +hungry: since last night I had had nothing but a cup of tea. Suddenly +everything became dark, and soot-laden smoke filled the compartment. +Before I grasped what it was the chance had passed. A tunnel.... If I +had thought of it earlier I might have.... Nonsense, I should have +broken my neck. + +The train stopped: we were on the open track. There was a deep ditch +along the embankment—I might get off here. The passengers crowded to the +windows and someone shouted from outside: “It’s not likely that the +train will be allowed to enter Balassagyarmat. The Czechs are shelling +the station.” I made myself as small as possible in my corner. It was +nonsense, all nonsense.... Then there was another station. Red soldiers +everywhere. I saw the man in the short fur coat again; he was running +about the station, then stopped and stared towards the place where we +had pulled up in the open. He shook his head and seemed to be swearing. +Was he looking for me? At all events he jumped back into the train. + +Night was now falling and we had to wait a long time in the station, for +the engine-driver had gone to an inn for his supper. A passenger said +that they had sent for him but that he had replied: “Let them get up +steam themselves.” + +It was night before we started again, and rain began to fall. Slowly +light began to stream towards us through the clammy darkness, and people +in the compartment got ready to get out. A voice said “Balassagyarmat.” +I stood near the door, opened it suddenly, threw out my bag and jumped. +The other doors opened a good deal later, when I was already running +through the exit towards the town. Nobody asked me for my ticket, or +took any notice of me. I reached a paling, overshadowed by a huge walnut +tree, leant against it, and waited till everybody had passed, people and +carriages. For an instant I caught sight of the man in the short fur +coat going towards the town. Then the lights of the station went out, +and I was alone in the dark at the foot of the tree. + +It was over! And yet the terror remained. I still felt that strange will +searching for me in the dark, saw the hand industriously groping for me, +missing me over and over again. It had not yet found me, but perhaps +later on.... Instinctively I ducked in my hiding-place. The hand missed +me. It had missed me till now, but every time it seemed to get nearer +its goal. The watching motor-car in front of the doorless house in +Stonemason Street; the Red soldiers in Aszód; the man with the dark +puffy face and the one in the short fur coat.... Every time the hand had +been nearer. One lucky movement and it would have got me. It had been so +yesterday, it might be so to-morrow, but at any rate it had missed me +to-day and I was still free. + +I looked round and my eyes became accustomed to the dark. Where was I to +go? A broad street overshadowed by trees led from the station to the +town. Should I follow that? I retained a confused memory of the +instructions Elisabeth Kállay had given me. Soldiers came towards me, +then a few people, at last a little boy. I resolved to confide in the +latter. “Will you help me to carry my bag?” + +The boy caught hold of it but it was too heavy for him, so we carried it +together. After all, that had not been my object. What I really wanted +was to find the house of Aladár Huszár. The boy was not quite sure of +it, but he led bravely on through the rain. We left gardens and small +villas behind us and came in sight of a church by dripping trees and a +soaking sandy road. A woman was standing in one of the doorways: She put +us right: “The end of the town, the last house but one.” New anxieties +now took hold of me: up till the present I had only worried about +finding my way, and now that I had found it, it occurred to me that they +might have left the town. Aladár Huszár had the reputation of being a +counter-revolutionary and was suspected by the new power. His wife was +the president of the county branch of the Federation of Hungarian Women, +and she had been attacked by the local Socialist-Communist papers. + +The boy passed through an iron gate and we went up a few steps till we +came to a door with glass panes. I was very nervous. I was going to ask +for shelter from people who themselves were threatened. I felt painfully +ashamed of myself. + +“There is the bell!” the boy said. Yet I still hesitated. + +Only those who have stood on a stranger’s threshold, doubting the +quality of their welcome, can appreciate my feelings. + +The boy deposited the bag, asked for his money and ran away. + +The ringing of the bell broke the silence of the house, and the sudden +sound frightened me. I imagined the uneasiness caused to those within. +In these times even a knock in broad daylight is enough to cause alarm. + +Rapid steps approached from the further end of the long corridor and a +frightened maid asked me what I wanted. “Will you say that Elisabeth +Földváry has arrived?” Doors opened; there was a ray of light, and in +its beam a fine setter ran barking towards me, followed by Aladár +Huszár. I had only once seen him before, but I recognised him at once; +his fair head and his broad shoulders showed up clearly against the lamp +light. For an instant he looked at me searchingly: “Elisabeth +Földváry?...” + +By now we were alone, and I whispered my real name to him. He jerked his +head in surprise. “We were told yesterday that you had escaped to +Switzerland.” + +“Help me to get across the Ipoly!” + +“There’s no hurry, we will discuss it; now come inside quickly.” He +picked up my bag and we went into the house as if we were old friends. +We crossed the small hall and entered a room in which the light was +reflected from the glass doors of high bookcases, and comfortable +furniture stood on oriental carpets. I was met by a remarkably beautiful +young woman. Her forehead was like marble and her eyebrows met over her +big blue eyes shaded by dark eyelashes. Her face was cold and her +features seemed nearly rigid. I felt anxious: What was she going to say? +She seemed neither astonished nor nervous, though she had lately been +told I had escaped abroad, and she behaved as if it had been the most +natural thing in the world for a stranger wanted by the police to drop +in on them in the middle of the night. She gave her orders quietly, +calmly: + +[Illustration: + + EUGENE HAMBURGER. + + CLERK. COMMISSARY FOR AGRICULTURE. +] + +“We will make up a bed here in the library; we have no other room. Red +officers are quartered on the first floor. They wanted to plant +Communists in our two spare rooms, so we put our old coachman there.” + +I leant wearily against a bookcase: the room was going round. Then they +gave me hot food, and I could detect in the sympathetic expression of +Huszár that hunger, sleepless nights, cold and suffering had left their +marks upon my face. My dress was hanging on me and my hands trembled. +The children, two little girls and a boy, came in. They were told I was +a relation of theirs. In a few minutes I watched them being put to bed. + +Outside, the rain was falling and the world was full of Red soldiers, +detectives, hatred, misery, dirt, fear, humiliation. In here the little +children were praying in their long white nightgowns and over their bed +a tiny red, white, and green flag was dangling like an emblem of faith. +The electric lights went out: it was eleven o’clock. The house became +quiet. We stayed up for a time round a single candle. Words were +unnecessary between us. We all felt equally the terrible misfortune of +our country: the sufferings of each of us were due to the same cause. + +“Many good friends have fled this way,” said Aladár Huszár. + +“Will you help me over, too?” + +He shook his head. “The river is in flood and the bridges are guarded. +It cannot be managed yet. You must stay here; it is only a question of +days. Colonial troops have been seen near by and my men tell me that +there are some at one of the bridges. To-day we heard that British +troops had arrived. They say there are thirty thousand of them. The +French are in Arad. They may come here this very night. Wait for the +downfall of the Soviet.” + +I was tired, dead tired, but in spite of my exhaustion his words +refreshed me as though they heralded the coming of dawn. It seemed +strange not to be sent away. They did not want me to go. I should be +allowed to rest a little. I felt extreme gratitude but could find no +words in which to express it. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + + BALASSAGYARMAT, _April 17th_. + +I thought my excitements had come to an end, but ill-fortune has looked +me in the face again. It has just glanced at me, but has not seized me +yet. And now, how long shall I be here? Shall I be driven away, or will +this be the scene of my capture? + +I can no longer see the end of my road. I never seem to know when I +shall be able to put a full-stop at the end of my sentence. It makes no +difference. If my diary must remain a fragment, fragments can bear +witness. Every clod plays its part in a land-slide, and there is some +fragment of the great tragedy in every particle that composes it. + +When I woke this morning it took me a long time to realise where I was. +The daylight was reflected from the glass doors of a bookcase, and I +heard the sound of a reedflute. The primitive melodies of the cow-herd +mingled with the trampling of the cattle. But where was I? Something +gripped my heart and forced the truth from it. A fugitive, an outlaw! I +looked out of the window: cows were coming down the little street on the +outskirts of the town. Everything was different from my surroundings of +yesterday. The house opposite was indifferently, ignorantly looking at +its reflection in the puddles. Somewhere in that direction the railway +station must lie, and the road to it crosses the square in front of the +town hall. I had a good idea what this square must be like. A big market +with arcades, an old fountain, the old town hall with its tower.... Yes, +it must be like that. + +“Good morning!” The children’s clear voices called me from the next +room. Breakfast was ready on a glass-covered verandah, opening on to the +back garden. The old flower-bed under the sprouting ornamental trees had +been replaced by vegetables, but shrubs remained, and beyond the fence +were trees, shingled roofs, little gardens. Aspen trees, willows and +graceful, slender poplars were reflected from a soft, brilliant +mirror—the Ipoly in flood. On the other side of the river were the +vineyards where the Czechs were encamped. For two months their guns have +been trained on the town. + +I mentioned my notes; Huszár gave me some paper and a pencil. Then the +front door bell rang. Who could it be? It was unusual to have visitors +at that hour. Gregory, the faithful old coachman, put his head in. + +“Two armed Reds are here!” he exclaimed. + +I clasped my hands in terror. Mrs. Huszár turned white to the lips: + +“What are we to do if they are after you? The town is full of +detectives.” She went out and when she came back she was laughing. “I +was never so frightened in my life. They asked me: ‘Does Comrade Huszár +live here?’ Then one of them made an awful face and added: ‘We have been +informed that there is a—er—library in the house.’ I really thought they +had found you. And all they had discovered was our library!” + +It was a good library; I spent a long time among its volumes, and found +them representative of Hungarian history and of the development of +Socialism. I determined to study. + +“You’d better write a book,” said Mrs. Huszár. “When we have got over +these times, let people know what we have gone through.” + + * * * * * + + _April 18th._ + +Good Friday. At the feet of Christ’s cross, under the black sky, on the +Red land, Hungary has been crucified among the nations. + +We hoped that an attack on the town would be delivered this night by the +Czechs. It sounds sheer madness, and yet it was so. It was different +last year, when Károlyi had opened our frontiers and our predatory +neighbours could walk in undisturbed on our unconscious, shackled towns. +Balassagyarmat was the only one that rose to arms and drove out the +intruders. + +Hideous change! We are waiting for the Czechs! And this day all those +who are Hungarians in the republic of the Jewish tyrants are waiting in +suspense. + + * * * * * + + _April 19th._ + +The night has passed. At dawn only a few stray rifle bullets whistled +over and into the Ipoly, disturbing the surface of the water for a +moment, but the river soon resumed its smoothness and everything is now +as it was yesterday. There is no change, and our deliverers still +hesitate. But within our shamefully constricted frontiers the outlines +of the picture become clear, and the undermining of society goes on with +devilish speed. The newspapers which reached us this day publish an +incredible order—the sixty-second within three weeks. + +“The Revolutionary Cabinet considers it its duty to revise the procedure +of such criminal proceedings as have been instituted before the +proclamation of the Soviet, so as to save from punishment those +Proletarians who were called before the tribunals by the old order in +the interest of capitalism alone, and, on the other hand, to punish +severely, those who have sinned against the working Proletarians.” + +This order is without precedent in the history of human law. It destroys +at a blow the progress of centuries. It endows the privileged and only +recognised class, the Proletarians, with the monopoly of crime. + +Even in the administration of justice, Bolshevism stands on the basis of +class hatred and serves the class war. If the Proletarian has robbed a +member of the middle classes, he cannot be punished; if he has murdered +a bourgeois, he cannot be condemned, because his actions were simply +acts of self-defence against the tyranny of capitalism. + +And after abolishing crime as such, it proceeds to the destruction of +its traces. All records are burnt in stacks, and the files of criminal +proceedings which might involve those in power to-day are made away +with. Béla Kun embezzled the funds of a workmen’s benevolent society. +The papers of the prosecution have been burnt and the leader of the +Soviet has purged his honour in the ashes. + +Once the Roman Empire of the West, Byzantium, Friul, Saxony, all paid +tribute to the old Hungary. The profiles of conquered Emperors, of +Cæsars and of Princes, minted in gold, flowed into the Danubian province +of Hungary, and later on the harvests of peace sent their surplus into +the treasury of the land, the fruits of valour and of work. + +To-day the ruling power burgles safes. Protected by its ordinances, it +steals jewels, gold and precious stones, proclaiming, “No compensation +is due for property delivered to the State.” Everything that can be +exchanged for foreign gold is confiscated. Even stamp collections which +are worth more than two thousand crowns are taken, the happiness of +little schoolboys, the hobby of collectors. + +The head of the Directorium of Balassagyarmat returned yesterday from +Budapest. Huszár heard him relating proudly in the street that he had +spoken with Béla Kun himself. The position of the Soviet Republic has +been considerably strengthened abroad and at home, and the economic +conditions are excellent. Béla Kun has declared that he has such a +reserve in jewels, pearls, medals and art treasures that there was no +bourgeois Government in the world that could compete with him. +Negotiations are on foot for the disposal, in Holland, of these +treasures. Huszár’s next statement filled me with shame and anger. Béla +Kun was bargaining with foreign antiquaries for the sale of the Holy +Hungarian Crown! + +It is said they offered him 170,000 crowns for it. The stones are +second-rate, the gold is thin, there is just the historical value left. +170,000 crowns for the past glories of the Kings of Hungary! That is +their value to-day. + +The Cabinet is still expectant: will anybody bid any more? And if one +day there is a higher bidder, Béla Kun and Számuelly, Comrade Landler +and the others, will open the iron-bound chest in the Coronation Chapel, +lean over it, finger it, and the Jews will take Europe’s oldest royal +crown[1] to the auction room. Will they have time to do it? I thought of +what the president of the Balassagyarmat Directorate had said. They all +talk as if they were to last for ever. Meanwhile, the other bank of the +Ipoly, the hill with the vineyards, keeps silent. + +If things were to remain like this for long! The idea tortures me +incessantly and forces me to think of my unhappy position. My hosts are +hospitable, kind, touchingly so, but have I the right to accept their +generosity? Aladár Huszár has given up his office, he declines to serve +the Soviet. His wife’s jewels have been seized, they have no food +coupons. What is consumed to-day cannot be replaced to-morrow. Every +gift means a privation for them. And what if I should be found and +arrested in their house! There are ten years of penal servitude in store +for those who shelter me. I must do something. If there is no change +presently I shall have to go. Have the waters of the Ipoly receded +during the night? Perhaps the Czechs are not guarding the banks any +longer? Perhaps the bridge is open? + +“Let us wait,” said Mrs. Huszár. “We confidently expect an attack +to-night, and that would save you.” + +“Let us go and have a look. Maybe....” + +We walked slowly along the bank of the river. The air was clear and +fresh and the wind rippled the flooded waters. A woman came along the +road with a hamper over her arm and greeted us. + +“Do you come from the other bank?” + +The woman nodded: “We have a little field over there. But in future, +from to-day, the Czechs have refused to let me pass. They shoot at +anyone who approaches the bridge. They are preparing something.” + +As she passed on we looked at each other and then towards the bridge. +That road then existed no longer. The barbed wire in the middle marks +the frontier. Reds and Czechs stand on either bridgehead. The tree which +had fallen across the river near the gardens, the living bridge over +which fugitives had quite recently crawled across, is now under water in +mid-stream. The Ipoly is like a sea. + +The silver stream is flowing over the green velvet of the inundated +fields and meadows. The willows on the banks draw a veil over the +silver. Against the lovely blue background of the distant hills, the +poplars look like rows of furled flags. All nature seems in ecstasy. +Birds sing in the dazzling sunshine. + +A cart rattled behind us full of soldiers, carrying bread for +distribution among the guards in the villages. It passed us quickly and +disappeared at the turning of the road, but the smell of bread remained +in the air. + +It is the Saturday before Easter. The churches are watched by the +mercenaries of the new power and I must avoid their eyes. Only the banks +of the river and the main road are free to me. And yet I am in church. +Under the long cupola of the branches, the mild winds of spring sound +like an organ, recalling to me the eternal mysteries of the +Resurrection. + + * * * * * + + _April 20th._ + +Events cast their shadows before them, and as they arrive they enter the +shadow. + +Our little street on the outskirts of the town was unusually restless +this morning. As the bells recalled the memories of past Easters to my +mind, the neighbouring villagers were passing under my window in +picturesque costumes on their way to church. I could hear the sound of +footsteps, the rustle of petticoats, even a threat in the loud voices of +the young men. A few of them wore red and white flowers with green +leaves stuck in their hats. + +On the other side of the street, soldiers were leaning out of the window +of the Reds’ guard-room. A few were loafing about in the street. They +looked suspiciously at the peasants and as soon as these had passed they +talked among themselves excitedly. + +[Illustration: + + ON THE BANKS OF THE IPOLY. +] + +One soldier rang our front-door bell and insisted on being given a suit +of clothes, as he was going to a wedding. Gentlefolks had plenty to give +him. To give more weight to his claim he began to boast his prowess: +“The attack is expected at Uszok. We are going to wipe out the Czechs +and unite with the Russians, who have already crossed the Carpathians.” +He took what he had exacted under his arm and hurried off. + +When Aladár Huszár came home he spoke more cautiously than usual. + +“There is much ado among the comrades. On the 16th the Roumanians +attacked between the Szamos and the Maros. The Red International +Regiment fled at the first shot. How the Russian and Viennese Jews ran! +They stormed the trains in their panic, and left the poor Széklers to +their fate, even before the Roumanians had developed their attack.” + +We looked at each other: we had never imagined it like this. Even when +our sufferings seemed most unbearable we would have wished it otherwise. +Where are the British and the French troops? + +“The members of the local Directorate suppress the facts,” said Huszár, +after a long silence. “At any rate it looks suspicious that they should +again talk so much about the World-Revolution. The World-Revolution is +always to the front when their own affairs are on the decline. Their +newspapers are full of it; Italy and France are seething. Soviet rule +has become more powerful in Munich. The proclamation of the Soviet in +Vienna is only a question of hours.” + +How much of this is true? How much lies? Aladár Huszár began to roll +cigarettes. He offered me one: they always offer, always give, and I am +for ever asking and thanking. A match? I should have liked to ask for +one, but could not say the word, so I just held the cigarette in my +hand. Mrs. Huszár nodded to her husband: “Give her a light....” He +jumped up and went to the writing table and brought back a small +cigarette lighter in his palm. “Here is a little Easter present for +you.” + +His wife let her sewing fall into her lap and looked at me. “Well done,” +she said, “I hate seeing you obliged to ask for every trifle, when you +yourself have given up everything.” + +At that moment I saw behind the lovely cold face the warm heart it +endeavoured to hide. + +Huszár took his hat. “I will go to the railway station for a newspaper.” +He seemed restless. + +“What has happened?” asked his wife. + +He hesitated for a moment. “The Directorate has received a secret order +by telephone. The Cabinet has decided that hostages are to be taken.” + +A cloud seemed to pass over the brightness outside, and I felt suddenly +cold. This news was the most terrible we had yet heard. Hostages! The +foreign race is going to guarantee its life with Hungarian lives! + +A very little time seemed to have passed before the door flew open and +Aladár Huszár stood there, his eyes shining and his face drawn with +excitement. + +“They are done for!” He was so excited that he laughed spasmodically, +while his eyes were full of tears of emotion. “Look here!” He waved the +newspaper in front of us: “The Revolution is in danger!” + +In turn we snatched the newspaper out of each other’s hands. The General +Staff of the Workers’ and Soldiers’ Council had met on the 19th at the +Opera House. It was Kunfi who addressed the crowd: + +“The Entente is forging a ring of iron round Soviet Hungary.” + +We looked at each other. So they will not let us perish after all! Human +mercy comes to the rescue at last! + +“Just listen! Béla Kun himself admits that they are done for: ‘According +to reports the Roumanians have taken Szatmár-Németi. The inhabitants at +once abolished the Soviet Republic, hoisted white flags and raised +cheers for the King. Private property was re-established. The Roumanians +are advancing on Nagy-Várad. In Debreczen, however, the workmen managed +to suppress the Counter-revolution. Everybody must go to the front. If +necessary, we are ready to die for the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat!’” + +We have learned to read between the lines of ‘The Red Newspaper.’ They +are afraid, and in their fear they threaten furiously. The electrician +War Minister threatens the working classes: “Anyone committing acts of +indiscipline will be dealt with as if he were a Counter-revolutionary.” +As for the bourgeoisie, Pogány shook his fist at it during the stage +meeting at the Opera. + +“Comrades, we must inform the bourgeoisie that from this day we consider +it our hostage. (Violent applause.) Let the bourgeois take notice that +they will get no respite from any advance the Entente’s army may make, +because every step which brings the Serbian and Roumanian armies nearer +shall be made a bitter trial to the bourgeois amongst us. (Stormy +applause.) Let not the bourgeoisie rejoice, let it not stick white flags +out of its windows, for we shall paint them red in their life-blood!” +(Raving applause lasting for several minutes.) + +Then Számuelly mounted the tribune: “The Proletarian country is in +danger!” he exclaimed. “Death to all the enemies of the Proletariat! +Death to the bourgeois! Although no blood has yet been shed in defence +of the Republic, the blood of the Proletarians may yet flow, but then +bourgeois blood will flow too.” + +And the audience, the foreign crowd of the Workers’ Council, clapped +furiously as the Jew, Számuelly, prophesied the shedding of the blood of +the Hungarian Proletariat and the Hungarian bourgeoisie, stirred up +against each other. Labour, driven to the slaughter, is to vent its fury +and destroy the intellectuals. Magyardom is to crush Magyardom’s brain +with its own hand. + +Madness! They sentence both their slaves and their enemies. Will they +last long enough to accomplish the destruction of the nation? + +The general assembly on Saturday before Easter resolved that every +Proletarian must rise to arms in the defence of the Dictatorship. + +One is oppressed by a sense of calamity. The Roumanians in Nagy-Várad! +But on the other hand, the horrible Dictatorship is falling. Humanity +has pity on us. Even if the Roumanians make encroachments now, peace +will restore our territory to us. + +There were steps in the street. A man stopped on the kerb and looked up +at our window. I remembered that I had seen him on the same spot +yesterday. Mrs. Huszár pressed her husband’s arm. Then the street lamps +were lit, and we watched from the dark room. The sinister shape was +still standing at the corner. + + * * * * * + + _April 21st._ + +The town remained quiet and the house was wrapped in silence. I could +hear nothing but the throbbing of my pulse. Was that man still standing +at the corner? + +After midnight the roar of a single gun disturbed the night. I waited, +but the ominous silence returned. Such must be the silence in a lunatic +asylum at night.... The lamps burn low in the corridors, and now and +then steps pass between the cells. The watchman makes his round.... Out +there the Red patrols pass under the window. Dawn begins to break: +salvation has failed again. And yet the hours are flying for us. If the +powers of the Entente delay, the Dictatorship will make us pay for their +attempts. Let them hurry, lest they be too late. The Dictators are +proclaiming their threat that blood will flow. They are covering the +walls with posters: “To arms!” “Advance, Red soldiers!” “Rise in defence +of the Proletariat!” “The Revolution is in danger!” + +The fleeing Reds have been reformed near Debreczen and Nyiregyháza. A +number of battalions and batteries have been removed from this western +theatre. Trains are running at unusual hours: the Directorate is +nervous. The petty tyrants proclaim the victories of the Red army, the +reckless courage of the Proletarian heroes. Booty, innumerable +prisoners! The newspapers write in the same strain. From the capital +come telephone messages and telegrams in cypher. Meanwhile the Czechs +are shouting from the other bank: “Hey, Reds, there is a Red Easter in +store for you!” It is said that many soldiers deserted this night from +the town: certainly there seem to be fewer about than usual. They are +disillusioned now; when they enlisted, they were told: “Down with war! +Henceforth a soldier’s life will be exempt from danger. Red soldiers +will have good pay and they can do whatever they like.” And now, all of +a sudden, revolutionary court martials are established. Béla Kun +abolishes the Soldiers’ Councils and the ‘confidential’ system, and +behold, the soldiers have to go to war! + +Towards evening we went to the bank of the river. Tiny armed figures +were visible on the other shore, and single soldiers passed us in haste; +they had already removed the red from their caps and a few wore bonnets +of the old pattern. A cold wind was blowing, driving back the waters in +silvery ripples, and shaking the aspen trees; a shudder passed over the +reeds. Another soldier came along from the town. When he caught sight of +us he left the road and made quickly for the fields. + +“He’s deserting!” + +The small figures with bayonets on the other bank were gradually +absorbed by the darkness. A tree in blossom alone stood out white +against the leaden grey sky. Our souls knew hope again. If only the +frosty wind does not kill the early spring! + + * * * * * + + _April 22nd._ + +No news has reached us: the telegraph wires are silent: people have even +stopped whispering in the street. The soldiers are leaning indolently +out of the guard-room windows, and the Czech guns are silent. + +No news! Yet suddenly an awful reminder of the times we live in reached +my ear. A child was singing in the street. I could not see it, but could +hear that it was coming nearer and nearer, so I began to listen. The +little songster was just crossing the end of the narrow street and for +an instant the break in the houses gave his voice free access to us. “My +father ... my mother ...” It was a small boy and he was balancing +himself on the kerbstone as he repeated the refrain. Then I caught the +words: + +“My father, my mother, you may——for all I care....” + +The song went on, to the stupid tune of a Budapest music-hall ditty. I +have heard many disgusting things told of the new schools established by +the Bolsheviks, but I think this was the most disgusting—and the most +disastrous. The degradation of the Hungarian schools was not the +achievement of a day: it was started unobserved before the war by our +Freemasons’ educational policy and by Freemason mayors of the capital. +Then Károlyi came and prepared the way for Bolshevism in the education +of Hungary’s younger generation. The mass appointment of Jewish masonic +professors and teachers; the Bolshevik reform of school books; the +destruction of the souls of the children; the degradation of parental +authority; the systematic destruction of moral and patriotic principles; +the revelation of sexual matters; all these were the work of Károlyi’s +Government. The Soviet Government, when it came, had only to change a +few men and names, and the whole machine was ready to their hand, to +work exclusively, and to their entire satisfaction, in the interest of +revolution. + +One shudders at the thought of those who have the education of Hungary’s +childhood and youth in their hands. They all belong to the foreign race. +The Commissaries for Education: Kunfi, the morphomaniac; Lukács a +degenerate; Pogány, who is openly accused of murder; and Számuelly, the +murderer in Russia of captive Hungarian officers. The dictator of the +students, or so-called ‘young-workers,’ is an assassin, the same +Lékai-Leiter who had attempted to kill Tisza on the steps of the House +of Parliament the day before the outbreak of the Revolution. Murderers +and men devoid of moral sense, how should they consider schools as +anything but the means of propaganda, as devilish laboratories which may +serve to poison young guiltless minds? Normal education is a process of +civilization: Bolshevik education is demoralisation. + +In the dormitories of girls’ boarding schools young Jewish masters are +made to sleep, so as to accustom the little girls to the presence of +men. Jewish medical students accompany little girls to the mixed bathing +places that they may kill all modesty with ridicule. Sexual education +grows apace. The purpose of nursery schools has been changed: the +teachers have been informed confidentially that the kindergarten must be +used to estrange the children from their mothers and supplant the +family. All toys are declared common property in order that the children +may forget the crime of private ownership. And while our rulers are +forcing the present generation of youths into the Red army, they decree +that playing with lead soldiers must be forbidden to the coming +generation, lest one day the slaves dream of liberation. + +An order has been issued that the old reading and history books must be +given up: they are being replaced by new history books, written by +people who do not even know our language. The workshop of destruction is +producing new school books, for the Commissary for Education has given +instructions that in future all school books must preach the gospel of +class war. Hungarian literature is no longer to be taught; henceforth +nothing but ‘universal literature’ is to be taught in Hungarian schools. +Such scraps of our history as are allowed to be taught are falsified and +systematically besmirched: “John Hunyady was a mountebank, Matthias +Corvinus a charlatan, Denis Pázmándy a scoundrel.” + +It is not difficult to understand the purpose of the little boy’s +blasphemous song: let the children despise their fathers and mothers so +that even at home parents may fail in their efforts to repair the +destruction wrought in the schools. + +For fifty years a devilish fiend has been slowly robbing the Hungarian +people of its soul. Now that it has attained power it is destroying that +soul with feverish haste, lest they should recover their soul when they +regain their consciousness. + + * * * * * + + _April 25th._ + +Black and white shapes are circling in the sky: the storks have come +back, birds of so many legends and stories. They left us in the autumn, +stayed away for many months, and yet they have found their way back to +their own ragged nests on the trees along the banks of the Ipoly. + +I looked at them as they descended, calm and peaceful. They did not +attempt to take possession of a strange nest, of another bird’s home. +Mysterious, inviolable laws lead them to their own nests, regardless of +the fact that in our country, at the foot of their trees, a man may no +longer claim his own home. ‘Every house becomes common property,’ and he +who dares to oppose this order is tried by a Revolutionary Tribunal. + +Someone had gone out of the room and left the door open. I could see a +man in the corridor and heard him say that he had just come on foot, now +and then getting a lift on a cart. He brought a letter for Aladár Huszár +from his mother at Budapest. I could not help envying Huszár—for _me_ +there is never a letter, nor any news. + +Huszár showed me his letter: it read as though his mother were taking +leave of him on her death bed. They are starving in the capital and are +living under a perpetual threat. If three people stop to talk to each +other in the street they are promptly driven apart by the former +boisterous advocates of the right of free assembly. Nobody is allowed in +the streets after ten o’clock at night; even family gatherings at home +are prohibited, and after eleven o’clock all lights have to be +extinguished in the houses. People are spied on in their own homes by +the ‘confidential men’ who are quartered on them, and anybody who dares +to move a hand is denounced. Poor Mrs. Huszár complained bitterly in her +letter that a man-servant whom she had dismissed for theft had since +been quartered on her with his wife. They are her guardians. Another old +lady was compelled to find quarters for prostitutes, who received Red +soldiers at night. And these people have to be fed. They get drunk, +dirty the furniture and cover the floor with filth. There are no +servants: she herself has to clean up after them, to save the place from +pollution. Meanwhile the storks return to their last year’s nest. Nature +disregards man-made ordinances and continues her eternal laws. + +Instinctively I looked at the newspaper. News: the advance of the +Roumanians has been stopped. Lower down were three nominations: the +Revolutionary Cabinet has appointed the distinguished typewriter +salesman, Böhm,[2] Commander-in-Chief on the Eastern front. The Chief of +Staff of this ridiculous and humiliating Commander is to be the Austrian +comrade Aurelius Stromfeld, the very man who sent a note to Károlyi +informing him that the final victory of the Russian Soviet armies and +the World-Revolution were inevitable. What new misfortune is this gifted +but misguided megalomaniac preparing for us? The third nomination was +that of Számuelly to be the President of the Tribunal of Summary +Jurisdiction established on the Eastern front. He is to be the absolute +judge of all Counter-revolutionary movements behind the front. In his +order issued from General Headquarters he stated his intentions clearly: +“I do not ask the bourgeoisie for anything, but I should like it to +engrave my words on its memory: whoever raises his hand against the +power of the Proletariat signs his own sentence of death. As for the +execution of the sentence, it will be our business to attend to that.” + +Who is this man who has the power to speak like that? Whence does he +come, he who from this day onwards can dispose of our lives without +further appeal? + +He appeared in the dark beginnings of the Revolution, at the side of +Béla Kun. They crossed the Russian frontier together. Both brought with +them the instructions and the gold of Trotsky. + +I remember him: it was last winter, and at that time Visegrad street was +the well-known ‘secret’ nest of the Communists. Two figures were coming +towards me from the corner, from the direction of ‘The Red Newspaper’s’ +editorial offices: one was Maria Goszthonyi, who under the name of Maria +Csorba filled important functions in the Soviet and roused the Communist +rabble by her reckless speeches; the other was a young man who, although +he had no hump yet bore on his face that curious expression common to +hunchbacks. I learned later on that this man was Tibor Számuelly. + +His grandfather came from Galicia in his gabardine with a bundle on his +back. Tibor Számuelly came young to Nagy-Várad, and without possessing +any special gift for writing and endowed with a superficial education +only, he became a journalist. I may say here that my information +concerning him has been obtained from people who knew him personally at +that time. In the cafés he used to seek out quiet corners and sit if +possible alone at a table. He practically never removed his black +gloves—he always wore black clothes and a black tie, and his long +straight black hair was combed back from his forehead. His clean-shaven +consumptive-looking face was furrowed with blue-black shadows. + +[Illustration: + + TIBOR SZÁMUELLY. +] + +Presently this son of a Polish Jew became a Bohemian eccentric, and wore +clothes after the English fashion; but the change was only skin-deep, +his soul was filled with the ardour of the crowded Synagogue. It +remembered the dim lights of the eves of the old faith’s Sabbaths, the +seven lighted candles, the lust for vengeance of the despised. He mixed +little with Christians, and as for the Christian women of bad fame with +whom he came into contact, it was only to humiliate them (so he said) +that he sought their company. He spoke with hatred of everything that +was Hungarian, though he disguised his own characteristic name under a +Hungarian form. At the beginning of the war he was writing short +unimportant articles for a newspaper in Fiume. Then he joined the staff +of the _Catholic Hungarian Courier_. + +He was called up for military service when war broke out. For a time he +cleverly managed to postpone joining his regiment and then for a while +he shirked in various orderly-rooms behind the front. Later on he +surrendered to the Russians, and when the Revolution broke out there a +sudden change took place in the demeanour of this Jew boy, who till then +had been rude and overbearing with his subordinates and cringing to his +superiors. He quickly rose above the others. Soon he was seen recruiting +for the Red army among the Hungarian prisoners of war. He used threats +and every conceivable pressure. The Jewish Czars restored his freedom, +and in astonishing proof of racial solidarity, the insignificant little +Jew of Nyiregyháza became a commander in the Russo-Jewish army of the +Soviet. And then, at last, it seems, he gave the rein to his long-nursed +hatred: he ordered the slaughter of ninety-two Hungarian officers, +prisoners of war. + +Last year, in November, he came ‘home,’ and soon after met Károlyi at +Béla Kun’s quarters. Henceforth the two met often, and it was under +Károlyi’s protection that he proclaimed at Communist meetings: “Death to +the Bourgeois!” On the eve of March 22nd he was already Assistant +Commissary for War: now he has become President of the Revolutionary +Tribunals. + +Before he left Budapest for General Headquarters he was sitting one +afternoon in the window of Budapest’s smartest confectioner’s and was +looking out on the square. Several people who were close by heard him +say: “I am going to build a guillotine on this square. So many bourgeois +must be killed that the tumbrils will have to drive through pools of +their blood.” + +Somebody who had been to Budapest told me that Számuelly was surrounded +by terrorist guards, that his special train was provided with +machine-guns, and that an executioner always travelled with him. In the +Journalist’s Club, the revolutionary ‘Otthon,’ the once obscure +reporter, has become the most important personage among the journalist +representatives of his race. One of the most prominent among them, +Alexander Bródy, is said to have embraced him at a champagne supper and +to have hailed him as “Our prophet!” + +Yes, that is what he is, their prophet!... Now that I think of him, the +memory of his dark hyena-like features becomes more and more distinct. +He grins appreciatively at his new power. I can see his black sleek head +and his hand beckoning death. Gallows are erected wherever he goes. And +the gallows, like black Hebrew characters, remain in the landscape when +his special train has passed on to some other rebellious district. It is +in these black characters that this foreigner is inscribing his name +upon our history. Tibor Számuelly has been brought up in the secret +rites of hatred and belongs to an ultra-orthodox sect of oriental Jews +which is stricter in the observance of its ceremonies than any other. +The sect of _Chesidem_ resembles the Hebrews of the Old Testament, +grave, prejudiced and dark. It shuns the light of the sun. Its adherents +admit of no other truth than that which is contained in the _Thora_, and +that only because it is there. This sect interprets the covenant +strictly and to the letter; ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’ is +the foundation of its creed. + +Számuelly’s degenerate soul has been formed and shaped by these rites +and teachings. Thus he has become the most characteristic type of this +sect whose ruling spirits for many years have lived and increased +stealthily in our midst. Hatred has been given free rein, the type has +thrown off its mask, and the thirst for vengeance, stored up for +innumerable years, is about to be quenched. In the person of Számuelly +the Revolutionary Cabinet has found an executioner for the Hungarian +people who is blood of its blood, soul of its soul. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + + _April 24th._ + +As it was getting dark last night a man crept into the yard. He looked +round carefully: the street was empty: suddenly he ran up the back +stairs. + +Alarming news had been spreading over the town during the day: bands of +terrorists are going about arresting people. The Cabinet is issuing open +threats, becoming reckless in its fear of overthrow. Strict orders are +being sent to the provincial towns. The Directorate of Balassagyarmat +has been dismissed, having been accused of weakness and of favouring the +gentlefolk. New men are coming forward, a young fellow scarcely twenty +years old is to be the Dictator of the proud county. Another of the same +type is to command the garrison. Jews have gone, but still Jews are +coming. They have orders to take hostages in the county, so that should +the Czechs attack these could be thrown to the fury of the mob. +Something is necessary to occupy the rabble whilst the Directorate is +making its escape. + +Lights in the windows disappeared earlier than usual this evening, and +the steps of the patrols resounded through empty, overawed streets. + +Aladár Huszár is the friend of a people who are of no importance to-day. +The man who stole in by the back door brought a warning: he must escape, +they are going to arrest him to-night. So Huszár left his home and went +into the dark streets. + +The cold penetrated everywhere, even through the walls. We were sitting +in fur coats. The candle had burnt to the end, and there was no firewood +in the house. + +Suddenly we heard the noise of rifle-butts banging furiously upon the +door. + +Mrs. Huszár looked at me: “Is it for him, or is it for you?” + +We put out the candle and opened the window a little. Soldiers were +standing outside. “Is anything the matter?” + +“No,” came the answer; then a face emerged from the obscurity: “We’re +only making preparations.” The face looked scared. “We’re looking for +the comrade commanders.” + +“They’ve gone out.” + +There was a good deal of swearing. Then: “The good-for-nothing +scoundrels!” + +I wondered if the officers had deserted too! + + * * * * * + + _April 25th._ + +To-day has been like a nightmare. Bayonets have been glinting in front +of our windows. About noon soldiers poured through the main street. They +climbed fully armed into commandeered carts, and drove furiously towards +Örhalom. The Czechs have opened their attack! At nightfall the clatter +of arms was heard in the direction of the prison. Doors slammed and dogs +howled in the dark: the Communists were taking their hostages.... + +The telepathy of common disaster enables us to guess each other’s +thoughts; we say nothing, but we are thinking in common; never has there +been such sympathy among suffering humanity. On the Saturday before +Easter, only a few days ago, Aladár Huszár remarked: “I am so sorry for +you. It must be terrible to have to leave one’s own home, not knowing +whither to go and not being sure of a safe lodging for the night.” +To-day I thought precisely the same thing concerning him. He has gone, +with his faithful friend George Pongrácz. To-morrow they will come here +to fetch him and will search the house. We shall all be questioned. And +if they recognize me.... Well, so be it! + + * * * * * + + _April 26th._ + +It is impossible to sleep these nights, and the lumbering steps of +patrols passing in the icy darkness alone mark the progress of time. + +Early this morning a Red soldier called and inquired after Aladár +Huszár. “He’s got to report at once.” Then another came and questioned +the servants. Mrs. Huszár was unperturbed. They told her that if her +husband did not turn up they would arrest her in his place, so she +proceeded to pack a small bag, just as I had done not long before. About +noon detectives came and held a consultation in the ante-room. Then they +went through the house systematically, and as they proceeded I fled +before them, from room to room. When I could go no further I hid under +the staircase, feeling rather like an animal caught in a trap. Would +they find me? What good had my efforts been? Again I felt the invisible +hand groping around me.... + +They went, but others soon came. Across the road, at the corner, stood a +sentry, his face turned towards the house. In the afternoon posters +appeared on the walls—red paper with huge black letters: “He who +receives a visitor in his house will be summoned before the +Revolutionary Tribunal. Any stranger found within the town after +twenty-four hours will be expelled.” + +Life has fresh troubles in store for me every day. I am resigned to my +fate: but ten years’ hard labour are in store for those who have taken +me in! + +Mrs. George Pongrácz came to us, her husband has had to fly for his +life. They have only recently been married. Poor girl, she is left quite +alone. We tried to devise some plan to escape from this place. Mrs. +Pongrácz said at last: “In a village not far from here there’s a dear +old lady whom I know very well; nobody would look for you there.” + +We decided on it hurriedly. Mrs. Pongrácz wrote a letter to her friend, +Mrs. Michael Beniczky, at Szügy, and told her that Elisabeth Földváry, a +poor relation of the Huszárs, with a weak heart(!) begged her +hospitality for a few days as she was afraid of the Czech guns. Then she +left, and we made hasty preparations. Mrs. Huszár hid her husband’s arms +and clothes and then we collected all the letters and papers in the +house that might have been dangerous and made a fire of them in the +nursery. Huszár’s desperate counter-revolutionary writings went up in +flames—letters, handbills, appeals of the Women’s Federation—a sad _auto +da fé_: months of hard work, hope and enthusiasm were committed to the +flames. However, the children enjoyed it and danced round the +unaccustomed blaze; even we ourselves drew nearer and were glad of the +warmth. + +We were called up again during the night: a cart stopped in front of the +house, and the steps of soldiers resounded. Those who will live after us +will never be able to understand the terror and anxiety which were +conjured up by a few steps in the night, a cart stopping in front of the +house.... “They are coming...!” + +Mrs. Huszár went to the door. They were soldiers—two Red officers come +to commandeer night quarters. They marched in and took possession of a +room upstairs, and for a time we could hear them moving about overhead. + +Are the Czechs going to attack? But the great silence of expectation +continues undisturbed under the frigid sky. + + * * * * * + + _April 27th._ + +The riverside churches were ringing their bells for Mass, and the town +had turned its face in their direction. Our street was empty, except for +the Red soldier on sentry duty at the corner. Mrs. Huszár went with me +to the door, and when the Red sentry looked towards the town I slipped +quietly out. His back was turned to me and I escaped his notice. I +carried a tiny parcel under my arm, containing just a few things. How +little suffices for our bare needs! Mrs. Pongrácz followed me, and we +went quickly across the main street. + +I had not been in this direction since the evening when I arrived here, +and my imagination had replaced the topography of the town on the banks +of the Ipoly by quite a different place. It had placed an ancient town +hall with a venerable tower on the market place, where none actually +existed. It had placed around it old-fashioned houses with arcades where +in reality were tiny shops crowded together and an old fountain in the +middle of the square. I looked round, but reality left no impression on +me and the picture of my imagination remained. + +Whenever people came towards us I experienced a feeling of terror; I +raised my handkerchief and pretended to blow my nose. + +“If there are many more people coming,” I said, laughing even in my +distress, “I’m likely to get a sore nose.” + +Red soldiers were standing at the railway crossing, and they asked us +where we were going. + +“We are only going to Szügy, near by, to spend the day.” + +There came another few yards of street with suburban houses, and +suddenly we found ourselves on the main road among endless open fields +basking in the sunshine. There was a sharp wind blowing, but spring +hovered over the woods of the neighbouring hills. The wayside flowers +stood in the grass like long-waisted, wide-petticoated little peasant +girls. It was like a feast-day, a Sunday of a hundred bright colours. +Suddenly I felt an inexpressible desire for freedom. For weeks I had +been hiding among friends, stealthily, making myself as small as +possible, like one endeavouring to make his way through a thorny +thicket. Now at last I had reached the open and the sun was shining on +my face. I laughed with sheer joy, and the wind mimicked my mirth as it +swept softly over the land. + +As if the main road were a church parade, carriage followed carriage in +long procession, fat young Jews in service uniform with the Soviet cap +lolling within them. Fine thoroughbreds pranced beside them, stolen +horses with grooms in stolen liveries. A smart turn-out approached +rapidly, the harness and trappings ornamented with the silver arms of a +count. The coachmen wore a Hungarian livery. Lolling back on the +cushions was a vulgar-looking man, and beside him a shapeless but +smartly dressed female was making herself comfortable. + +“That is the Dictator of the county and his wife,” whispered Mrs. +Pongrácz; “I recognise Count Mailath’s mackintosh. The dress his wife is +wearing belonged to the Countess, she wore it when her husband was +installed Lord Lieutenant. These people have taken possession of the +castle of Gárdony and have had all the furniture they want sent from it +to their own house. The ‘comrade’ is said to be vastly annoyed because +coats of arms and crests ‘disfigure’ the cigarette-cases he acquired +there.” + +I turned my face towards the fields; the reflection of the sun glittered +in a circle round the spokes of the wheels and dust rose in long clouds +beneath them. When they had passed and the dust had settled I looked +anxiously behind me. Presently peasants on foot overtook us; it is only +honest people who walk nowadays. One bare-footed old peasant carried his +boots dangling from his crook over his back. Poor deluded millions! Do +they still believe that everything belongs to the Proletarians? Do they +still believe it when the carriages of their former rulers throw the +dust into their eyes as their new masters ride by in them? When will the +peasantry of this credulous country crush those who have dared to trick +it? + +I caught sight of the spire of a church beyond the turning of the road, +and shingled roofs hiding among the trees. There stood the fine old +County Hall, with its double roof dating from the period of Maria +Theresa—a red flag floating over it. And plastered all over the walls of +the cottages were the joyful posters: “Long live the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat.” + +We left the main road. A red handkerchief waved from a pole on top of a +peasant’s cottage: the Directorate had resided there. Then we crossed an +abandoned cemetery, a tall crucifix standing out darkly above the high +grass that covered the tombstones. But the sun was shining and the wind +blew freshly. We came to a neglected old garden; within the open gate of +wrought-iron Red Guards were loafing; happy or unhappy, whoever liked +could go in and out. A large number of munition cases were stacked in +the wood shed and on the terrace of the old manor-house. I looked at the +inscriptions: _Explosive._ _No. 15 ecrasite shell._ + +“There is enough here to blow up a town with.” + +Mrs. Pongrácz nodded. “In the next field there’s a Red Battery. The +Czechs in the vineyard are shelling it.” + +Beyond, above the shingled roof of the manor-house, two morose old firs +rose towards heaven, their lowest branches touching the young grass. The +house with its pillars reminded me of the old garden in Algyest which +was my childhood’s delight. But here the soldiers had trampled down the +grass of the lawn, and the heavy munition waggons had cut deep ruts in +the road. Near the gate where the soldiers were, crumpled paper and +broken bottles were lying about. But behind the house, on the other +side, the garden was practically untouched, and amidst the young +awakening of Spring it was beautiful in its wild tangle of growth. + +A door opened and an old lady came towards us. She had scarcely looked +at me when she said: “You did well, child, to come to me.” + +She had scarcely looked at me! This was Hungary indeed—the old, +hospitable Hungary which to-day is forbidden by the immigrants!... +“Anyone receiving a visitor in his house will be summoned before the +Revolutionary Tribunal....” + +The overgrown garden peeped in through the grated window; the trees were +covered with moss, and old stone seats lined the path. Here was peace. +The path was over-run with grass and my feet left no mark on it. I can +stop here, even I to whom rest has been so long denied. No search will +be made for me here, and I shall be able to sleep at night. There will +be no knockings at my window, my dreams will not be haunted by the sound +of cartwheels, the ringing of bells, the tramping of feet.... + + * * * * * + + Szügy, _April 28th_. + +The sun shone into the room; its rays rested on the old furniture and +travelled on with soundless steps. Mrs. Beniczky, who was sitting at the +writing table, turned now and then towards me and spoke in a low voice, +cautiously, for listening ears are everywhere. She inquired about my +family, for she had known the Földvárys in other days. My answers became +more and more confused. Later on she began to talk of the +Counter-revolution and mentioned my name, my real name, spoke of me, of +my real self. The blood rushed to my face: she must have thought I had +not heard her, for she repeated her question: “Do you know what happened +to Cécile Tormay? My daughter met her last winter.” + +“They say she has escaped to Switzerland....” How ashamed of myself I +felt! I had stolen into this house under a false name, with false +credentials. I had asked my hostess for shelter, though I knew it meant +danger to her. I hated myself, and it was on the tip of my tongue to +tell her the truth. Oh, why could she not see that I was deceiving her, +she who received me with the words: “You have done well, child, to come +to me.” + +We were three at dinner: a visitor had come from Balassagyarmat to see +Mrs. Beniczky. We talked of books, and the guest, who had no more notion +of my identity than our hostess, mentioned _The Old House_. + +“What has happened to Cécile Tormay? I am told there is a warrant out +against her.” + +It was fortunate that I was sitting with my back to the light. Again I +stuttered something about Switzerland. As if speaking to herself, Mrs. +Beniczky said: “But why did she not come here? I would have hidden her +so that nobody could have found her.” + +What a burden of self-reproach these words lifted from my conscience; +they told me that it was not entirely by favour of an assumed name, but +to some extent for my own sake, that I was received here. + + * * * * * + + _April 29th._ + +This morning the garden beyond the two tall firs was deliciously quiet: +the trees and shrubs seem to exclude everything that makes life vile and +terrible. + +Later in the day one of the maids overheard some soldiers talking near +the pump. Somewhere in the neighbourhood a priest has been arrested and +they are going to execute him because a red, white and green flag has +been found in his possession. To the Revolutionary Tribunal with him who +treasures a Hungarian flag! The ‘Cabinet’ has ordered that every flag, +with the exception of red or black ones, must be given up. Poor +Hungarian flag! Between the black and yellow of the Austrian and the red +of the Bolsheviks, fate has granted it scarcely an interlude in which to +float freely over a free people in a free country. Henceforth the +national flag is proscribed in the land of the Hungarian nation. + +The soldiers went on to talk of other things. One whispered: “Have you +heard that Comrade Számuelly is hanging people in Hajdúszoboszló?...” + +Reality has penetrated the garden with all its hideousness. Trees and +shrubs can keep it out no longer. Death to everything that is Hungarian! +In the county of the noble Hajdú, the Jewish Dictatorship, in flight +before the Roumanians, is hanging people—Hungarians. From General +Headquarters Comrade Böhm is driving our people to the slaughter-house. +It is said that the pavements of the capital are drenched with rivers of +blood. At night there are frequent splashes in the Danube between Buda +and Pest. People disappear and never return. The gaols are crowded. +Early risers find pools of blood on the chain bridge, with a crushed hat +beside them. Who has been murdered? Who are the murderers? There is no +answer, but the blood and the news spread. + + * * * * * + + _April 30th._ + +The blossoming plum-trees stood like brides in the grass: whenever the +breeze rose their white veils fluttered. Time was marked only by the +shadow of a slender tree which swept like a giant clock-hand over the +lawn and disappeared. Evening fell. + +On the main road a soldier on horseback came slowly into sight. He wore +the gay hussar’s cap of olden times and his dolman swung on his shoulder +with the paces of his horse. He looked as if he had stepped out of a +picture-book of the past into a strange world of new soldiers with +Soviet caps. A Hungarian hussar, a bugler! Remote from the present as +his appearance was, the sound of his bugle seemed even more to belong to +the past, and the cool evening resounded with the ancient call—a call +composed by Haydn, a solemn call: ‘To prayer.’ The music spread and the +forbidden call echoed through the village. + +In front of the gate the hands of the Red soldiers went instinctively to +their caps. But they stopped halfway, for all prayer is forbidden. On +the other side of the road the political delegate to this front, the +little Jew Katz, was walking about in patent leather boots. Suddenly he +recognised the tune of the bugle call, and his face became distorted +with rage. He ran angrily towards the bugler. The soldiers looked down +as though to avoid the Syrian eye of the Revolutionary Tribunal. + +[Illustration: + + GEORGE LUKÁCS _alias_ LÖVINGER. + + ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR FOOD. +] + +For some time after silence had been restored and the dust had settled +down I stood there, waiting. Nowadays one is always waiting. How many +things have failed to come! The ultimatum of the Entente, the French +army from Marseilles, British relief troops, the opposition Government +in Fiume, counter-revolutions, regiments of officers attacking from +beyond the frontiers, relieving Szekler battalions.... And yet it was +good to hope: it helped one to live. But these are things of the past. +Now it is only the Rumanians who are coming, and Számuelly is having +people hanged.... + +The night was long and restless. I put out the candle for economy’s sake +and for hours lay motionless in the dark. Wherever my thoughts strayed +they encountered filth and blood. + +Then suddenly, out there in the spring night, a nightingale began to +sing. I groped my way through the dark room and opened the window. You +little artist, the only artist who may practise his art freely in this +sad country to-day! What was it I read in the newspaper this morning? +“Order ... National Council for Intellectual Production.... The +publication of intellectual products is exclusively in the hands of the +National Council....” Art is the vehicle which conveys to us the eternal +mystery of the universe. Art is faith wrought into the visible. Art is +an aristocracy. Art has precursors, and woe to him who attempts to limit +its expanse with shackles. He kills thought, he strikes the image of God +as it were in the eye. + +Those who have adopted the precepts of Karl Marx speak to-day of ‘party +art,’ ‘mass art,’ and ‘co-operatives of spiritual production.’ What +perversely wicked fools are these people whose leader claims to be an +author and yet kills literature in Hungary! George Lukacs-Lowinger, the +hydrocephalic little Jewish philosopher, son of a millionaire banker, +who became a Proletarian apostle through the influence of his Bolshevik +wife. As Deputy Educational Commissary of the Soviet he had the book and +music shops closed down, and after having thus stopped all literary life +and effort, he invented ‘the literary register’! He discovered that +talent had to be classified, and that each class had to be shut up in a +separate drawer, like the goods in a grocer’s shop. He therefore decreed +that writers were to be divided into three classes, and that the +question as to which class a writer belonged was to be decided by a +special Directorate. The authors are to receive monthly salaries +according to the class to which they are allotted, and for this salary +they have to write. They have no other source of income, but the fixed +salary is paid to them whatever they produce, so long as it is in +accordance with the interests of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat and +Class War. Needless to say, the Communist poets all belong to the +highest class. + + * * * * * + + _May 1st._ + +Early this morning the sounds of a Gypsy band came from the village, +playing the Internationale; thus I realised that this was May Day. + +Strict orders have been issued that the village is to be draped in red. +A red flag must be hoisted on the town hall, and red ribbons are to +float from the windows of the cottages. + +The Gypsy band came up to the house and played on the terrace, and the +soldiers sang. Mrs. Beniczky and I withdrew to the bottom of the garden. +Everything has been commandeered by the Reds: a roast is preparing for +them in the kitchen, and other dishes were in process of making. +To-night there is going to be a ball. “Two balls,” said the chambermaid, +“because we Proletarians refuse to dance with the peasant girls.” + +Once upon a time May Day was the day of youth, the day of festive +excursions for little sempstresses, students, apprentices and children. +Then it became the day of manifestations, and, later, of threats. The +new saviours of the world promised the millenium for this day. On a +blood-soaked land the blood-maddened masses are streaming towards the +final battle which is to bring them an utterly unattainable victory. Red +flags unfurled in a storm of blood are floating under a sky painted red +by incendiary fires. + +The first of May has been selected by the Communists for the birthday of +the world-revolution. Lenin’s messages are being scattered broadcast. +Moscow has sent its propaganda gold. And the Dictators of the +Proletariat are offering their slaves the scent of blood, so that this +May shall be their victory. + +In Budapest preparations for this festival have been going on for weeks. +They hoped to celebrate it with a victory for the Red arms, but for +victory they have had to substitute shams. The further the Red army has +been forced to retire in the East, the louder they proclaim their Red +May. + +_Panem et circenses!_ There is no bread, the capital faints for lack of +food, so let there be a circus for the people. The last rags are falling +from the backs of the destitute millions, so let the town be garbed in +red. Entire houses are covered with it; bridge-heads, terraces, walls; +even the electric trams have been painted blood-red. The Revolutionary +Cabinet has exchanged thirty millions’ worth of cattle in Vienna for the +red decorations of starving Budapest. The programme of the festivities +is so long that the newspapers have no space to report the defeats on +the Eastern front. + +There are meetings and processions everywhere; everybody has to join in; +everybody has to decorate his house; otherwise.... May, Spring, glorious +feast of freedom, he who dares to remain indifferent to these will be +summoned before a Revolutionary Tribunal. + +The entire capital has turned red, and on the red background gigantic +white plaster statues have been set. On the drill ground a red-covered +coffin, two stories high and forty-five yards long, has been erected to +the memory of Martinovics, to the leader of the peasant rising, Dózsa, +to Charles Liebknecht of Spartacist fame, and to Rosa Luxemburg. + +The entrance of the tunnel under the castle hill in Buda is draped in +red, and plaster statues of Soviet soldiers with terrifying faces and +with rifles raised ready to strike are standing beside it. The naked red +giant, hammer in hand, of ‘The People’s Voice’ is displayed at the +street corner: “Death to the bourgeois!” + +The memorial of our millenary is also covered with red. Over the statue +of Arpád, the conqueror, which has been covered with planks, a plaster +statue of Marx has been erected. In front of the House of Parliament, +like a blood-covered giant bladder, is a red globe. Andrássy’s statue +has been covered by a red Greek temple, and there again, ten yards high, +are the heads of Marx, Lenin, Liebknecht, Engels and Rosa Luxemburg. +Plaster, plaster, red cloth (made of paper), red columns, red +flag-staffs and flags, wreaths, five-pointed Soviet stars. A sickening +red disguise over the deadly pallor of the Hungarian capital. + +A red rag rouses a thirst for blood in a frenzied bull. What is it they +want, there, on the banks of the Danube? What is it all for? Is it a +sudden madness, or is it the accomplishment of the frightful prophecy of +the Apocalypse? + +I took up my Bible. The prophecy and its realisation stood out in red +letters before my eyes. But a few days later in the prophecy there comes +one on a white horse, dressed in white linen. And the white one +vanquishes the red. + + * * * * * + + _May 2nd._ + +News has just reached us: the Red army has retired before the Rumanians +and has crossed the Tisza. The Serbians have occupied Hódmezövásárhely. +The Czechs have occupied Miskolcz and are attacking in two sectors. The +population is helping them and there is no resistance; the Reds are in +flight. What a terrible position is ours: the invaders fill us with +horror, and yet we await them eagerly: we look to assassins to save us +from our hangman. And while we bite our lips in helpless anguish our +sufferings are unheeded by humanity, which is concerned only with the +fact that the Soviet Republic protects foreigners. The Republic of +course has decreed that its agents must behave with the greatest +courtesy to foreigners, and it has established an ‘Office for the +protection of Aliens.’ Is there not a single foreigner who thinks of +asking his own people for help for us, who did not intern them during +the war and are now persecuted slaves in our own country? + +In past centuries the Rumanians and Serbs fled to us for asylum against +their own tyrants, and to us also came the wandering Jew. But now they +are all working together to wipe us from the face of the earth. Yet we +shared with them everything we had, and they readily received our +protection. It is said that only a misguided fraction of the Jews is +active in the destruction of Hungary. If that be so, why do not the Jews +who represent Jewry in London, in New York, and at the Paris Peace +Conference disown and brand their tyrant co-religionists in Hungary? Why +do they not repudiate all community with them? Why do they not protest +against the assaults committed by men of their race? + + * * * * * + +A storm is coming, and its breath bends the trees of the garden. The +branches of the old firs rise and fall over the lawn like slime-covered +oars on a turbulent lake. The leaves of the aspen are thrust apart by +the wind as if it were blowing aside the hair from a face walking +against the storm. The willow bends as if it were gathering flowers in +the grass. The guns thunder near Örhalom. The wind is rising, and +already it is roaring like furious giant hounds barking at the setting +sun. + +The soldiers say that the Czechs are going to attack to-night. + +[Illustration: + + THE RED MAY DAY IN BUDAPEST. +] + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + + _May 3rd._ + +A wild night, like a witches’ Sabbath. The nightingale did not sing, the +only sound was the roar of the guns. The shells are still stacked on the +other side of the wall of my room, out there on the terrace, and if in +the dark a shell were to strike here, not one stone of the village would +be left on another. But there is so much misery nowadays that no one +troubles about such things. + +Again the attack did not come off, and during the whole night the garden +was wringing its green hands. I was awakened early by excited voices, +all talking of the hopeless situation of the Proletarian army. The +Rumanians have occupied the bridge-heads at Szolnok and are marching on +Budapest. Béla Kun has fallen. + +The rumours spread through the villages, and the peasant members of the +small Directorates, recruited by force, are saying with pallid lips: “I +cannot be blamed, I have only done what I was told. No harm can come to +me, I never wanted it.” The Communists of Szügy have suddenly become +very polite: the Red soldiers actually saluted us. “What is going to +happen?” I asked one of them, and as I did so a drunken voice shouted in +the yard: “Down with the Dictatorship of the Proletariat!” The political +delegates to the front have vanished, and disorderly, ugly indiscipline +has taken hold of the men. Sergeant Isidor Grosz shouted his orders in +the village street in vain, no one paid the least attention to him. One +of the soldiers shouted at him: “Shut up! You left your battery, didn’t +you, comrade, when the Czechs were shelling us?” I remembered the story +of this Isidor Grosz. He went to see his fiancée, having written out a +pass for himself and forged his commander’s signature to it. When he +turned up again his commander brought him before a court martial. Then +the 32nd regiment of heavy artillery began to grumble, and Isidor Grosz +ran straight to Béla Kun to complain. The discipline in the Red army is +as loose as this everywhere, which explains the feeble resistance it is +making. Meanwhile Comrade Böhm, the Commander-in-Chief, declares that +Proletarian self-respect is everywhere victorious. + +The door opened; Mrs. Beniczky looked round and then said in a whisper: + +“The Counter-revolution has broken out in Balassagyarmat. People are +shouting in the street: “We never were Communists!” Our people have +seized a telegram: in it the Soviet Cabinet has disclosed the situation. +It has fallen.” + +Steps came along the terrace. We looked round in alarm. It was Mrs. +Aladár Huszár. + +What had happened in Balassagyarmat? And her husband? She made a sad +gesture, then said that I must go with her. The Czechs were attacking +and Balassagyarmat was preparing to receive them. They only want the +railway line. Szügy is not going to be occupied, so that if I remained +here I should still be in the Soviet Republic. We should have to hurry. + +“So they have not fallen after all? And what about the +Counter-revolution?” + +She told us hastily that a meeting had been held at the square in front +of the county hall. Captain Bajatz, who last winter had driven the +Czechs out of the town, announced from the balcony that the situation +was hopeless. “It is a military impossibility to hold the town.” An +officer then exclaimed: “Down with the Dictatorship of the Proletariat!” +Whereupon Comrade Sugár, the political delegate, elbowed his way to the +front on the balcony and incited the people against the bourgeoisie and +the officers. “They must be extirpated! Spare neither women nor +children! It is they who have brought the Czechs down on us!” The +attitude of the crowd changed suddenly: fists were raised and bayonets +pointed towards the bourgeoisie. Blood flowed. Captain Bajatz fled: he +was last seen riding towards Kóvár, and as he reached the bridge the +Reds opened fire on him. That was the gratitude of Balassagyarmat for +his having saved it once. However, he spurred his horse and with two +other officers rode over to the Czech lines. Since then the other bank +of the Ipoly has livened up. And in the streets of the town the +Proletarians are clamouring for our death and shout that they are going +to kill the hostages if the Czechs enter. “The whole town is in an +uproar, and the railway barriers are guarded. Let us go!” + +I was loth to go, and Mrs. Beniczky looked affected too. She said +nothing, but she must have wondered that I should leave her now, when it +was fear of a Czech bombardment that had driven me here. + +“I must explain.... It was not because of the—of the bombardment that I +came here.” + +“I knew that much, Elisabeth; it was not fear that brought you here. But +I did not question you, I just enjoyed having you.” + +The assumed name suddenly became unbearable. + +“Dear Mrs. Beniczky, I am not the person you think.” + +She stepped back and looked at me in surprise. “But who are you then?” + +Her eyes sparkled when I told her. “Goodness me! But then....” She +kissed me and her face showed clearly that she was anything but +displeased. “Mind you come back if things turn out otherwise than you +expect.” And she looked after us as long as her eyes could follow. + +Most of the soldiers had removed the red ribbon from their caps and had +replaced it by a white flower. By nightfall whole troops of them were +going off. A bandylegged, unkempt young Jew was hurrying towards Mohora. +“There goes Béla Kun’s soldier!” the Reds shouted. They laughed and one +of them spat in the dust. + +As we approached the town the country became more and more deserted. We +could hear the sound of rifles in the distance. The poplars along the +Ipoly were bent as though the weight of the leaden sky pressed them +down. Everything bowed to the wind, the dust raced along, and petals +were swept in showers from the fruit trees. When we had reached the +streets two soldiers, pale as death, came running past us. They glared +at us suspiciously, with frightened eyes. Others followed them, carrying +rifles and haversacks. They shouted excitedly at us: + +“Into the houses. Nobody must remain in the streets.” + +Another group came running along, dragging a little fair-haired +lieutenant with them. They were holding his hands, and pulling him along +so that he should not escape. They even implored him: they needed him. +Opposite some railings they knelt down, the raised stocks of their +rifles pressed against dead-white cheeks. + +“The Czechs are here!” + +We reached the house and banged the door behind us. Machine-guns rattled +and a gun roared, making the windows shake. Opposite, under the palings, +soldiers bent low and ran feverishly towards the barracks at the end of +the town. + +“There they are, near the wood. They have crossed the Ipoly!” + +No human being was now visible in the streets. The rattle of the +machine-guns continued, and the guns fired more rapidly, the shells +whining through the air above our heads and bursting in the vineyards +towards Szügy. A cloud rose wherever they struck the earth. + +“The church spire of Kóvár has been hit, it’s disappeared altogether.” + +On the main road some cows were rushing along in a wild stampede, the +heavy coat of the cow-herd swinging right and left as he ran. Everything +was dashing for shelter. + +The street became darker and quieter, and the rifles alone broke the +silence of the night. The electric lights were out, the current had +failed. + +Hours passed, then heavy fists were heard banging at some door. Armed +men clattered past our window and went on towards the prison. The +unsuccessful Counter-revolution had disclosed the honest people. Another +door banged in the next street: they were taking hostages. And in every +part of Hungary doors are banging like that to-night.... + + * * * * * + + Balassagyarmat, _May 4th_. + +We are still ascending our blood-covered Calvary; later on its stations +may show up clearly. There, at that corner, did they put the cross on +our shoulders, there did they smite our faces, there did they spit into +our eyes, there did we collapse under the cross, and nobody came to help +us to bear it. We had to rise and drag it further. + +Yesterday we thought we had escaped. Yesterday the news came that the +Cabinet had fallen and that the Red armies were everywhere on the run. +To-day they have shunted the ill-success of their arms and the people’s +fury on to the bourgeoisie. The game of the Károlyi revolution is being +repeated. Instead of pogroms, let there be massacres of Christians. They +spoke of it at the market place: Számuelly is coming to restore order. +The lives of the fallen Red soldiers must be revenged. + +Mobilisation!... The newspaper seems to be composed entirely of +exclamation marks. ‘To the factory workers!’ ‘Order!’ ‘Appeal!’ +‘Decree!’ + +Comrade Pogány has sounded a tocsin of alarm: “The news from the front +is bad. Our defeat at the front means the return of the Dictatorship of +the Bourgeoisie, our victory means the conservation of the Dictatorship +of the Proletariat. Everything depends on organised labour. To-day the +position is this: the revolutionary Proletariat of Budapest can no +longer trust the front, on the contrary, it rests with the Proletariat +of Budapest to save the front by its revolutionary impetus. The +Dictatorship has reached its crisis....” + +Only after this confession did the newspaper give a belated account of +the May festivities of the capital. The town in scarlet: hundreds of +thousands in the streets: an exodus to the woods: illuminations, +fireworks.... And the poor people who expected to be fed on the festive +occasion staggered back like madmen to the great incertitude, hungry, +and their eyes sore with the scarlet glare. + +The deadly colour of the red madness was still on the walls of the +houses when at 2 p.m. the trembling Cabinet met in the great room of the +Town Hall. Meanwhile rain had begun to fall, and the thirty millions’ +worth of red paper-cloth was soaked; red streamed down the houses, the +walls, the plaster statues, the pavement. Everything was painted red. It +is said that the town looked like a huge blood-covered slaughter-house. +And then the news spread that the Dictatorship had fallen. + +The newspapers reported the details of the emergency meeting of the +Workers’ Council. Béla Kun shouted to the audience that “The masses of +the Red army are fleeing before the hireling armies of Imperialism. +Looking now,” he said with raised voice, “at Soviet Hungary, I remember +a story by Gorki. Gorki went to Paris in search of the spirit of +Revolution, seeking its aid for the struggling revolution of the Russian +Proletariat. He searched for the ancient Revolution, crowned with the +good Phrygian cap, he searched and inquired, and at last was led to a +hotel where he found a courtesan, a woman fallen more or less to the +level of a street prostitute, and he asked her not to give herself to +the Czar, but to help the Revolution. But the woman the Revolution had +turned into a courtesan gave herself none the less to the Czar; so Gorki +ends with these words: ‘I wanted to spit my bloody, purulent saliva into +her face.’” + +That is the kind of thing Béla Kun remembers when he looks at ‘this +Soviet Hungary’ and he dares to say it to a race to whom Louis Kossuth +once said: “I prostrate myself before the greatness of the Nation.” +Kossuth prostrated himself while Béla Kun thinks of expectorating. + +I read the report to the end: nobody seems to have risen to choke the +words in his throat. In his awful Ghetto-lingo Béla Kun went on: + +“... It is not the Rumanians, it is our own troops who are a danger to +Budapest. We had to disarm the units which returned from the northern +part of the Tisza, so as to save at least their weapons for the +Proletariat. The morale of the troops is such that Budapest is +helplessly at the mercy of a Rumanian attack. The question arises, +comrades, shall we give up Budapest, or shall we fight for Budapest? I +have always told my comrades that I know neither morality nor +immorality. I know of only two things; those that are useful to +Proletarianism and those which endanger Proletarianism. And I declare +that it is dishonourable to tell the bourgeois the truth if this truth +is to be hurtful to the Proletariat. But, comrades, I will not deceive +the Proletariat. I will tell you that the workers’ battalions are +wanting in the fighting spirit which would entitle us to think of the +salvation of Budapest....” + +Thus does this man speak of his own character, the man who in his +absolute power admits that: “We were a small group, in opposition to the +majority of working men, when we started the fight for the +Dictatorship.” And he reveals the terrible secret of his success: +Károlyi’s high treason. “I feel somehow that if the Dictatorship were to +perish now, it would perish only because it gained a bloodless victory. +It was too cheap, it was given us for nothing....” + +In fact, it cost nothing except Judas’ money and perhaps the existence +of Hungary. For now Béla Kun has renounced the whole of Hungary and is +ready to satisfy any territorial demands the Czechs, Rumanians and Serbs +may raise, on condition that his power is left to him, and “Budapest, +where the protest against capitalism can make a stand.” + +His is no longer a human thirst for power: it is an insatiable animal +greed, which allows the limbs of its prey to be torn off as long as it +can devour the heart. After having bartered away the land which the +nation has held for a thousand years in exchange for a single town, he +has telegraphed to our hungry neighbours, offering them the ancient soil +of the nation. And all he has to say to his comrades about this +unexampled deed is this: “It was not for our pleasure that we sent those +telegrams to the surrounding bourgeois states....” + +A stranger soul has never used stranger language in Hungary. + +[Illustration: + + BÉLA KÚN GIVES AN ADDRESS IN KASSA. +] + +While Béla Kun was declaiming: “I am not in despair ... I do not want to +make you despair, comrades ... you will never hear despondent words from +my lips.... I shall never give it up.... I say we won’t be +downhearted ... bad times, but not hopeless....” news was brought to the +assembly: the position in the field is not hopeless! The attitude of the +meeting altered at once. The orator became truculent once more. + +“If possible we must defend the Dictatorship before Budapest, through +the Bakony, to Wiener Neustadt.... We must not resign our power!” + +The Workers’ Council then adopted a resolution—that it is the duty of +organised labour “to defend to the last drop of blood the achievements +of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat.” + +How this defence is to be conducted was revealed by a comrade called +Surek: + +“Honoured Workers’ Council.... The bourgeoisie is grinning and rubbing +its hands everywhere. We must freeze this grin on its face! To-morrow we +must go to the factories and our first duty will be to exterminate the +bourgeoisie effectively, in the strictest sense of the word. We must +keep our pledge that when the Entente comes here it shall find nothing +but mountains of bourgeois corpses and a determined Proletariat. Enough +bourgeois must not be left alive to form a Government.” + +In deference to foreign countries this speech was not reported in the +papers; but political agitators are spreading the words of Comrade +Surek. + +Now and then a bowed female form passes the window, her face set towards +the prison, carrying food for some hostage. The observation post of the +Reds has been established on the prison roof, just above the hostages. +Let the Czechs shell it! Soldiers stop the women, inspect their baskets +and take whatever they fancy. Then they say, as a parting greeting: +“That is the last dinner you need bring! If the Czechs enter, we shall +hang the swine.” + + * * * * * + + _May 5th._ + +The bombardment has ceased and the town is creeping out of its holes. +But people pass each other stealthily, without exchanging words, as if +they dared no longer talk. And above the county hall the wind is toying +with the red flag. A blood-red shawl is floating in the spring breeze: +Szolnok has been retaken. + +In the afternoon Gregory, the Huszárs’ coachman, came running +horror-stricken from the town: the Reds have declared that instead of +Aladár Huszár they are going to arrest his wife. + +It was about ten o’clock when there was a knock at the door. + +“Let me go,” I said to my friend. Are they coming for her, or has her +husband come back, or are they searching for me? The candle guttered in +the wind, and at the garden gate three men with fixed bayonets emerged +from the dark. They pushed me aside without saying a word and marched up +the stairs into the room. I ran and got in front of them. + +“What do you want?” + +They strode towards me menacingly and suddenly I found myself +surrounded. They looked round suspiciously, and the leader said roughly: +“Why is there a light in this house?” + +I gave some explanation. One of the soldiers, a long, angry-faced man, +leant over me threateningly: + +“This is no time to have lights burning. Just you look out! If we catch +you again we shall hang you on that lamp-post there, at the corner.” + +When they went I felt as if a throttling hand had released my throat. + + * * * * * + + _May 6th._ + +I have been thinking of my mother all morning. This is her name day, and +I cannot be with her. Fate is continually pushing back the hands of the +clock that will strike the hour of our reunion. + +The town is beflagged with red flags. What has happened? Szolnok? Or is +it some other victory? + +The Powers of the Entente have ordered the Rumanians back, and now they +are standing waiting beyond the Tisza. Meanwhile we perish here. + +Számuelly has no time to come here, luckily: he is restoring order in +the towns which put out white flags on the arrival of the Rumanians. Six +Hungarians were hanged on the 3rd of May. Mrs. Huszár received the news, +one of the victims being a relation of hers, Béla Batik, an only son the +war left to his mother. Számuelly sat in judgment over him. “Off you go +to the gallows!” said he, and he himself put the halter round his neck. +Then he lit a cigarette and clapped Batik on the shoulder saying: “It +will be all right, my hangman has the knack of it. Listen, you dog! I +grant you the time it takes me to smoke this cigarette. If you will tell +me meanwhile the names of your accomplices I will let you off.” He then +sat down on a chair and smoked while the other stood under the gallows +with the rope round his neck. The cigarette was finished. “Long live the +White army and Hungary!” Batik shouted, and Számuelly released the trap +with his own hand. + +Bloodstains multiply everywhere. We now know the names of at least two +of the victims whose blood has been spilt on the chain bridge. They were +Alexander Hollán and his father. They had worked hard all their lives +and they were slaughtered by those who called themselves the leaders of +the ‘workers.’ + +It happened on the 27th of April. All over Budapest it was forbidden for +anybody to be in the streets after 10 p.m. The window blinds had to be +drawn and if a light was visible in a window the ‘Terror Boys’ fired at +it. Armed lorries were continually rushing about in the dark streets. +The town listened with bated breath: hostages were being taken. Motors +were racing up the castle hill: it was a hunt for human victims. When +these had been collected a car crossed over to Pest and stopped on the +bridge. The two Holláns were hustled out on to the lower quay. Probably +it was there that their captors intended to do the deed, but for some +unknown reason they ordered their victims back again into the car. They +started off but stopped again at the pillar and obliged the tortured men +to get off. The motor-car waited near by and those in it heard a violent +altercation going on in the dark. Shots were then fired and there +followed two splashes in the Danube. + +Nobody has seen the two Holláns since. The story of the happenings was +told by Karátson, a Secretary of State and one of their fellow +prisoners. Then, one does not know how, the news filtered out and is +being whispered to-day behind the closed doors and windows of Budapest. +Many know it, only poor Alexander Hollán’s wife is in ignorance. The +Communists declare that her husband is in gaol, and at noon her little +grey shadow waits day after day amongst the other women at the prison +gate. She brings food and linen to her husband and sends messages, and +thanks the terrorists at the gate for transmitting them. Meanwhile the +Danube carries her dead gently towards the sea. + +The prisons are crowded with hostages awaiting their fate. Death +perpetually hovers over them, for they are threatened daily with +execution and daily one or another of them is led off to the prison +yard. They blindfold him and fire over his head—for fun. The hangmen of +to-day greatly enjoy gloating over their victims’ fear. Yet to produce +terror is the delight of degraded souls. Hearsay reports hundreds who +are the innocent inhabitants of prisons, but names cannot be +ascertained. Yet we know there are Archduke Joseph Francis, Bishop Count +John Mikes, Alexander Wekerle, the former Prime Minister, the president +and the vice-president of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, several +former Ministers, court dignitaries and members of parliament, generals, +lord lieutenants, landlords, and many others, among them the aged Count +Aurel Dessewffy, Lord Chief Justice, who was dragged by Red soldiers +from the side of his wife’s deathbed to be cast into prison. There is +the élite of the Hungarian nation, with many others whose names have not +reached me. Many unknown people, students, women, farmers, +manufacturers, even some workmen. They are all hostages—prisoners in +their own country—pawns for the lives of Béla Kun, Számuelly, Pogány, +Landler and other comrades. + + * * * * * + + _May 7th._ + +Now and then comes the sound of distant gunfire. Whence does the wind +bring it? The Reds have beaten the Czechs back all along the Ipoly. A +new poster has been stuck on the wall of the house opposite, it is an +appeal to the inhabitants of Balassagyarmat by Comrades Riechmann, the +political delegate, and Singer: + +“Comrades! We have vowed on our ideals that if any among you who want to +restore the old order raise their sacrilegious hands against us, we +shall strike them down with our iron fists and smite them like a hammer +smites the anvil. What do they want? To bring back the old criminal +order? Do not attempt the impossible, because henceforth the slightest +attempt will mean paying with your lives, and we will deal with you as +with ordinary assassins who are a danger to human life. Behold your +heroes, sitting in gaol and waiting for the sentence of justice for +their vile, incredible treasons.... What does the country mean to the +bourgeois? You have seen how it created happiness and comfort for them, +while our share was misery.... And we declare to the bourgeoisie of the +whole world that we will not give up our town and our country, because +_now they are ours, it was we who defended them for fifty-two +months_.... Long live the World-Revolution! Long live Béla Kun!” + +Comrades Singer and Riechmann! They cannot even write the Hungarian +language, and yet they dare to claim not only our country but its +defence during the war which they successfully shirked for fifty-two +months. Let them behold from their graves, those who have fallen on +distant battlefields, those whose feet were frozen in paper boots, those +whose wives hungered and shivered in the queue! Among my relations +fourteen followed the call. All of them were young. Eight of them will +never return. Do they behold these things from their graves? + +At the end of October the disbanded soldiers came back from the +world-war clamouring for pogroms. In November they were already +demanding the blood of their own kin. The air was full of secret +promptings: ‘Everything shall be yours!’ Later on there came the shout: +‘Plunder the gentle folk!’ Those who first whispered saved thus their +fortunes and their lives. And the people chose as its leaders the owners +of the gin-shops and declared the landlords their foes. And Comrades +Singer and Riechmann declare to-day that our country is their country +and no longer ours. The leadership of the nation which was once +Széchényi’s, Kossuth’s, Deák’s and Tisza’s, is now theirs. + + * * * * * + + _May 8th._ + +Béla Kun has asked the Rumanians for an armistice. His offer expresses +deadly fear. If he can retain the rest of mutilated Hungary in his grip +he will renounce any territory, is ready for any sacrifice. + +Madarescu, the commander of the Rumanian troops in Transylvania, +answered three days later. In his conditions he never mentions the +Soviet but always speaks of Hungary. He insists on the disarmament of +all Hungarian forces. He requires that the Hungarian Command shall +acquiesce in the execution of the ultimate conditions whatever they may +be. He requires the delivery of all arms, guns, ammunition, means of +transport, equipment and provisions. He demands all railway material and +armoured trains, and orders the return of all prisoners of war, hostages +and civilian population carried off by the retiring army. This +reparation is to be done without any obligation of reciprocity on +Rumania’s behalf. That is how Hungary is spoken to to-day! And the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat, which has helped the advance of the +Rumanians from the Maros and Szamos to the Tisza, may count this +humiliating tone among its achievements. It is we alone feel the pain. +When on the 1st of May the Rumanians crossed the Tisza, Béla Kun +prepared for flight. The families of the People’s Commissaries were +packing up. Big sums were smuggled out of the country. Then the +Rumanians were stopped by the Entente, so Béla Kun gained time. He +organised the workers’ battalions and to-day he answers Madarescu’s +armistice proposals by mobilisation. So we continue in agony. + +New orders have been posted up in the streets of Budapest: + +“To save the Proletarian Revolution we order the general mobilisation of +the Proletariat. Budapest will from this date be under martial law. We +appeal to the Proletariat to do its duty to the last. + + The Revolutionary Cabinet.” + +And the hated and persecuted middle classes are ordered to pay the blood +tax for the salvation of their executioners: “Every officer of the +reserve who is under forty-five years of age must report for active +service. Those who refuse to obey this order....” If the middle classes +do not obey, they are threatened with the Revolutionary Tribunal; the +Proletarians, however, if they enlist, “will receive in addition to +their pay the usual wages of workmen.” + +No, it is not yet over, indeed it is beginning once more. + +In Budapest the comrade Commissaries and their wives are reviewing the +troops, and the electrician Commander-in-Chief is starting in the royal +train from his Headquarters to inspect the troops in the provinces. + +The Galician Neros are now quite at home in their bloody and fantastic +rôle. Their chronicle, ‘The People’s Voice’ which until lately has spent +all its energies in undermining authority and in attacking militarism, +now reports in rapture: “Comrade Böhm inspected the troops and expressed +his complete satisfaction at their appearance. After the review the +Commander-in-Chief travelled with his whole staff to the front, where he +inspected the advance line and received the reports of his generals. +Comrade Böhm has expressed his confidence....” + +It is an old familiar text, only the name of Comrade Böhm has been +substituted for that of the Archduke. 1914 ... 1919! + +Here in this place it is not very easy to hold a review, for the greater +part of the garrison has evaporated. The place of Captain Bajatz has +been filled by a local butcher’s assistant who commands the army from a +coffee house. Comrade Riechmann is the chief of the general staff. + +[Illustration: + + EUGENE SZANTO _alias_ SCHREIBER. + + ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR WAR. +] + +Towards evening the news spread that the Czechs are going to surround +Balassagyarmat to-night. A nightingale was singing in the moonlit +garden, and voices rose in the garden next door: + +“If the Czechs do not come to-night it will be the end of the hostages. +The soldiers have been shouting all day under the prison walls ‘You are +going to die, you swine!’” + +At that moment a cannon roared in the vineyards. + +“Bless your sweet little throat,” exclaimed the voice of an old woman. + +“Don’t bless it so loud or you will find yourself in prison.” + +“But the nightingale!” stammered the old woman. + +“Of course,” someone laughed; “I thought you referred to the Czech gun.” + +Wild firing came from the Ipoly, and bullets whistled right and left. We +ran towards the house. Near the shed a bullet passed so close to me that +I felt the wind of it: it passed over my head and struck the wall like a +mad wasp. The shutters of the houses were closed rapidly, they give one +at any rate a feeling of shelter. Bullets continued to spatter on the +walls. Every now and then we rushed out, looked round in the moonlight, +and then rushed back again. All the while the wasps are buzzing round +the house. + + * * * * * + + _May 9th._ + +On the sunny side of the street, tired, ill-looking, prematurely aged +people came slowly from the direction of the prison. The hostages have +been released. The order came from Budapest: + +“The Soviet takes hostages when danger is imminent. As the Soviet is at +present in no immediate danger, we order their provisional release.” + +The wife of a railwayman came into the yard with eyes red with weeping. +The soldiers had deserted their post, so Comrade Riechmann and the +butcher’s commander ordered the railwaymen out. They at least love their +country, and last winter they opposed the Czechs. Now they have driven +them back again, having made forty prisoners. But thirty-eight +railwaymen are missing, and Comrade Böhm is going to credit +internationalism with this victory won by Hungarian nationalism. + +A carriage rattled down the street. Nowadays whenever a carriage stops +anywhere all the windows and walls of the neighbourhood are on the +alert. We noticed that everybody was looking in our direction. + +Gregory the coachman put his head through the door: + +“Here they are!” + +Detectives. I hid my notes in the sofa cushions and fled before them +from room to room. They requisitioned uniforms and field-glasses. They +also inspected the library and told us that the piano was public +property. Even sewing machines are taken by the Government, and it makes +no difference if the owner is a tailor. Thus are they killing home +industries. They took all the tobacco they could find, nor did +opera-glasses escape; “The army needs them. We give no receipt. These +things no longer belong to you, nothing belongs to you.” And they took +them. As they left they questioned the maid in the corridor: + +“And where may your master be?” + +I heard the girl reply mockingly, “In town!” + +“Don’t play the fool!” the detective shouted, “we know he has run away. +We are searching the whole county for him.” + +Again the girl chaffed them. “What an idea! How can he have run away? +They are pulling your leg. He comes home every night.” + +“Well I never,” said the man to his companion, and they whispered among +themselves. The maid thought herself very clever and laughed +contentedly. + +When they had left, Gregory the coachman came in. + +“They said they will come back and watch for him every night.” + +Mrs. Huszár advised me to go back to Szügy till this zeal blew over. + +In the afternoon the sky became clouded. The fusilade died down. The +stuffy heat preceding a storm weighed heavily on us. In town they were +burying some soldiers, unfortunate victims of the Red war. The +passers-by stopped on the kerb and stared at the funeral, while the +procession passed slowly under red flags. A red cross was borne in front +of it, then came the coffins, draped in red, followed by two +vulgar-looking girls, in red dresses, carrying wreaths of red flowers +tied with red ribbons. Under the grey sky, on the grey road, death, +dressed in red, proceeded towards the cemetery. And among the green +fields, in verdant peace, the garden of Szügy was waiting for me. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + + Szügy, _May 11th_. + +Since I left Szügy the almond trees have blossomed; so beauty came to +meet me, and my heart lost some of its wildness and I felt less lonely +and sad. + +When I reached the bottom of the neglected garden I saw that someone was +sitting on the stone seat leaning his elbows on the table and staring +towards the sun. For an instant I was taken aback: who was this man? +Then I remembered: he must be one of the officers quartered on us. +Abject distress was depicted on his downcast face. + +It was despair that drove many patriotic officers through hunger and +poverty into the Red army, and among the humiliated they are the worst; +trampled, threatened, insulted, hungry, shivering and watched; the +helpless prey of a typewriter-agent commander-in-chief, of the delegates +to the front, of scum. + +So the pathless garden has appealed to another unfortunate. He too would +like to escape, but cannot; he too would like to hope, and there is +nothing to hope for. What is in store for us? Every attempt we have made +has broken down, our hopes from abroad, our hopes from our own efforts. +The Red press is howling for blood. “Death to the bandits of the +Counter-revolution!” + +The greater part of Hungary’s aristocracy fled abroad in March: the +Hungarian peasantry keeps obstinately silent on its isolated farms, +in its sequestered villages. So there are none left for a +counter-revolution but those who for a thousand years have borne the +weight of our destinies. Once they were the electors of kings, when +they were known as the gentry, later as the educated classes, and +to-day as the middle classes. They have always been to the fore when +death or toil was demanded of them, and always in the background +when royal favours and grants were distributed; but never have they +been mediocre in fibre. This class will be for ever the trunk of the +oak, the power that supports the tree and stands up against the +blows of the axe, yet does not receive the rays of the sun. Now the +axe has fallen. Men were wanted who dared to die, and in Budapest +the first attempt at a counter-revolution flared up. But somebody +betrayed it, and those caught were sentenced to life-long +imprisonment and their leaders executed. + +Then came the news that the ‘Cabinet’ had sent to the Hungarian Legation +in Vienna one hundred and forty million crowns to finance a revolution; +whereupon Hajób, the Secretary of the Legation, and the patriotic +Hungarian employees stormed the Communist Legation. The money fell into +the hands of the counter-revolutionaries. + +‘The Red Newspaper’ foamed as it reported the matter. Our hopes rose. It +was said that over twenty thousand Hungarians, able to bear arms, were +in Vienna, and in our imagination the right bank of the Danube was +already aflame. People whispered: “the Hungarians of Vienna have +started, it is only a question of days and they will knock over the +Dictatorship.” Then one night about fifty officers crossed the +frontier—and were disarmed by the Austrian frontier guards. + +Still there was hope. The ideals of the Budapest conspiracy survived its +martyrs. The thread was not dropped. Brave men began once more to +organise. It was decided that the aeroplane which was to give the signal +for the rising was to fly over Budapest on the 4th of May at three +o’clock in the morning. On the eve of the event a few officers, +confident of victory, appeared in a restaurant with white roses and with +restored decorations and insignia of rank, and made the gypsy band play +the national anthem. This stupid demonstration naturally aroused the +attention of spies, and the same night Colonel Dormándy, Captain Horváth +and several brave officers and officials were arrested. + +When I reached the house a letter was waiting for me from Mrs. Huszár. A +clergyman of the reformed church is going to-morrow to his parents who +live on the other bank of the river, and he will take me with him. One +has only to ford the river and one is safe. + + * * * * * + + _May 12th._ + +I had a curious dream last night. I dreamt the moon was shining on the +manor-house. I had to escape, and was implored to hurry. Somebody +hastily pressed a bundle tied up in a handkerchief and a staff into my +hand. Then I found myself on the main road along the river, alone in the +silvery light of the moon. The water was visible between the trees and +sparkled brightly. Then I noticed that the bundle in my hand became +heavier and heavier. I looked at it and found that it was all covered +with blood; blood was streaming out of it and running down my staff till +it covered the road. + +Later I told Mrs. Beniczky my dream. “Don’t go,” said she; “a better +opportunity will come.” So I stayed. + +In the afternoon the commander of the artillery in the village came to +take leave. The Czechs are retiring all along the line, the Reds in +pursuit. The Rumanians also have lost the initiative. In Germany the +awful conditions of peace have provoked an outburst of Spartacism. The +Germans are making an alliance with the Russians. France does not care; +she requires her troops for troubles at home. The domination (such as it +was) of the Entente in Hungary has come to an end. The gunner looked +down in despair: “The Soviet is going to rule the world,” said he. + +If this is true I shall not escape; I shall go back to my mother and +report myself. One gets tired of being a fugitive. + +There was a knock at the door and in came Mrs. Huszár. She too was pale +and spoke in whispers: + +“Bad news. It is all over, and the town is full of detectives. You +mustn’t stay any longer; you must leave here immediately.” + +“And your husband? Supposing it’s true that things are going to continue +like this for years?” + +“I’ve just heard from him,” said Mrs. Huszár, “he’s hiding in the woods. +He’s having a bad time of it too, but then he is a man.” She had no +thought for herself, only for others. “There’s no need for you to stay +with us.” + +So we agreed that I should be informed as soon as the clergyman returned +and get ready to start. + +The moon was filtering through the trees and in the blue light on the +lawn the white fluffy dandelion clocks swayed like tiny Chinese lanterns +on the ends of miniature poles. The breeze swept across the grass and +extinguished the lanterns. The fluff floated in the moonlight: the image +of our torn hopes. + + * * * * * + + _May 13th._ + +This morning a soldier I had not seen before came in through the garden +gate, bringing the officer’s dinner in a canteen. He put down the +canteen on the steps of the terrace and went into the kitchen. The men +have ordered roast veal for their own dinner. When he came back he saw +that a dog was licking the officer’s food. + +“What does it matter?” said he; “dogs can feed out of the same +trencher.” + + * * * * * + + _May 14th._ + +The last frost was shimmering on the grass, and machine-guns were +clattering away as if needles of steel were sewing a shroud in the air. + +A cloud rose on the main road, as if raised by a whirlwind: a carriage +came racing along at a mad gallop. A young man was driving, giving the +horses their head, and as he leant forward I saw that he had a +gentlemanly appearance. That was all I could see through the dust; the +carriage passed in a flash. + +Shots were fired at it. “Stop him!” howled a hoarse, thick voice from a +cottage. + +They are going to arrest him; already a mounted trooper is galloping +after him. But his horse shied at the shooting, rose on its hind legs, +and then swerved with his rider into the fields. Meanwhile the carriage +had disappeared, and my heart followed it. The fate of the driver is +mine, his escape is my escape. I do not know who he was. I could not +even see his face clearly, but he is ‘wanted,’ so we are friends. It is +only thieves and malefactors who are not hounded in Hungary to-day. They +are free, they judge, rule, and speak in the name of the country. Those +who are hunted are my brethren. + + * * * * * + + _May 16th._ + +The garden has never attained such supreme beauty; it seems to open in +the morning as for an embrace. Its silence was interrupted this morning, +however, by a sound like a giant blue-bottle humming in the distance. It +flew fast, came nearer and nearer, its hum became a roar. A motor-car +was racing along, a grey, luxurious field car, like the one the King +used to have. I looked out between the shrubs. The car stopped near the +path, and the driver in his leather coat leant forward, adjusting +something near the steering wheel. There were three passengers in the +car, the one on the right, lolling back among the cushions, a fat, +high-shouldered, short-necked, broad Jew, whose very attitude was +unpleasant. Under his flat Soviet cap greasy black hair curled over his +neck. His clean-shaven face reminded one of a music-hall artist. + +The car started and disappeared in a cloud of dust. I shrank back with +disgust. Why had that face come here? Where had I seen it before? I +shuddered. It was as though a soft slimy toad had suddenly appeared on +the surface of a clear sylvan pool. The garden closed over the vision +and the flowering lilacs effaced its impression. In the evening I was +told that the man in the princely motor, with his suite, was Joseph +Pogány. + +I suppose I ought to be amused. Here am I, outlawed, sentenced to death, +and sleuth-hounds have been let loose upon my tracks. The chauffeur is +probably our housekeeper’s fiancé, the same who was set to spy on our +home. And these people who have been searching for me for weeks were +standing just now a few paces from me; they, openly, free, while I was +hiding in the bushes. May the same fortune attend their search for +others. + + * * * * * + + _May 17th._ + +Yesterday a newspaper was thrown from the train. The old middle-class +newspapers have stopped publication even in their new Communist +disguise. Following the Russian example there are now only official +papers; ‘The People’s Voice,’ ‘The Red Newspaper,’ ‘The Red Soldier,’ +‘The Young Proletarian’; _Világ_, the old newspaper of the Freemasons, +has remained, though it disguises its identity under the name of _The +Torch_ and serves as official mouthpiece of the Commissary for +Education; and there is the old capitalistic _Pester Lloyd_ used by the +revolutionary Cabinet as its semi-official, German mouthpiece. + +The newspaper went from house to house through the village and at last +reached us. It proclaims in gigantic type: “Victories of the Proletarian +army. Lenin congratulates Béla Kun by wireless on his victories.” So +Lenin is speaking once more! + +The sun is shining and yet the horizon appears dark and sad. Is it +really possible that they should triumph in the end? Suddenly I laughed: +Comrade Landler has published an article in ‘The People’s Voice,’ +telling the story of how he visited a workmen’s battalion with Béla Kun +and Pogány. To quote him verbatim: “When they saw us they cheered. Then +a curious thing happened—our comrades asked for our autographs. We were +obliged to give our autographs, not to one, not to ten, but to half a +battalion. He who cannot interpret this incident must be afflicted with +blindness. An army which is on such a high level of culture that its +men, a few miles behind the front, ask for nothing but autographs, _an +army like that cannot fail to be victorious_!” + +The paper was still in my hand when I came to a little plot of land +below the garden known by the name of ‘the parson’s green.’ It used to +be glebe land but Mrs. Beniczky has rented it for many years. She has +just been informed by the Directorate that this is to be her last year +of tenancy. However, they are graciously allowing her corn to grow +there. John Kispál, the gardener, a member of the Directorate, was +hoeing in it, and behind him a small girl was sowing corn in the +furrows. When Master Kispál perceived the newspaper in my hand, he leant +on his hoe and sucked at his pipe so violently that he drew his cheeks +in. Then he sent the girl for tobacco and looked round cautiously. That +is the way people have nowadays when they want to speak openly. + +“Tell me, Miss,” said he, “what is going to happen?” + +“How should I know?” + +“Well, the gentle folks always know more than we do; they get it out of +their brains. Brains can’t be taught.” He gave a long pull at his pipe. +“Nowadays they put a man up against the wall if he says what he thinks. +Mistress Bakalár has been carried off in chains, because she could not +keep her mouth shut. She said that the Reds were greater enemies than +the enemy. It was no help to her that she was a first-class Proletarian, +rifle-butts played havoc with her head.” The gardener looked down +pensively. “Even that is not the worst of it. What’s worse is that they +are forsaking the country. How can any Hungarian do such a thing?” + +“Those in power to-day are not Hungarian.” + +“What? You don’t mean to say that Béla Kun is not a Hungarian?” + +“Why, his real name is Cohen!” + +Kispál’s mouth opened wide. “If that is so, the gentle folk have treated +us very unfairly. Why did they allow such a thing? Believe me, if he had +come here under his true name the people would have had none of him.” + +[Illustration: + + BÉLA KÚN (1) AND TIBOR SZÁMUELLY (2) IN THE MAY DAY PROCESSION. +] + +When I reached the house the soldiers were making a great noise in the +kitchen. They told the maid that an army order had arrived: the 32nd +Artillery would have to leave this place. A small battery would come in +its place with a hundred and fifty men. But they were not quite sure +about obeying this order yet: Sergeant Isidor Grosz has a sweetheart +near by, and Katz, the political delegate, does not want a change +either. So they have sent to Budapest to ask Béla Kun to change the +gunners. They will stay on with the 8 c.m. guns, and if they do not get +their way they are going to blow up all the ammunition. + +Comrade Pogány was in a temper when he left here. In the morning when he +rushed into the commander’s office he shouted and did not say “good +morning” to anybody. He asked an officer: + +“How many recruits, and what stuff are they made of?” + +“Eighty men, poor fellows, mostly flat-footed.” + +“Why did they join up?” + +“For pay, clothes and boots,” the officer answered. + +“Not for the ideals of the Proletariat?” Pogány insisted. + +“I can’t tell. The matter was never mentioned.” + +The People’s Commissary turned his back on him furiously and ordered the +officers to parade in front of the men; then he asked the latter: “Are +you satisfied with the comrade officers?” After that, though the Red +press describes his indomitable courage at the head of storming troops +and gushes over his self-sacrificing heroism, he retired to a safe +distance behind the front. + +And the gunners are going to remain another day because they want to +have a dance as a send-off. The men say that Isidor Grosz has come to an +arrangement with Béla Kun—he came back with his pockets bulging with +money, so now he does not mind leaving. It is to be hoped that none of +the others will take the thing amiss: there is a lot of ammunition in +the woodshed and on the terrace. The gate stands open, and there is +nobody to guard it. Even children steal in and break the boxes open, +stealing the cartridge cases and the cordite to make fireworks with. + +The maid went to the dance to-night. There was a Gypsy band. The +soldiers danced and “the Proletarian army, as a sign of its great, +self-respecting discipline,” emptied several barrels of wine. + + * * * * * + + _May 19th._ + +The Red press is shrieking with sarcasm, mixed with hatred: “The parody +of a Government in Arad!” What is it, an opposition Government? Surely +not a Hungarian Government? But it is. It was formed in Arad on the 5th +of May, two weeks ago, and we, living in the same country, have received +the news only to-day! That is how The Terror deals with our news. At +last...! I read the manifesto of Arad over and over again. “The real +leaders of the nation being now in prison or banished, we assume the +leadership provisionally.” + +A Hungarian voice, after a long silence. It does not boast, it has none +of the conceit of the distributors of autographs, it is manly and modest +like the man who is at the head of this provisional Government, though +for an instant his name repelled me. Károlyi! Awful memories are +connected with that name, and an irremovable curse. After Michael +Károlyi comes another Károlyi; but Count Julius Károlyi’s personality +stands high above the name, as if in expiation of the crimes which +another bearer of it has committed. The Foreign Secretary, Baron +Bornemissza, has been for years the leader of the Hungarians whom fate +has cast among the Rumanians. The Minister of War is not a +typewriter-agent or a second-rate journalist, but a real soldier. And +all the names are of this stamp but one: Varjassy has been Károlyi’s and +Jászi’s man. But that matters little now, and the more ‘The People’s +Voice’ fulminates, the greater is my joy. “Who are these nobodies?” the +Communist paper asks. “Hungarians!” replies the air, replies life, +replies morning and night. And hope made golden promises. + +Dense masses of soldiers came from the village this afternoon, and the +gunners of the 32nd came to harvest in our garden. They are leaving this +evening and flowers are required for the train. So they made a dead set +at everything that blossomed in this quiet realm of green. Branches +cracked, the garden moaned. Within an hour the dreamy little shrubs were +changed into scarecrows, the grass was purple with the blossom of lilac. +Branches were twisted and cut down to stumps, wounded plants were +stripped of twigs and leaves. They have trampled Spring to death. I +raged inwardly; let them have the flowers, but why this mad destruction? +I went into the house: I could not bear the sight of it. + + * * * * * + + _May 20th–21st._ + +After the tepid rain in the night the sun has come out from among the +clouds, and the ill-treated shrubs look less hopeless, laden as they are +with glittering drops. The rain has made the grass raise its head and +some forgotten lilacs have opened their blossoms. + +Ever since break of day the air has been humming above our heads. Steel +moles are mining the clouded sky. They are invisible till they fall with +a terrific crash and raise mole-hills on the ground. + +The Reds have retaken Miskolcz from the Czechs. Eleven +counter-revolutionaries have been arrested in Budapest. In the ‘Frankel +Leo’ barracks a memorial tablet has been unveiled to the French +Communist leader of that name who was born in Old Buda. + +In other countries there is peace, there is a future. They awake daily +without fear, their dreams are not nightmares; they have doors they can +close, cupboards that are not searched, a hearth which is not shared by +uncivilised, spiteful strangers. There one may sing and laugh. One may +even speak openly, happily. They have music, pictures, and books, and no +one comes to take them from them. Man is allowed to create, their minds +produce songs and sculptures and pictures, scholars pursue their +studies, and women have not forgotten to smile. And in the stifling +fetid atmosphere of ugliness, humiliation, reckless brutality, +restraint, slavery, and hatred, I am homesick for an hour’s beauty. Just +for an hour to have things as they used to be! + +Mrs. Beniczky had a visitor to-day, an elderly lady who lived in the +village. I escaped quietly to my room, and although the visitor spoke in +whispers, now and then she forgot herself and then her voice reached me. +Suddenly she became aware that she was raising her voice and pulled +herself up. + +“I understand that a poor relation of the Huszárs is staying with you, +where is she?” she asked anxiously. “In the next room? Goodness, then I +ought to....” + +“Don’t worry,” said Mrs. Beniczky, laughing quietly, “she is hard of +hearing.” + +Since I have been in hiding goodness knows how many things I have been. +First an escaped teacher, then a nurse, then a poor relation; now I am +deaf. Yet under false names, under all sorts of disguises, almost +invariably I have met with kindness. Of course some people naturally +tried to impress me with their own importance, and I shall be for ever +grateful to them, for they have taught me what it feels like to have to +put up with other people’s conceit. There was a ‘comrade’ officer of the +Reds who used to make me feel fearfully small—I was only a ‘poor +relation.’ He scarcely ever took any notice of me, and when I said +anything he looked ostentatiously bored. O poor relations, unwanted +superfluities, you have been my teachers, once I was one of you, and +when these times are over never shall I forget that I am of your kin. + +When the visitor left I sat before the fire and read Petöfi’s poems to +my hostess. Slowly the day closed in and when the light failed we sat +talking quietly in the dusk. + +“It was lucky that I did not let you go with the parson,” said Mrs. +Beniczky; “God has preserved you.” + +The news had reached us in the afternoon. Although I had refused to go +with him, the Reverend Sebastian Kovács had started off to see his +parents, but while he was fording the river both the Czechs and the Reds +had fired on him from the banks. He threw himself into the water—a woman +who saw the whole thing recognised him and came to tell us. That was the +last that was heard of him. + +“If you had been there, if they had arrested you, or.... Do you remember +your dream the previous night?” + +I shuddered: once more I saw the white moonlit road and the little +bloody bundle of my dream. Again I felt the groping hand around me. For +two months it has reached out for me, missed me, come closer, missed me +again. + +“There was no reason why you should go,” said Mrs. Beniczky, “this is a +sequestered place, and you are as safe here as if your mother were +watching over you.” + +Then, all of a sudden, I saw my mother again. She was not visible, yet I +could see the poise of her head, her blue eyes, and the wonderful smile +on that delicate, narrow face. + +Petöfi’s book was lying open on my knee: “Mother, our dreams do never +lie....” + +And in the dark the smile was still present. + + * * * * * + + _May 22nd._ + +Last night two officers staying in the house came into the dining-room +bringing maps which they spread on the table. Their faces were the +picture of despair. Their position has daily become more insufferable +and orders from General Headquarters have now reached the political +agents at the front that all officers are to be watched by ‘reliable +individuals’—the said reliable individuals being Jews in every case. +This routine was begun yesterday, and two soldiers with fixed bayonets +are posted in front of every officer’s quarters. They take it in turn to +follow their officer wherever he goes, they eat at his table, they sleep +in his room. This is in strict accordance with the Russian plan, only +Trotsky favours Chinese soldiers for the job. + +Voices sounded at the door and the officers snatched up their maps. A +soldier with his bayonet fixed stood in the doorway. The shade of the +hanging lamp cast the light low on the table, so that the soldier’s face +remained in the dark; only his repulsive, protruding eyes shone as they +passed inquisitively round the room. Then he shouted to the officers: +“Come along, comrades!” So we were left alone once more, and only the +roar of guns broke the silence of the night. + +At dawn the little village became a swarming camp. A.S.C. carts covered +with tarpaulins came clattering from the direction of Balassagyarmat. +The banks of the Ipoly are being evacuated and the soldiers are hastily +packing. Camp kitchens and mounted troops clatter along the main road. +Dust, clouds of dust. Buglers sounding the ‘fall-in’ and nobody paying +the slightest attention. + +Mrs. Beniczky and I held a council this morning. If the Czechs are +really going to occupy Balassagyarmat, nobody would think of looking for +me there. What shall I do? Finally we decided that I could go, and we +took leave of each other; but it was with a heavy heart I left the old +house and the garden behind me. + +John Kispál, the gardener, a member of the Directorate, proposed to help +me reach the town. As we came to the barrier at Szügy an armed soldier +barred our road and pointed his bayonet at me. “Where are you going? +Have you got a pass? No? Then back you go!” + +“Steady, man, steady!” said John Kispál with an air of importance. +“Don’t you see she is with me? I am a member of the Directorate, and +don’t you forget it, my boy!” + +The soldier looked at me. “Why are you going into the town? What have +you got in that parcel?” Then he growled: “Well, you can go to hell if +you like, so far as I am concerned.” + +John Kispál stepped out proudly and his face showed clearly the +satisfaction he felt at being such an influential man that even Red +soldiers got out of his way. I couldn’t help chuckling: in Soviet +Hungary a member of the Directorate uses his influence to help me to +escape and carries my bundle on his back. Meanwhile the warrant for my +arrest lies on my writing table at home. + +“What’s going on here?” John Kispál asked two passing farmers. The men +shrugged their shoulders contemptuously: “The Directorate of +Balassagyarmat is on the run,” said one of them. “They are afraid of +sharing the fate of their colleagues in Fülek.” He made a circle round +his neck with his finger and looked upwards. + +We had been walking for some time when the gardener suddenly turned to +me: + +“I should like to ask you, Miss, what you think about it all? Shall I +come to any harm when things come right? That is always on my mind, +because I don’t think a man ought to assume that things will always +remain as they are. They may, but they may change too. It is wise to +arrange matters so that whether things remain as they are or whether +they change one may always be nice and snug.” + +Guns thundered from the vineyards and a shell shrieked across the Ipoly +and fell near the road, raising a cloud up to the sky. Not a single +carriage was visible on the road now: the motors of the +delegates-to-the-front, the members of the Directorate and the ‘reliable +individuals’ have all been swept from the landscape by the wind raised +by a single shell. In the distance behind us they were tearing along at +a wild gallop, off the road whenever possible. I began to feel safe. +There is less danger in shells than in Bolsheviks. + +Bugle calls could still be heard in the direction of the town, and my +pulses began to throb. What if the barriers on the other side were to +close and I should have to stay on in my Red prison! + +“I haven’t any papers,” the gardener said; “you’ll have to go on alone. +Go straight through the High Street.” He was pale and obviously afraid. +So presently I found myself alone. I jumped over the rails: people were +running towards the houses so nobody took any notice of me, and I +reached the Huszárs’ house in safety. Mrs. Huszár and the children +welcomed me with open arms. + +A soldier was following me down the street, stopping at every corner to +sound the alarm. I noticed that his bugle was ornamented with a huge red +tassel which the rising wind blew against his mouth. And as I looked +back in the twilight it seemed to me that the bugler was calling blood. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + + _May 23rd._ + +I had hurried in vain. The Directorate has come back, so I have to +remain in my Red prison. The battle last night caused many casualties, +and the towns near the front are bewailing their dead. Everything that +is Hungarian sorrows. The wheel of Fate is turning in blood, slowly, +terribly. It is turned by the Powers, but it is our blood. + +Noon came, then afternoon, again the enchanting hour of sunset on the +banks of the Ipoly. The sun stands on the hills above the bank and pulls +at the golden net which he cast over the valley in the morning. Like a +fisherman he pulls the light, glittering net over the fields and crops. +The net glides on, fast, without a sound. Now and then its gold is +arrested for an instant by a shrub, by the verdure of a poplar, by the +aspen of the river banks. Then the net glides on, and the trees, the +crops, the water, the meadows, grow dark. The net has reached the +horizon. For an instant, like a golden line, it lingers on the blue +crest of the hills, then suddenly it dips into the west on the other +side and is gone. + +I love this light: it has touched the steeples of our churches, the +thresholds of our cottages, from one end to the other of our country. +For a thousand years it has come to us with dawn, over Transylvania, +over the Carpathians, the Great Plain, over the waters of the Tisza and +the Danube, over the fields of Banat, over the Carso, over the blue, +salt bay of Fiume, over all our ancient, humiliated counties, over Buda +and Pest, over Pressburg and Trencsén. All that has been torn asunder is +united again in its net. But the catch of the great fisher is scanty +now: he carries naught but another Hungarian day, a day of anguish, of +blood, and of tears. + +Only occasional rifle shots sounded round the house now; the town was +going to rest. The electric light went out early to-night, so Mrs. +Huszár and I sat facing each other by candle-light. + +Shells screeched through the air above the roof. What is happening to +our country? For days we have had no newspapers. Tribunals of Terror sit +at night. Racing motors spread death and Béla Kun speaks of plans for +tens of years. + +The clock on the wall has stopped; goodness knows how long we have been +sitting like this. Better to do something than sit and think, so I +fetched my patience cards. Tiny cards, the coloured toys of an old +world. Crowned kings, ermine cloaked, powdered little queens, haughty +young knights, they all look as if in their vanity they were leaning +over a mirror to see their reflection. When I left home my mother packed +these cards in my bag, and they have become my only luxury. Whenever I +look at them they tell me something gently, in whispers, of my home. +Soothers of worries, prophets, fortune-tellers! We laid the cards slowly +out on the table, collected them, started anew. How thin my hands have +grown.... + +Over the roof, high up, another shell whines. Then a splintering crash. +Now the other side answers.... + +“The Reds....” + +“That one came from the Czechs.” + +Silence. + +“There’s another Red.” + +We spoke mechanically, for by now we had got to know the voices of the +guns. Meanwhile the little queens and kings on the table came and went +by the light of the candle. + +“The Czechs....” + +Three weeks! For three weeks it has been like this. Yesterday, to-day, +to-morrow—it is always the same. There are no longer nights and days: +there is nothing but monotonous, continuous explosions. + +What if it is to be always like this? What if this is to continue for +ever! The very air seemed to shudder. From the opposite side of the +table a pair of wide-open, fixed eyes stared at me. + +“The Czechs....” + +Machine-guns were rattling somewhere near the Ipoly, and the dogs +barked. Another bullet struck the wall. + +“The Reds....” + +Again the windows shook with the detonation. At the end of the room the +door opened by itself, making room for hopeless despair, which entered +and sat down to keep us company. + + * * * * * + + _May 24th–25th._ + +If after the bloody battles of the war the victorious generals had +occupied our country their conquest would have put an end to the +slaughter. But Hungary was occupied without fighting by twenty-four +Jews. The state of war has become permanent, the slaughter continues, +and—worst of all misfortunes—for months there have been continuous +executions. Sentence of death is everywhere. Some take a long time to +realise it, but it is there none the less. + +Dreadful news reaches us from Budapest: the city is starving; and in +answer to this, Béla Kun declared at a meeting of the Workers’ Council: +“There are enough supplies to prevent the Proletariat of Budapest from +going hungry.” He forbore to speak of the inhabitants of the city, only +of the privileged Proletarians, which for him means the Jewish +intellectuals and, possibly, those who profess to be Red Proletarians. +They will not go hungry. If Hungarians do ... Béla Kun shrugs his +shoulders. + +The cruel ingenuity of the People’s Commissaries is inexhaustible. +Whatever they do not dare to do themselves is done by the Workers’ and +Soldiers’ Council, and as a silent means for wholesale executions food +tickets have been introduced. The inhabitants are divided into classes, +one class receives bread, the other is denied it. Those who receive red +tickets—the workmen performing manual labour, Red soldiers and all the +Red élite—will still be able to eat their fill. The recipients of blue +tickets—officials, teachers, widows, pensioners—may continue hungry. +Those who receive no food tickets will have to die of starvation. Thus +it is possible to carry out executions merely by the use of coloured +scraps of paper. + +“_The classification of the head of the household will apply to all +those members of the family who live with him._” This order reveals the +intended extermination of a class: the children of the Hungarian +educated classes are to be exterminated with their parents. The +Dictatorship of the Proletariat, which carries its class war into +everything, even into its administration of justice, its ‘First Reader’ +and the nursery schools, uses daily bread as a weapon of war. Never has +cruelty been displayed with such cynicism. Not only does the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat make a distinction between adults, but +it extends its favouritism to the children. It distributes food with +discrimination, the children of the ruling class enjoying a preference. +Let the miserable little ones who had the misfortune to be born in the +grey, modest homes of officials or other intellectuals instead of having +seen the light of the world as offspring of labourers or Red soldiers, +let those poor little children starve and perish. Since Herod nothing so +wantonly cruel has been known in human history. + + * * * * * + + _May 26th–29th._ + +For two months the blood-reeking news has been coming. At first we shook +our heads incredulously. Rubbish! Visions of a distracted mind. Terror +inspires mad tales. Then the news died down, and now, all of a sudden, +it has returned with proofs and names. + +It was at the beginning of April that I heard that a sailor in Budapest +was recruiting a band of terrorists among freed convicts and Russian +Jews. Next we heard that these people had occupied the palaces of Counts +Batthyány and Hunyady. On the first of May they hung out a huge sign +over the palaces: THE LENIN BOYS, and ever since then they have been +known by that name. The Lenin Boys, armed to the teeth, clad in leather +coats, appear at night in the streets of Budapest or in those provincial +towns where the miserable population dares to show signs of +dissatisfaction. The other day they carried off the organisers of the +Counter-revolution, Colonel Dormándy and Victor Horváth, who are said to +have been tortured atrociously. They were tied up in the cellars of the +Batthyány palace, burning cigars were stuffed into their mouths, water +was forced in enormous quantities down their throats, and nails were +driven under their finger-nails. Whether they still live no one knows; +there are others too. Last week we heard that a counter-revolution had +been attempted at Makó and that the former President of the House of +Commons, Louis Naváy, had been killed. We could not believe it: all his +life he had been an advanced Liberal who had fought for universal +suffrage, and he was a gentle scholar and philanthropist; moreover after +the Revolution began he retired from all public affairs. + +[Illustration: + + 1. EUGENE VARGA _alias_ WEISSFELD. +] + +[Illustration: + + 3. DR. HELEN PECZKAI. +] + +[Illustration: + + 2. ALEXANDER NYÁRI. +] + +[Illustration: + + 4. JOSEPH GAJDOS. +] + + (_For an account of these Terrorists, see the_ APPENDIX.) + +But the news persisted: the terrorists had gone down to Makó to take +hostages and amongst others they had arrested Louis Naváy, his nephew +Iván and the mayor of the town, and had taken them by rail to Budapest. +When the train stopped at the station the terrorists shouted into the +compartment where the prisoners were: “Let the Counts and Barons step +forward!” Nobody moved, then a man who as an orphan had been brought up +by the kindness of the Návays shouted: “This one’s a Right Honourable +and that one’s an Honourable, take these.” The Lenin Boys dragged them +from the train and forced them to dig their graves at the bottom of the +embankment. There was no time for a tribunal, so they fired at them +without any preliminaries, stabbed them repeatedly with their bayonets, +and crammed them into the half-dug graves. One of them was not quite +dead when they were buried, and his poor protruding hand waved feebly +for a time. The picture of it haunted me for many nights. It was +impossible! Incredible! But the news was repeated and proved to be true. +Other news followed. + +A young ensign named Nicholas Dobsa, eighteen years old, suddenly +disappeared in Budapest. He was asked by the Terror Boys for his +identity papers, and he laughed. He said nothing, just laughed. Poor +boy, he disappeared behind the door of the Batthyány palace never to +reappear. Others disappeared too, and more pools of blood were found in +secluded places. Many other violent deaths were reported, though rumour +could not give the names. + +Meanwhile Számuelly’s special train is on the move all the time, and +wherever it stops there are executions. It started at Szoboszló, a long +distance from here, and the news came to us by an eye witness, Antony +Szatmáry, a railway man. It happened on the 23rd of April, when the Red +front was at Debreczen. During the morning a hussar suddenly stepped out +of the ranks and shouted: “Let us run, the Rumanians are coming!” So the +International Battalion started off at once. The remnants of the army +fled on the last train to Szoboszló, and my informant, Szatmáry, was +pressed in to act as stoker. An armoured train, advancing cautiously, +met them, and a black-haired, red-nosed young man leant out of the +window: “What news, comrade?” “We are the last to leave,” the stoker +answered. + +The young man was Számuelly, and when he stopped at Szoboszló he was mad +with rage. He ordered the station master to be flogged, as well as some +workmen, and when his train reached the signal-box and saw that a white +flag had been hoisted on the church spire he ordered the train back and +ran into the town with his terrorists, accompanied by a fair-haired, +blue-eyed woman on horseback. He arrested three men at random, Körner a +mill-owner, Joseph Tokay a police officer, and Ladislaus Fekete the +mayor, and had them hanged on trees in front of a chemist’s shop. “Be +quick!” he said, and cleaned his nails while the execution was being +carried out. Then he boarded his train again and went on. In Kaba he had +the curate, the notary and the magistrate hurriedly tortured, and moved +on again, because the Rumanians were coming. Thence he went to Szolnok, +where he took hostages and had them hanged. One hundred and fifty were +executed. They were all Hungarians—and Christians.... + +Steps approached the house and Mrs. Huszár exclaimed in alarm: “The +parson!” + +The Reformed minister, Sebastian Kovács, looked frightfully thin in his +black coat. His face was ashen and fresh furrows played round his mouth. +He spoke pantingly, as if he had been running hard, and turned to me. + +“God protected you that you did not come with me. When I reached the +Ipoly both Reds and Czechs came rushing towards me. I had no choice, so +ran into the river and threw myself into the water, which was simply +swept around me by bullets. The Reds fired volleys after me.” + +That was the history of the journey I should have had to share. + +“You would undoubtedly have been shot or arrested,” the minister went +on. “The Czechs wanted to intern me, and the Reds were hunting for me. +For three days I hid among the crops before I dared to come home. I hear +that a Czech shell struck the church; we had arms hidden under the +roof.” + +Bullets were again whistling in the street. The minister shuddered and +looked anxiously round, then he smiled, embarrassed: “Since then my +nerves won’t stand it. I had rather too much of it.” He sat down almost +in a state of collapse, and although he was a young man he looked very +old. + + * * * * * + + _May 30th–31st._ + +The banks of the river were unusually silent this evening. Just as it +was getting dark the soldiers rolled a hogshead into the museum +garden—the museum serves as a barracks. We heard one of them saying +under our window that there was going to be a distribution of rum. What +does that mean? + +The patrol passed. Then the strains of a Gypsy band filtered through the +night. Silence followed. It must have been about two in the morning when +a voice mingled with my dreams. I woke, but could not at once grasp its +meaning. + +[Illustration: + + “SZÁMUELLY ... TOOK HOSTAGES AND HAD THEM HANGED.” +] + +“Attack....” + +“Who?” + +“The Reds!...” + +That was not what we had hoped for! For an instant my heart stopped +beating. Doors were carefully opened and closed. The little girl came +into the room and sleepily dragged her pillow behind her, like a white +ant carrying a load too heavy for it. She lay down on the couch and fell +asleep. + +Wild firing was going on, so we opened the window. Suddenly the rifle +shots seemed to come much nearer. The dawn was full of explosions and +the deadly arpeggios of the machine-guns ran into one another, their +staccato notes running in endless sequence up and down the banks of the +Ipoly. Someone was playing the dance of death in the grey light. Shells +passed so rapidly over the roof that it was impossible to tell which +side fired them, and stray bullets thudded against the walls of the +houses. Not a soul was visible. The house shook and every sound echoed +through it as it does when one is under the arch of a bridge. + +This went on for several hours: the vague grey objects regained their +outlines, and things assumed their natural colours. The golden sun shone +on green trees and on the brown tiles of the roofs. The artillery went +on firing, but the rattle of the machine-guns seemed to get further and +further away. The fight was now beyond the Ipoly, somewhere among the +vineyards. It was not the other bank that had come to break down our +prison, it was our prison that had spread to the other side. + +A young boy doubled up on a bicycle passed under our window. “The Reds +have crossed the river!” he shouted. “The Czechs are running along the +whole line.” People began to appear from the houses and a peasant girl +stepped aimlessly into the middle of the street. The vineyards became +silent; the Red guns alone went on firing and there was no answer from +the other side. But it was not the silence of the living; it was the +silence of death. Under the tension the dam which kept the Red waves in +bound has broken, and the wave has spread and flowed over little +hamlets, villages, and castles, hitherto untouched. God help the people +on the other bank, for they are all Hungarians and their share is +suffering and death. The victory remains with Trotsky’s agents. The long +road of homelessness has become longer in front of me, stretching into +the unknown, even beyond the frontiers. + +Presently the guns on our bank stopped firing too and on the main road +little figures, bent under heavy loads, could be seen approaching. When +they got nearer I saw that they were soldiers—the victorious Reds +returning from the villages on the other bank among the vineyards, laden +heavily with loot. They had captured the entire camp of the fleeing +Czechs and brought bundles of rice, matches, tobacco, sacks of dried +prunes, barrels of rum, wine and honey. A Jewish front delegate had even +obtained a carriage, which he had loaded high with plunder, and the +soldiers roared with laughter as he drove down the street. Let Béla Kun +run after the Czechs himself if he wants to! They were very merry and +some of them very unsteady on their feet. + +About noon, however, their merriment was unexpectedly interrupted. +Firing broke out suddenly and machine-guns rattled in the vineyards. A +soldier without his cap and his face white with fright rushed towards +the Museum garden. “The Czechs have come back!” he shouted, and his +voice rang down the street. “They’re in the vineyards again and have +captured our people!” + +The Czechs had, in fact, returned to the vineyards and caught sixty Reds +pilfering there. The buglers sounded the alarm in vain: the Red army was +busy cooking rice and drinking rum. Some Proletarian women, who had had +no share in the booty, stood there, arms akimbo, and scolded the +soldiers: “Of course when there’s a distribution of meat or of milk +you’re always in the front row. Then you shout that you are Reds and +steal the milk from the kiddies’ mouths. But when it is a question of +driving away the Czechs you run home with what you have stolen. You let +them take the hill.” + +Most of the soldiers were drunk, in fact they had got tipsy before the +attack began, for while they were falling in Gypsies played to them and +rum was distributed. + +“Mental degradation by means of alcohol was one of the weapons of the +bourgeois,” shouts the Red press. “Alcohol is the Proletariat’s greatest +foe,” is posted by the Communists on all the walls. Yet the Dictatorship +of the Proletariat makes the class-conscious Red army drunk whenever it +wants to drive it to face unnecessary death. + + * * * * * + + _May 31st._ + +What hast thou done, Michael Károlyi? + +When morning came the Czechs had stealthily, quietly evaporated from the +hills, fleeing before a miserable handful of Reds. They are the same +Czechs who five months ago descended from the mountains of Zólyom and +took undisputed possession of Pressburg and Kassa, impregnable Komárom, +a third of our country. How they would have run if they had had to face +the hussars of Limanova and the territorials of Gorlice! But Károlyi’s +minister of war did not want to see any soldiers, the same Linder who +recently, at a review, exclaimed to comrades Böhm, Pogány and Landler in +front of their armed servants: “You see we had to break up the old army +to create this.” + +Two towns and all the heights above them have been taken by the Reds, +who have captured machine-guns and two heavy guns. The Czechs were +surprised in their sleep and fled half-naked, all the prisoners being +taken in their night clothes. Peasants’ carts laden with Czech uniforms +and boots rattled over the bridges all night. I could not sleep: I +thought of the people on the other bank of the Ipoly, whom I do not know +and yet for whom I fear. When they wake they will find the train of the +plunderers which brings the awful Red epidemic of tyranny and terrorist +tribunals. And when it comes back it will carry away hostages.... + +The clock struck. Half-past one.... A long train whistle; buffers +knocking together; coupling-chains clanging in the dark. Fetters and +skeleton keys.... + +May the Lord have mercy on us all! + + * * * * * + + _June 1st._ + +A drum is being beaten in the village and the sound echoes from street +to street. The Revolutionary Cabinet has decreed general conscription, +and a small minority of alien race disposes of the nation’s blood by +simple decree. I shuddered. Henceforth they are going to force everybody +to take up arms for them against himself. + +An aeroplane flew over us. “An Italian machine,” said someone in front +of the house. The airman was reconnoitring the Ipoly valley—eyes from +another world looking down on us, indifferently, without sympathy. To +him we appear only as black spots, swarming ants. Does he know that the +ants are suffering, that the ant-hill has been kicked to pieces and that +strange vermin have invaded it? He flew on—a dragonfly passing across +the prisoner’s window. + +The catafalque of the fallen Red soldiers has been erected in front of +the county hall; red flowers, a red cross. (Why the cross?) Red shrouds +showed under the lids of the red coffins. Only the little son of +Stefanovic was not among them—the only child of a counter-revolutionary +railway man. He was the best pupil of his school, a fervent little +patriot, but was called up and had to go. He was wounded under the +vineyards and implored the soldiers in vain to take him back to +Balassagyarmat. They had no time—they were carrying rice. So the boy +dragged himself to a field of oats and when the Czechs came back they +found him and clubbed him to death with the butts of their rifles—“the +little red vermin.” His parents brought the corpse back, and the +Directorate sent them a red coffin. “That is enough,” said his father, +“he shall never be buried with such tomfoolery.” + +Among the dead Reds there are many little Stefanovics. Passers-by stop +reverently at their graves, for they hated the Directorship of the +Proletariat and loved their country. + +Two soldiers came into the yard, two sad-faced boys, and asked for red +flowers and red ribbons for their comrades. Out there, unmarked graves; +in here, propaganda funerals. + +In front of the county hall Comrade Singer pronounced the valedictory +discourse: + +“We take leave of you with the promise that we will fight with merciless +hatred against the bourgeoisie, and, should we perish, the very blades +of grass will continue the fight, animated by our hatred.” + +In the cemetery the minister spoke: + +“My brethren in the Lord, standing at these open graves, let your last +word be that of love....” + +In these two speeches Christ and those who had crucified him met. + + * * * * * + + _June 2nd._ + +Sometimes the candle flares up before it goes out. So with the news +to-day. In this morning’s paper we read: “Szeged is in the hands of +the counter-revolutionaries. The opposition Government has removed +from Arad to Szeged and is in communication with the Hungarian +counter-revolutionaries of Vienna. Western Hungary is organising and +in Szeged Hungarian White Guards are being formed under French +protection....” + +[Illustration: + + ALEXANDER SZABADOS _alias_ SINGER. + + ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR FOOD. +] + +It is actually in the Red papers! Have the Entente Powers stopped the +Rumanians on the banks of the Tisza to give us a chance of saving +ourselves by our own efforts? That would at least be human justice. A +nation, deadly humiliated, could thus regain its self-respect. If only +this were the case! Then we could bless our two months’ sufferings. Not +Rumanians but Hungarians would retake Budapest from the Red tyrant. + +I noticed this morning that the soles of my boots were worn through. +What a shock! What shall I do if they give way? We had frozen, black +potatoes for supper and when we rose from the table Mrs. Huszár told a +story about some bread and butter. The little girl began to cry: she was +hungry after her supper and wanted some bread and butter. + +Torn boots, black potatoes, what do they matter? There are Hungarian +soldiers in Szeged! + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + + _June 3rd._ + +I’ve got a fever of some kind and it frightens me—it would be terrible +to be ill at such a time and in a strange house. I must try to keep +going, but oh! how I long to go to bed. + +A man came in from the village this morning and reported that when the +Reds made their advance on Friday morning the houses of all Jews were at +once surrounded by Jewish Red soldiers with fixed bayonets—to prevent +them from being looted. This was corroborated by one of the owners of +the protected houses himself. + +Thus even after the abolition of private property the Dictatorship +officially protects all Jews’ belongings. Beyond the Ipoly Red soldiers +have plundered Sztregova, the ancient castle where Imre Madách wrote +_The Tragedy of Man_; but the Jewish Red soldiers protected the house of +Fischer, the land agent of Leszeny.... + + * * * * * + + _June 7th._ + +I’ve had to give in: I can hardly distinguish things and am unable to +move. + +Baron Alexander Jeszensky came to see me, bringing messages from Bercel. +Charles Kiss is with the Kállays and is coming to fetch me in a couple +of days. He has made all preparations for my escape to Vienna. + + * * * * * + + _June 8th._ + +The Reds have retaken Kassa from the Czechs. Poor City. It received the +victors with red, white and green flags, thinking they were Hungarians. +Orders promptly came that the flags were to be removed. + +Two days ago someone knocked at our window late at night. Anxiety spread +through the house; men’s voices were audible from the corridor. Aladár +Huszár had come home! He looked like an apparition, a man of the woods, +for his dress was torn, his shirt was in shreds, and his beard and hair +had grown inordinately long. For six weeks he had been hiding with his +friend George Pongrácz in the wild hills of Börzsöny. + +They, too, were expecting the fall of the Dictatorship and were waiting +for the intervention of the Entente. Then came the offensive of the +Reds. As the battle was progressing northwards they concluded that the +Reds were winning and that there was no escape; and as they could not +ask for asylum from the Czechs, whom they had formerly helped to drive +out, what was the good of waiting any longer? + +“So we came home,” said Huszár, and despair was in his eyes. “We shall +give ourselves up to the Directorate and stand our trial.” + +The Directorate had ordered proceedings to be taken against them, but +miraculously had failed to arrest them. + + * * * * * + +The doctor came to see me this morning—I’ve got rheumatic fever, and in +the afternoon the children brought me some forget-me-nots from the +river. Dusk came, then darkness. When I woke up a candle was burning in +the room and Charles Kiss was sitting at my bedside. He brought me news +of my mother, after all this time; she is alive and well, but fretting +about me as she has not heard from me for weeks. She was questioned many +times by the Red agents and they forced her to swear that as soon as she +knew where I was she would report to them. Once a detective said to her: +“How must you have brought up your daughter for her to behave like +this?” “I brought her up as a Hungarian,” my mother replied simply. +Whereupon the detective hung his head and then said, as if ashamed: “I, +too, am Hungarian,” and he kissed my mother’s hand. Since then there +have been no more inquiry agents to see her. + +Then Charles Kiss talked about himself. Most of the time he has been +hiding in Western Hungary, where the whole region is in a ferment, +counter-revolutions breaking out here and there. But as soon as ever +there is news of one Számuelly makes a sudden appearance. In Devecser he +had the counter-revolutionaries hanged round the church; with the +exception of a young teacher they were all peasants. He forced the women +to look on. In Nagygencs he had a farmer hanged in front of his +children. The farmer did not die at once and when he was in his coffin +he sat up. The wife and children ran to him sobbing. But the Terror Boys +know no pity: they finished him off in his coffin. + +Charles Kiss is going to escape to Vienna. To do this he has to go +through Budapest—a long way round. I watched his face anxiously, afraid +he might say that I should have to take the same road, but to my relief +he said nothing. I raised my arm to shake hands with him when he went, +and had to clench my teeth to restrain a cry of pain. Then I lay for +hours motionless, and all through the night made preparations. In the +morning I was as tired as if I had wandered along endless roads. + + * * * * * + + _June 11th._ + +The newspapers are howling victory—the delivery of Kassa. The +Internationale is played and the Red Guard of Honour (?) cheers as +Garbai and Béla Kun pass before it. + +Far away I seem to hear wild Kuruc songs ... and see the Kuruc horsemen +waving their caps to their prince[3].... Our lovely town, longing for +deliverance from Czech captivity. What a different home-coming you must +have expected! + +And this is how (according to the reporters) Béla Kun held forth: + +“Dear comrades! Now, comrades, the Dictatorship of the Proletariat is a +fine thing, is it not? You have scarcely tasted it, but you will soon +see what a beautiful, good and reasonable thing the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat is, from the workers’ point of view. The Proletarian who +labours, who was oppressed, cannot understand how anyone can want +anything else but the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. It is so simple. +We do not mind what language a labouring brother Proletarian speaks, we +have but one enemy—the bourgeoisie, whatever language it may speak....” + +Above the words of Béla Kun and the other ‘comrades’ I seem to hear a +thundering voice rising from the depths of the Cathedral crypt: + +“_Why did you bring me home? I listened in peace to the murmur of the +sea...._” + + * * * * * + + _June 12th._ + +It has been rumoured for days and now it turns out to be true: +Clemenceau is negotiating with Béla Kun in the name of the Peace +Conference. His Note came by wireless from Paris to Budapest “to the +Hungarian Government.” + +This Note, which declares to the Hungarian Government that it has just +been decided to summon its delegates, calls upon it to stop its attack +against Czecho-Slovakia, otherwise the Governments of the Allied and +Associated Powers will take the firmest measures to force Hungary to do +so. The Note reminds Béla Kun of the _gratitude_ which he owes to the +Allied Powers because: “_on two occasions they have stopped the advance +of the Rumanian armies which had crossed the frontiers fixed by the +armistice, and had prevented them from advancing on Budapest, and had +stopped the Serbian and French armies on the southern front of +Hungary_.” + +Clemenceau, the President of the Peace Conference, is ready to sit down +at a table with Béla Kun. His blind hatred is ready for anything so long +as it leads to the poisoning of the open wound in the side of poor +Hungary, fallen in a gallant fight. And we, poor fools, expected human +charity from the victors, who by this very document certify that for +months they have been responsible for the prolongation of Bolshevik +misrule in Hungary! + +Béla Kun, the Communist of 1919, thus answered M. Clemenceau, the +Communist of 1871: + +“Monsieur Clemenceau, President of the Peace Conference. Paris. + +“The Hungarian Soviet Government has observed with pleasure the +intention of the Allied and Associated Powers to convoke Hungary to the +Paris Peace Conference. The Hungarian Soviet Republic has no hostile +intention towards any people in the world, it desires to live in +friendship and peace with all of them, all the more as it does not +insist on territorial integrity.” Then he goes on sarcastically: “We are +delighted to hear that the Allied Powers have ordered the Czecho-Slovak +republic, the kingdoms of Rumania and Yugo Slavia to stop their attacks, +but we are forced to emphasise the fact that the States in question have +paid no heed to the orders of the Allies.” Finally he offers the help of +the Red army “to enforce the orders of the Allies.” + + * * * * * + + _June 13th._ + +We only heard of it to-day, although it happened at the beginning of the +month: the Directorates of Szombathely and Celldömölk had attempted to +use the military to enforce the enlistment of railwaymen of military age +in the Red army. They, however, decided to stop work and overthrow the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat by a strike. All honest railwaymen +joined the rising one after the other, and on the 2nd of June all trains +between the Austrian frontier and the Danube stopped. The train of +Számuelly with its Lenin Boys alone was running. As Budapest had refused +to join in, the railwaymen did not succeed in stopping the traffic +throughout the country, and after a struggle of six days they returned +to work. The trains started from gallows-trees and with them the halting +circulation of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat was restored. Another +hope gone. Then followed the fulfilment of Béla Kun’s promise: “I shall +hang a few railwaymen in every station and then order will be restored. +I have done the trick before in Russia.” + +But meanwhile the smouldering fuse had again blazed up and +counter-revolution broke out in Sopron. Other towns followed, but it did +not last long, for in a few hours the Reds came in from all sides. In +Csorna the Terrorists of Györ collected the counter-revolutionaries and +crammed one hundred and fifty into a small cell, then closed the iron +shutters to suffocate them. + +Then Számuelly arrived in the town. In front of him armed guards ran +shouting: “Into the houses!” and those who did not manage to get out of +the way in time were shot. When Számuelly with his Lenin Boys actually +entered the town the streets had been cleared, so the black hyena in his +armoured car raced amidst a deathly silence to sit in judgment. + +A table was placed in the open, and the prisoners were led before +Számuelly one after another. He examined nobody and only asked who was +possessed of property. Then he ordered some to the left and some to the +right. No witnesses were called: Számuelly alone represented the +tribunal. “To death!” he shouted to those on the left, and eighty +started for the square in front of the church. + +One of the men sentenced, a journeyman bootmaker, collapsed on the way +and was left there. The others were beaten with rifle-butts and spat +upon by their hangmen. The eye-glasses of Lieut. Takács were thrust into +his eyes until the eyeball was forced out of its socket, and while he +walked on they even tore his handkerchief away so that his eyeball hung +on his cheek. They boxed the ears of Gyula Akics, a mill-owner, while he +stood under the gallows, and then Stephen Tárcsay, Louis Laffer, Gyula +Németh and Francis Glaser were hanged. No doctor was present at the +execution. Before the corpses were cold the Lenin Boys stripped them and +made the other prisoners bury them. Számuelly watched the execution and +made jokes. + +Next day he went to Kapuvár and entered the place with a band of a +hundred and fifty Terrorists armed with machine-guns and hand grenades. +All he asked the prisoners was their name. “Hang them!” he cried. The +mayor, the police sergeant and three others were led in front of the +Catholic Church. He reprieved one of them on the way, because he was +told he was the president of the Jewish congregation. In this place, +too, the prisoners were beaten on their way to execution. The rope broke +when police sergeant Pintér was hanged. His two little children ran up +and implored mercy, but Számuelly would not relent. He then imposed a +fine of millions on the town, and all the cattle he could lay hands on +were driven away. Then he went on, without remorse, calmly, in his +princely special train. + +This death train passes through Hungary day and night, and wherever it +stops men are hanged on the trees and blood is spilt on the pavements. +Along its track people often find naked and mutilated corpses. In the +Pullman car Számuelly sits in judgment. I heard this from a reliable +man, who had gone over with the Socialist party to the Communists to +save his own skin. He had to report to Számuelly in Szolnok, and it was +then that he saw the train. + +Számuelly lives permanently in this train, and even in Budapest he +sleeps in it, being surrounded by thirty selected Terrorist guards. His +special executioner travels with him. The train consists of two parlour +cars, two first-class carriages in which the Terrorists travel, and two +third-class carriages for the victims. The executions take place in +these, and the floors of the cars are covered with blood-stains. The +corpses are thrown out of the windows, while Számuelly sits in his +Pullman car surrounded by tapestry walls, bevelled mirrors, and fragile +gilt Louis XVI. furniture covered with pink brocade, and seated before +his delicate, feminine writing table, he disposes of people’s lives. + +Through every action of practical Marxism, through all its ordinances +and institutions, even through the communication of its news, there +grins cruelty—the repulsive, morbid cruelty of sensuality. + +The brave kill, the cowards torture. The Hungarian people can be wild, +ruthless, coarse and even vindictive, but through all its history it has +never been cruel. It is not a sensual race. It expresses sensuality +neither in its ancestral religion, nor in the conception of its gods of +pagan times, nor in its legends, stories, folk-songs, humour or art. The +cruelty of the Bolsheviks, on the other hand, is imbued with the +sensuality of pathological aberration. Its origin is neither Slav nor +Turanian, but of another race living in our midst. The history of the +Hebrews, the Covenant, the Talmud and the Jewish literature of the +various languages of the world, everything that originates with Jews, is +overflowingly sensual. Cruelty finds its fantasy and energy in +sensuality. The bloody invasion of the Turks, the merciless oppression +of the Austrians, were incomparably milder than the cruelty of the +Bolsheviks. + +Szâmuelly’s train races on without a stop, past trembling little guards’ +houses, through torpid, insignificant stations, through plains and over +hills. It rushes through the country from end to end, to forge, with the +cruelty of the conquering race, permanent shackles round our ruined +country. No other sound is heard throughout the land; just the shriek of +a train. + + * * * * * + + _June 14th._ + +The town was smothered in a stifling white heat. Under the window the +little street basked lifelessly in the sun. As far as I could see from +my pillow nothing was happening. Our fate was as stifling and as +motionless as the street. + +The first national congress of Soviets is meeting to-day in Budapest. On +the previous two days the Communist party held meetings in the Hungarian +House of Parliament. I began to read the report: “There was a red shine +in the eyes....” Then I stopped: a grimy old wall in Budapest came to my +mind, a glaring red poster sticking to it.... And under a blue sky a +giant labourer was furiously painting the House of Parliament red with a +brush that dripped.... + +[Illustration: + + THE EXECUTIONERS OF SZÁMUELLY’S “DEATH TRAIN.” (Hanged 29 Dec., 1919.) +] + +I continued to read the account of the Communists’ general meeting. The +reporter, with the traditional rapture for everything that is new, +gushed over the aspect of the altered assembly room in the House of +Parliament. The old frescoes have disappeared, and instead of the sacred +crown above the chairman’s seat, “a fierce-looking labourer with a +Phrygian cap is contemplating the place, with the Soviet’s five-pointed +star above his heart. On the wall there are no longer pictures of +‘historical celebrities,’ nor of ‘glorious battles,’—new strokes of the +brush have transformed them into symbolical, grandiose decorations.” + +How they hurry to cover and efface everything that was ours! Yet even +while they are painting their ordinances with our blood, every +successive beat of the country’s heart is louder and louder, more and +more threatening. “What have you done with our country? With our +language, our honour, the purity of our children, the memory of our +greatness? The throbbing of the Hungarian blood bodes ill, but they hear +it not, though the anger of a deeply insulted nation is boiling up +around them. They will not hear, they plunder and murder as before and +hold meetings in the stolen house of our stolen country. Their newspaper +chroniclers record with satisfied racial self-consciousness the arrival +of the delegates: “They entered without the slightest embarrassment, +without emotion, without fuss.” + +The strength and misfortune of the Jewish race are that it is surprised +by nothing and does not believe in the aims which it professes. + +I thought of the great hall where once the noble figure of Stephen Tisza +dominated so many storms, and I thought also of those who could never +have invaded the place had they not passed over his dead body. They do +not know it, but they are going to their ordeal, for even as they speak +the blood begins to ooze out of the country’s open wound.[4] + +“As they passed before the red draperies their faces showed up against +the red background.” Many of the People’s Commissaries have escaped from +gaols and lunatic asylums: is the background of these faces a fitting +place for the Hungarian labourer, painted above the presidential stand +with a Phrygian cap and a Soviet star? If this labourer could +articulate, his cry would sound the knell of this ‘assembly.’ I have +spoken with many real Hungarian labourers during the last few weeks, on +shaky, springless carts, near railway embankments, in the fields, near +the hills, on the main roads, and how many of them have cursed those who +deliberate this day over our ruins. But they were not there in the great +hall among the speakers. It was Béla Kohn, Richard Schwarz, and William +Böhm who spoke. The committee is composed of: Moritz Heller, Rabinovits, +Vera Singer, William Lefkovits, Elias Brandstein, and Arpád Schwarz. + +What did they discuss during the two days? Did they raise the question +whether it was fitting to shed blood in order to accomplish their +universal brotherhood or whether they should attain their aim by +starvation? Did they mention that round the green table in Paris foreign +hands are squeezing our thousand years old frontier, while others are +standing by eager to tear off such parts as have not yet been +distributed? + +Not they! The Dictators discussed a proposed change of name of their +party and debated the expediency of tightening or relaxing the pressure +of the Dictatorship. In this the hand of Lenin appears, for a few days +ago the Russian tyrants sent a message to their Budapest branch that +henceforth it must call itself ‘the United Communist party of Hungary.’ +Many members obeyed, but the more cunning ones advocated the advantages +of the ‘Socialist’ sign. They look ahead and hope that should Communism +collapse somehow in Hungary it might be possible to save the Jewish +domination by returning to the old conditions. That is the only thing +that matters to them; everything else is of secondary importance—the +school books, the gallows, the prisons, the keys of the safe deposits, +the fresh soldiers’ graves, the new casualties, the recent mutilations. +Henceforth it will be unnecessary to characterise the Dictatorship and +its tyrants; their deliberations have disclosed their nature. + +“The power of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat is now in the hands of +an active minority,” said Béla Kun. In giving the list of the delegates’ +names ‘The Red Newspaper’ and ‘The People’s Voice’ show what this active +minority is. Practically every member of it belongs to the foreign race. +In his programme, Béla Kun clamours for the application of merciless +violence. “The quotation of pacificism has suffered a slump, and the +quotation, not of the imperialistic war but of the revolutionary class +war, is soaring.... The army is nothing but the armed Proletariat. It is +a class army ... this does not mean that we intend to limit our +recruiting to the industrial Proletariat of the towns. It would be rank +folly to expose to the risk of death none but the _élite_ of the +Proletariat. The self-conscious Proletarians must be distributed among +the Proletarians who possess self-consciousness in a lesser degree. We +must be sparing with the class-conscious Proletarians.” + +This is meant for the educated classes, the manufacturers and +agriculturists. Never have words contained more calculated iniquity. The +Israelites have redeemed their blood with that of the Canaanites. Let +him bear the cross who is about to be crucified on it. + +Béla Kun continued to outline his programme. He had but a few words for +the land question: “That my programme does not say much about it is +quite natural. It is a question concerning which we are still groping in +the dark. I admit that.” + +They will talk about it later, when the peasant has paid the blood tax. +Till that is done, let him live in the illusion that his land is his own +and is not appropriated by the Co-operatives of Production belonging to +the Government. + +“The Dictatorship must apply stricter measures!” Pogány exclaimed. He +spoke of the Counter-revolution in West Hungary. “There is only one road +open for us: Forward, to the left!” + +Comrade Horváth, of whom it is common knowledge that he has stolen his +clothes from Count Joseph Károlyi’s castle, declared that the prestige +of the Dictatorship ought to be improved and expressed himself +disparagingly of the Soviet delegates: “I declare and am ready to prove +that in Székesfehérvár one evening there were sixty political delegates +in the coffee-house whose Polish-Jewish origin was unmistakably written +on their faces.” + +Vágó-Weiss, a People’s Delegate, interrupted: “How dare you talk like +that?” and Számuelly banged his desk with his fist. How hurt they are if +we touch anything belonging to them; but if we express pain when they +destroy our God and our country they hang us. + +All references to gallows, all threatening and bloodthirsty speeches +were suppressed by the newspapers, out of consideration for foreign +countries. The meeting was concluded by a speech by Béla Kun in which +Hungary’s Dictator furnished some further characteristic details about +himself and his order. + +“First of all I want to deal with Comrade Schwarz’s interruption,” the +Commissary for Foreign Affairs said, and then proceeded to answer the +comrade who had proposed: “if our party’s old programme contained the +abolition of capital punishment, its present programme ought to contain +it too.” In his answer Béla Kun made some humorous remarks concerning +capital punishment and said that the old Socialist programme had claimed +the right for everyone to install and operate small stills (loud +laughter). Richard Schwarz interrupted: “I was not joking!” Béla Kun +continued: “I know full well that Comrade Schwarz was not joking, for he +is not a humorous man (laughter), and yet there was some unconscious +humour in his proposal (hear, hear). When a programme like ours is under +consideration ... a programme which forms the foundation of the +Dictatorship ... it is unseemly to discuss such trifles. This settles, +as far as I am concerned, the proposal made by Comrade Schwarz, and I +propose its rejection. (Signs of approval.)” + +Finally, to complete his self-characterisation, he expressed his ideas +on intellectual production: + +“It is in the nature of things that the Dictatorship is not +over-favourable for the development of personal liberties, it is not +propitious to the assertion of individuality; but if our intellectual +life has declined, bear in mind that it is not _our_ intellectual life +but the remnant of the bourgeoisie’s organisation of physical tyranny +which it was pleased to call literature.” + +(Shades of Goethe, Arany, Shelley, Andersen, Flaubert, Dostoyevski, +masters of your art, know you all that you are naught but that part of +‘the bourgeois organisation of physical tyranny which is called +literature.’) + +The window near my bed is open. The birds twitter and I can hear the +concert of frogs by the Ipoly. A dog barks. Birds, frogs and dogs all +speak their own language: why do not the Budapest Communists debate in +Hebrew? + + * * * * * + + _June 16th._ + +The Soviet assembled yesterday in Budapest and meetings were held from +morning till night. The national delegates of our county’s Soviet +attended. The Red newspapers this morning are bursting with pride, with +ecstasy over the opening festivities. + +“The labouring people of Hungary have gone to Budapest to lay the +foundations of a new Constitution which will create a new atmosphere and +bring happiness in its wake.” + +As a matter of fact the labourers of Balassagyarmat are indifferent and +miserable. Nobody bothers about the Soviets. They have no part in it. +The whole thing is strange and distant to them. + +“The will of the millions,” say the newspapers. And there it meets, this +curious assembly, elected by orders of the People’s Commissaries, by the +privileged fraction of the population, with lists prepared in advance, +under the supervision of soldiers with fixed bayonets. + +A theatre was the scene of the opening ceremony. The First National +Assembly of Hungarian Soviets met in a suburban theatre in the +neighbourhood of the old clothes’ market. “Red walls and wreaths, +arranged by inspiring, artistic hands,” the Red chronicler reports. +“Silence dominates the audience of thousands, the crowded boxes, when +the curtain is raised.” On the stage there is a red tribune ornamented +with artificial red flowers and a long table where the People’s +Commissaries assemble. “A historical, grandiose gathering,” says the +reporter of ‘The People’s Voice.’ “The stage is inundated with a flood +of light. The strains of the Internationale rise. Everyone feels that +this is the beginning of the second thousand of Hungary’s historical +years.” (A pity it’s begun on the stage, though.) “You are burying +to-day this country’s thousand years old Constitution,” said Alexander +Garbai, the President of the Council, in his opening speech. But a +People’s Constitution grows from its soil, like the crops, and no +executioners can kill the soil. To-day the soil is suffering in silence: +it is the apotheosis of Béla Kun. “The Congress rose for him and +applauded him madly for several minutes.” His will is done. He imposes +the ‘Constitution’ he likes, and the Soviet joins the Third +International. Its leader then produced a message from Red Russia’s +leader: “Every Proletarian will fight like a tiger; we shall win or +die!” The factory workers swore fidelity: “We will be the pillars of the +Soviet Republic.” + +Steps came along the quiet street and somebody said “good day”: it was +Mrs. Huszár speaking through the window. The local schoolmaster was +outside and wanted to borrow a copy of Marx’s works. He has to give a +lecture on the Communist Declaration. He doesn’t want to, but what is he +to do? He will get two hundred crowns for it, and if he disobeys he will +be dismissed; besides, he has so many children.... + +I remembered a tale of the country where the hunchbacks lived. Once upon +a time there was a country which was inhabited exclusively by +hunchbacks. If by any chance anyone with a straight back happened to +enter the country he was at once put to death. Everything went on all +right till one day it pleased God to give an exceptional year for wine. +Hills and vales resounded with the music of the grape harvest, and it so +happened that many people got drunk on the new wine. In the land of +hunchbacks the ground was shaking with dancing and the air was filled +with songs. Then it happened that a drunken young fellow snatched the +hump from his back and waved it with joyful shouts above his head. +Others imitated him—all had regained their courage. So they shook their +false humps from their backs and finally it turned out that there was +only one genuine hunchback in the whole of the hunchbacks’ country. + +The steps receded from the window: the teacher went off with Marx’s +writings under his arm. + +Wait till the grape harvest, land of Hunchbacks! + + * * * * * + + _June 19th._ + +This is Corpus Christi but I know it only by the distant sound of the +bells. Now the procession is passing with doffed hats, gravely, +silently, under the church banners. The villagers have come to town, +there is a sea of people and the organ sounds in the distance. In a +cloud of incense the Host is floating down the church, out under the +open sky, and it glitters in the sun. As it passes the people kneel. +Christ walks among His people. He walks everywhere in the country and +they dare not interfere with him. Only when the procession had returned +to church did little Jew boys rush up and throw thousands of handbills +among the people. One of them flew to me through the window. + +“Proletarians of the world, unite! Read this and pass it on! The +Revolution cannot indulge in sentimentality and must not know pity. +_Gallows or bullets!_ It will be wise for the bourgeois and hooligans +not to try to attack the Revolution, because at the first attempt iron +fists will stifle their souls in them with unrelenting deadliness. The +Revolution is prepared for everything, all means will be employed by her +to preserve her glorious purity as an eternal purity. Woe to those who +attack her treacherously!” + + * * * * * + + _June 20th._ + +In Budapest, too, the victors made preparations for Corpus Christi day. + +It happened in Buda, in front of St. Matthias’ church during the +procession. I have it from an eye witness. Round the banners thousands +of children were thronging, among crowds of their elders. A motor-car +came racing down Tárnok Street, a Commissary’s car, the son of a +political delegate sitting in it. His sweetheart, a waitress, stood in +front of a shop and waved her hand to him. The young Jew wanted to show +off his power, so he shouted to the chauffeur: “Run them down!” The car +made straight for the procession, which fled in panic. When the car +reached the Host the Jew boy spat on It. The crowd raised a shout and +would have lynched the blasphemous wretch if Red soldiers had not +rescued him, dragging him under a doorway. The crowd attacked the door, +but before the Terror Boys could arrive the soldiers themselves had +settled the aggressors with their bayonets. + +And at the same time a similar incident took place at the bottom of the +castle hill near St. Christina’s church. A Jew drove through the +multitude and before he could be prevented spat on the Host. In this +case the crowd fell on him and beat him to death. Later on shots were +fired into the church. News of this kind comes from all quarters. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + + _June 21st._ + +I like to listen to the children when they talk about the banks of the +Ipoly. The dragonflies have made their appearance over the slow, warm +water. The golden maple has withered in the garden. The crops are hot +between the furrows. I like to hear that summer has come. The terrible +time is passing. + +In the name of the Entente, Clemenceau has sent a new ultimatum to the +Soviet. + +“The Hungarian army fighting on Czecho-Slovak territory must be +withdrawn at once behind the frontiers fixed for Hungary.... The +Rumanian troops will be withdrawn at once as soon as Hungarian troops +withdraw from Czecho-Slovakia.... If within four days after the 14th of +June the Government does not comply with this demand, the Allies will +take punitive measures.” + +On the other hand the powers of the Entente declare “in the name of +peace and justice” that the frontiers to be fixed in a subsequent +message will “permanently separate Hungary from Czecho-Slovakia and +Rumania and that these Powers will be obliged to withdraw behind the +fixed _natural_ frontiers.” + +An hour must have passed since we began and we are still reading the +names of towns and villages cut off by Clemenceau’s line in the name of +“peace and justice.” + +[Illustration: THE FRONTIERS OF HUNGARY] + +The name of every lost town, every little village is a stab. They want +to take the sky above our heads, the ground under our feet. They want to +take our ancient Hungarian towns, which we have not conquered by arms +but which we have built with the sweat of our brow. They want to take +the region of Sopron, where the giant of Hungarian music, Francis Liszt, +was born; Czenk, where the builder of modern Hungarian culture, Count +Stephen Széchenyi, sleeps his eternal sleep; Pressburg, the ancient +coronation town, whence the cry of Hungarian fidelity “_Moriamur pro +rege nostro!_” rang out over land and sea. They take Kassa with the +grave of the champion of Hungary’s freedom, Francis Rákoczy; Munkács, +the birthplace of our great painter, Munkácsy; Gyulafehérvár, the +resting-place of Europe’s saviour, John Hunyady, the scourge of the +Turks; Kolozsvár, where stands the birthplace of the great prince of the +Renaissance, Mathias Corvinus; the field of Segesvár, the cemetery of +our national poet, Petöfi. They want to take Arad where thirteen martyrs +of our independence, including Count Leiningen, died within an hour for +their country. They want to take Szalonta, John Arany’s purely Hungarian +birthplace, the district where the oldest and purest Hungarian is +spoken. They want to tear from us our brethren the Vends, Ruthenians and +millions and millions of Hungarians. They want to take two rivers, the +Drava and the Sava, and three mountain ranges, the Tátra, the Mátra and +the Fátra, which adorn and form the armorial bearings of Hungary. _And +all this never belonged to those to whom it is given._ + +They want to rob us of our cradles and graves, “in the name of peace and +justice....” My God! “Natural frontiers....” Are they making fun of our +sufferings? Dare they call the wound cut into the country’s body +“Natural frontiers?” + +Somebody in the room laughed gruesomely. + +“Here, we overlooked this: the frontier is only fixed till the +conclusion of a definitive peace treaty....” + +I clung to the words, supported myself with them as with crutches. + +“Of course these frontiers are meant for the Bolsheviks only. They are +threats to induce them to surrender....” + +Aladár Huszár shook his head sadly: + +“You will see, all this will remain....” + + * * * * * + + _June 22nd–23rd._ + +The days when something happens to us are not always the worst. The long +dragging hours of eventless days are just as terrible. To stand roped to +the mast of a wreck, to wait passively, to gaze at the hopeless horizon +and to fancy that every white wave is a sail. To see the lights of +phantom vessels, to hear imaginary voices. There is nothing to see, +nothing to hear: all this is as much torture as the catastrophe itself. + + * * * * * + + _June 24th._ + +The blossoms of the acacias have faded, but this year I have not seen +their beauty. Now they have fallen to the ground and something else is +in the air—a rich scent which floats through my window. If it had a +colour it would be white, if it were visible it would smile—the limes +are blooming. Somewhere, everywhere. + +Books are less heavy to my weary hands, and I can now sit up in bed. The +shrill whistle of the trains no longer pierces my brain, and there are +many trains running, more and more every day. The troop trains are +coming back: something is happening. + +The Soviet meeting was suddenly broken up and Budapest is under martial +law. The Soviet members of Balassagyarmat have already come home, and +judging by their reports the triumphant Soviet must have been a strange +gathering. During the proceedings the comrades unfolded their greasy +parcels and began to eat, filling the place with the smell of garlic and +the litter of food. Notwithstanding prohibition there was a good deal of +drinking in the dining-room, and while the comrades in the House of +Parliament were gushing about Proletarian happiness, outside, at the +entrance to the former House of Lords, the leather-jacketed Lenin Boys +were brutalising pale and starving people. + +Béla Kun presided autocratically over the assembly. Whenever anything +began to go contrary to his desires a motion of his hand closed the +debate. On the last day but one ninety-seven members had put down +questions, but he shouted at them that he was fed up with their talk and +in twenty-four hours he hustled the Communist Constitution through. The +Soviet members of the capital attacked those of the provinces; they +clamoured that it was their fault that the capital was starving, why did +they tolerate all the counter-revolutions? The provincial members, on +the other hand, declared that the Communist administration was bankrupt, +was worse than any other, and finally left the place as a protest. The +wind was already veering and only Béla Kun’s terrorism saved the +Directorate. The Commissaries were shouting: “We won’t stand the +preaching of pogroms in the Soviet!” There was great excitement. William +Böhm declared that an anti-Semitic pogrom putsch had been started in +Budapest two days ago. + +[Illustration: + + THE LIBRARY OF COUNT GEORGE SZÁPÁRY AFTER THE REDS HAD BEEN THROUGH + IT. +] + +The Commander-in-Chief held forth in gloomy strains: “Though the Red +army is gaining victory after victory, the situation is not altogether +rosy....” On the 2nd of May, he declared, amidst frenzied applause, the +People’s Commissaries and the members of the Workers’ Council were to +proceed to the front. “Our publicity agents have spread the news over +the country, yet the comrades still stick tight to Budapest. If Eugene +Landler with his twenty stone can climb hills and lie in trenches under +fire, surely the others can do their duty too, otherwise the Proletarian +soldier will no longer believe in Proletarian equality.” Then the Red +Commander shouted in despair: “The reserves have not turned up. If this +goes on for another four weeks, Vágó, Landler and Pogány can go into the +trenches under my leadership if they like, but there won’t be any +soldiers left....” + +I pictured the scene and could not help laughing at its absurdity. I +could see the twenty-stone mass of Landler, and Pogány’s terrific +circumference protruding from the trenches, while Comrade Böhm, the +typewriter agent, with his Field Marshal’s baton elegantly held to his +hip, stands over them, the shadow of his legs throwing an O on the +deserted landscape. “A grandiose historical group,” ‘The People’s Voice’ +described it. Just so. + +My friends heard me laughing, came into my room, and laughed too. The +children, who hadn’t seen anybody laugh for a long time, could not +understand what had happened to us, so they, too, burst out laughing. + +“And this is the gang which rules over us!”... The laughter stopped +suddenly and there was silence—the same silence as yesterday and the +days before that. The children stopped laughing too, and shyly left the +room.... + +Another train whistled beyond the trees and a former artillery officer +ran in for a moment to see the Huszárs. Strange rumours are flying +about: the army is falling to pieces all along the front: the soldiers +are threatening to shoot their commanders: Béla Kun promised peace and +bread and now they have war and paper money: at Branyiszkó the Székler +battalions and workmen-soldiers demanded the national flag to be brought +out and others left the front: yesterday a victorious regiment retreated +from Léva to Ipolyság: on the Danube the Reds are retiring too, without +any cause, dispersing in all directions: the men at the front have sent +an ultimatum to Béla Kun demanding that the “comrades should come out +into the firing line too,” or they will fight no longer: all the +soldiers are saying the same thing:—“the Jews swagger about in patent +leather boots behind the front while we die.” + +It was not the ultimatum of Clemenceau and the Allies that stopped +hostilities with the Czechs, it was this attitude of the troops. “Why +did we beat the Czechs?” the soldiers grumbled. “What was the good of +shedding all that blood if we have to come back?” + +“Our blood is cheap to the comrades!” others answered. + +The soldiers who are passing through the station talk about marching on +Budapest: they are going to brain the People’s Commissaries! Huge +inscriptions are chalked up all along the trains: “To death with Béla +Kun!” “Kill the Jews!” + +A poster has been stuck up opposite our house: it represents a Red +soldier with Semitic features holding a rifle; his raised hand points in +front of him and his mouth is open as though he were pronouncing the +inscription: “You! Counter-revolutionaries, lurking in the dark, +spreading false reports, _Tremble_!” + +‘The Red Newspaper’ shouts in the same bloodthirsty strain: “We demand +martial law against the Counter-revolution! We demand that the +administration of martial law should be placed in the hands of the only +man fit for the position—Comrade Tibor Számuelly. Tibor Számuelly is a +brave and energetic man, who dares to be ruthless for the sake of the +Revolution.... With ten men he crushed the Counter-revolution in Western +Hungary.... All honour to him who, in the interests of the Revolution, +recoils from nothing, who has enough culture and courage to choose with +energy and revolutionary faith the only path that is possible, the path +that is inevitable, the path trod by Saint-Juste and Marat. The right +system for every emergency, the right man for every job! Martial law for +the degraded Counter-revolution. Tibor Számuelly for the suppression of +the Counter-revolution!” + +To-day’s ‘People’s Voice’ reports that martial law has already been +proclaimed; its administrator, however, will not be Számuelly but +Commissary Joseph Haubrich, the Red Military Commander of Budapest, who +is a Christian. But it is obvious why the choice fell on Haubrich and +not on Számuelly. The Jewish race is short-sighted where the lessons of +history are concerned, though it is not lacking in prescience. +Számuelly’s gallows, set up in the Hungarian villages, are not +discernible in Paris and Rome, but foreign countries have their eyes on +Budapest. So as far as Budapest is concerned let it be a Christian who +sheds the blood of the Christians that rise against Jewish tyranny. The +Red press proves this assumption to be correct. Számuelly’s slaughters +were passed over in silence, but the first execution under martial law +in Budapest is announced in huge type: “COUNTER-REVOLUTIONARY SENTENCED +TO DEATH!” + +In Budapest and in the provinces small hand-written and typed handbills +are now being circulated, marked “Copy this and pass it on!” These +handbills set forth the aims of the foreign race which, under the ægis +of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, has come into power, and appeal +to the Hungarian people to be patriotic. Among others who undertook the +distribution of these leaflets was Géza Herczeg, a young man of the +clerical class. He was caught and “On Monday night the Revolutionary +Tribunal sentenced him to be shot.” + +So a Hungarian has died because he distributed bills inciting his +compatriots to rebel against the Jewish terror. On the feast of Corpus +Christi a young Jew spat on the Host, another fired at the altar, and in +another place a volley was fired at the procession. Számuelly favours +the proximity of churches for his executions, but in Béla Kun’s Soviet +Republic there has been no conviction for persecuting Christians. The +cup has now overflowed, the millions are beginning to see. The eyes of +the soldiery have been opened by the useless deaths of their fellows and +by the acts of the champagne-drinking delegates-to-the-front. Recruiting +is announced to begin in our county to-morrow, but village after village +is sending messages to the Directorate that it will not permit it. The +peasantry is fairly aflame. ‘Comrade’ nowadays means Jew in the minds of +the peasants. + +On the other bank of the Ipoly they have beaten the political delegate +to death; his name was Ignace Singer. I remember seeing the red-haired +Ignace Singer, the torturer of Balassagyarmat, and the rest of the +Directorate bolting in coaches from the Czechs; it was he who, after the +defeat of the local Counter-revolution, shouted from the balcony of the +county hall: “Slaughter the bourgeois and don’t spare their women and +children!” His voice will be heard no more—nor will that of his friend, +Comrade Riechmann, who has chosen the wiser part and has absconded with +five million crowns in cash. + +One more storm and the fury of the betrayed people will break through +the dams. The people has recovered its memory; it remembers who +exploited it during the war, who enriched himself by Hungary’s disaster, +who dragged it into the terrible peace, into civil war and death. The +air is resonant with this new consciousness, conceived in blood. In the +great plain one can hear metallic clicks which bode danger: with set +teeth the Hungarian peasantry is sharpening its scythes; and the edge is +not meant for the crops, for the peasant looks towards Budapest. The +news has been spreading for days. In the county of Pest +counter-revolution has flared up. Aszód and Pécel have risen, Cumania +and the whole length of the banks of the Danube are in ferment. It +started on the 19th of June, on the feast of Corpus Christi, and the +tocsin carried the news from village to village along the banks of the +Danube. The peasants took their scythes, tore up the railways and cut +the telephone wires. The Directorate took to flight and the Red Guards +surrendered and ran for their lives. + +Kalocsa, Duna-pataj, Dömsöd, Tas, Lacháza ... names that sound like +ancient Hungarian music. They are ringing with the sound of Hungarian +hopes ... Hungarian scythes. + + * * * * * + + _June 25th._ + +It was long after midnight when I heard steps coming from the direction +of the railway station. A voice said in the street: “There will be no +trains for Budapest to-morrow.” + +The news spread in the morning—nobody knew who had brought it, it just +came suddenly. _The Counter-revolution has broken out in Budapest!_ +Imagination supplied the rest. The Hungarians working for us in +Vienna ... a railway strike ... the names of villages and counties ... +all along the Danube ... the whole of Western Hungary, Szeged.... The +Whites are marching with fifty thousand men from Szeged towards +Budapest. + +Stories inspired by hope. + +Then somebody came from Vácz, bringing news. Yesterday at four o’clock +in the afternoon four cannon-shots were heard in the direction of +Budapest. The cannonade increased. People ran down to the banks of the +Danube and listened with their ears to the ground. Many stuck ribbons of +the national colours in their coats. There is a counter-revolution in +Budapest! The barracks rose against the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, +and most of the factories joined in. The monitors on the Danube shelled +and destroyed the Hotel Hungaria, which had become Soviet House. The +ships hoisted the national flag, and white flags are floating from the +castle, from Mount Gellert, from the houses of Buda. + +A fierce joy seized me and I wanted to get out of bed, I felt ill no +longer. Then ... nothing especial happened and yet things began to lose +their brightness. Evening came. We laughed no more and suspense became +pain. + +No newspapers arrived. The train was very late; there was a passenger +from Budapest—Comrade Frank, Dictator of the County, and once again he +talked loudly under the porch, and he wore a red tie. A gentleman passed +with a white handkerchief protruding from his pocket. “Remove that +counter-revolutionary badge!” shouted Frank. My friends sat around me in +silence, none of us dared speak of plans. Hope dried up in our hearts. +Then the door was cautiously opened and somebody came in. It was a +railwayman—they always have the latest news. The Counter-revolution in +Budapest has been defeated, and those who were caught are to be hanged! + +In Budapest everybody knew about it beforehand, people talked openly in +the streets. The signal was expected for three o’clock, when the +monitors would open fire. The moving spirits of the rising were Captain +Lemberkovics and a military chaplain, Julius Zákány. Haubrich, the Red +commander of the garrison, appeared to side with the rising and declared +that in case of success he would assume the military dictatorship; in +case of failure, however, he would deal mercilessly with the organisers. +He also informed the credulous counter-revolutionaries that the Soviet +had ordered him to declare martial law. He had managed to postpone it +till the 26th, but could hold out no longer. Let them therefore have the +rising on the 24th, on Tuesday. Thus it was Haubrich himself who fixed +the date and on Tuesday morning his posters appeared on the wall. +Martial law! The carrying out of the Counter-revolution was entrusted to +a Red brigade of Hungarian soldiers composed of about three thousand +men, and they had thirty guns and a few armoured cars. Haubrich knew of +this, and just before the rising he despatched the brigade to the +Northern front. From that moment the Counter-revolution was reduced to a +forlorn attempt, supported by the men of the artillery barracks, the +monitors, the military academy and the patriotic workmen of a factory in +Ujpest. + +When the signal was given in the harbour of Old Buda, the three monitors +came forth under the national flag and began to shell Soviet House. +Fifty pupils of the military academy occupied a telephone exchange and +meanwhile people were gathering at the appointed places. Officers, +citizens, students and policemen met under doorways. The workmen, +however, forsook the rising at the last moment. Many of the officers +were late. In places where four or five thousand armed men were +expected, only ten or twenty appeared, and of the twenty thousand hoped +for only a few hundreds turned up. + +The men in the artillery barracks were restrained by Communist orators, +who appeared suddenly and informed them that the Counter-revolution had +already been defeated everywhere, and made them arrest their officers. +The monitors gave up their useless cannonade and fled down the Danube to +the south. The workmen of the factory were persuaded to surrender to a +band of terrorists who had hurried to the spot. Shots were exchanged +between Buda and Pest. The colours on the masts of the ships on the +Danube and on the soldiers’ caps changed from red, white and green to +red as events took this turn. Terror Boys on lorries with machine-guns +raced through the empty streets, shooting into the windows and firing +volleys at the houses, occasionally breaking into houses and carrying +the occupants off. They tore down the national colours wherever they +found them, and corpses began to strew the pavements. When evening came +the unfortunate town knew that it had not yet freed itself from the +tyrant and that there was seemingly no hope left. By its organisation +the Red power had swept away in a few hours the rising of the barracks, +the monitors and the factories. The whole thing crumbled away in blood, +misfortune and retreat. Everything was lost. + +Not everything! In the general collapse a handful of Hungarian boys kept +the flag flying. The forsaken cadets of the military academy held out. +Till next morning these boys in white uniforms defended the telephone +exchange which had been entrusted to them against the assaults and +machine-guns of the Reds. They also defended the building of their +academy, besieged by a whole regiment. The attacking Reds were +reinforced in the morning, artillery was brought up, and Haubrich sent a +message to the effect that if they did not surrender he would have the +whole place blown to pieces. Then only did the gate open and the heroes +of the Counter-revolution lay down their arms. Soldiers with fixed +bayonets drove a group of boys in white uniforms to the condemned cells. + +Everything is lost. Yet there has been this ray of light in a town +wrapped in darkness and shame. Our honour, which the men could not +defend, was saved by a few boys; and through our despair there appeared +a vision of a new generation worthier than the old. What will be their +fate? The nights are nights of terror and nobody sleeps; some fight with +horrors, others hope and pray. + +Poor boys! I think of them and their mothers, of unknown, pale, +sleepless women, strangers to me yet closely kin. I, too, have a mother. + + * * * * * + + _June 26th._ + +The Red press rhapsodizes to-day. “The Counter-revolutionary plot has +failed. Capitalism attempted to regain its power. It was led on by a +tricolour flag. The mean, cowardly bourgeois mob of priests, bankers, +aristocrats, officers, _Jew boys_, has crept out of its lairs to incite +pogroms.” + +This is a cunning attempt to twist the truth. The persecution of the +Christians must be screened, and as there is none to contradict it, Béla +Kun’s press boldly calls executed Christians ‘Jews’ so as to persuade +the grumbling people that the Dictators do not protect their own race. +And it accuses the Jewish bankers of sympathy for the Counter-revolution +so as to throw sand in the eyes of the peasantry led to the scaffold. +Géza Herczeg, to whom they allude, was a Hungarian, and the Jewish +bankers have nothing in common with Hungary’s struggles. + +I have it on the authority of one of the noblest figures of the +Counter-revolution, a friend of mine, that when in desperation the +organisers of the Counter-revolution asked for a loan from the Hungarian +Jewish bankers abroad, and the Hungarian aristocracy, for the present +deprived of all its means, offered to guarantee it, they refused with +derision; for although the Dictatorship of the Proletariat is causing +them temporary losses, they are ready to sacrifice themselves for the +final triumph of their race and declare proudly that “this Béla Kun is, +after all, a wonderful fellow!” + +The written materials for the history which is to be compiled to-morrow +is already being intentionally falsified by the newspapers of to-day. +The Counter-revolution was not a fight of Capitalism against the +Proletariat, it was a fight of the Hungarian nation against the foreign +race. Its victims are not bankers and capitalists, but the poor +Hungarian middle-class, starving intellectuals, struggling +manufacturers, poverty-stricken officials, and artisans, while its +butchers are not Proletarians but Számuellys, Joseph Pogánys, George +Lukács and Béla Kuns. + +“Bad news....” + +It is cold. The door rattles and the wind comes in at every crevice. Out +of doors under a leaden sky the trees are blown nearly to the ground. + +Someone says in a whisper: + +“There is an old saying that when there is a wind like this in June it +means that the gallows are busy.” + +They are hanging Hungarians everywhere. Brave Captain Lembrovics and his +friend, Lieutenant Filipec, have been killed. They have hanged the +leaders of the factory workers, Ladislaus Orszy and foreman Martinovics. +Other factory workers and bourgeois have been shot in front of the +factory by terrorists. + +‘The People’s Voice’ reports the news with satisfaction: + +“The Court martial has sentenced Stephen Kiss, Joseph Grasse and +Ladislaus Szabó, former officers, and Zoltán Oszváth, a captain on the +active list, Antony Waldsteinbrecht, a former lieutenant of the reserve, +and Francis Imrey, a former captain, to death by hanging.” + +The Terror tribunal is now trying the pupils of the military academy. +And who will count the corpses thrown into the Danube, the dead bodies +lying in the streets? Now and then one hears a name from among the many. +Madarász, a young medical student, was beaten to death because he had +the temerity to study with a candle burning in his room. To the shame of +humanity they have also murdered Dr. Nicholas Berend, the famous +children’s specialist. + +Comrade Haubrich proclaims proudly: “Order reigns in Budapest,” and has +the following proclamation posted up:— + +“After June 26th the doors of all houses must be closed at 8 p.m. No one +is allowed in the streets after 10 p.m. More than three people must not +be together in the street. All theatres and places of amusement are to +be closed.” + +And the Dictators order the city, distracted with sorrow, to hoist red +flags on its houses. The walls are covered with orders. + +“Any counter-revolutionary attempt, or offence, will be punished by +hanging. Any counter-revolutionaries caught armed will be shot on the +spot. + +Budapest. June 25th, 1919. + + _Joseph Haubrich_, _Béla Kun_, + Commander of the Garrison. Deputy Commander-in-Chief.” + +They give orders, sentence and murder undisturbed. The wind is howling. +Trees are blown nearly to the ground. And all over Hungary there are +hangings. + + * * * * * + + _June 27th._ + +Now that it has passed we begin to realise that even in our despair we +had still hopes. It is no good to tell us we were wrong, we persisted in +believing in the success of the heroic inhabitants of the banks of the +Danube. That is over too, for there also the Counter-revolution has been +defeated. A political delegate boasted loudly in front of the county +hall of Balassagyarmat: “We have settled the whole lot. While Béla Kun +and Haubrich worked in Budapest, Számuelly dipped the peasants’ rising +in red. He took his revenge on the farmers. Any village that had injured +the Jews was simply exterminated.” + +People are fleeing from those parts, coming in our direction, and +escaping over the Ipoly into the hills, where the Czechs are. The Czechs +take our people to Olmütz if they are officers and to Pressburg if they +are civilians. The fugitives know the fate in store for them, yet they +go there; anything is better than the gallows. + +People escaping from sentence of death are continually ringing at the +door, seeking Aladár Huszár. Somehow those who are in trouble know his +name, and they come to him pale and exhausted, even as I came. Often +they cannot speak, yet he understands them as he understood me. The +Directorate keeps an eye on him and his house is watched—detectives +swarm around it. But he manages frequently, when night has come, to +conduct anxious shadows through the quiet streets of the town to the +living bridge across the Ipoly. Meanwhile the Red sentry loafs at the +corner and glares at our windows. Hours pass. Mrs. Huszár walks quietly +up and down in the next room. She stops suddenly, resumes her walk, then +stops again. The whole house shares her vigil. Then the small gate +opens ... so he has come home at last. The wind covers the tracks of the +fugitives, the news of blood alone remains. + +The banks of the Danube are one continuous death rattle: for a whole +week Számuelly has been hanging. The Revolutionary Cabinet despatched +him and he arrived with his terrorists at Kunszentmiklós the day after +the rising. With him came his two Russian Jew hangmen, Itzigovic and +Osserovic, and, dressed in black and with leggings, a little Jew hangman +called Kohn-Kerekes. The latter was overheard having an argument with +Gustav Nick, a freed murderer and terrorist, as to whether one could +hang two or three within five minutes. + +Számuelly toyed with his elegant chamois gloves. He wore patent leather +boots, a Soviet cap, and on the breast of his Russian blouse a red +Soviet star. Ignace Fekete, a telegraph operator, was dragged before +him. Számuelly inquired why his orders had not been obeyed? “Hang him!” +Somebody told him that Fekete was a Jew. He made a sign to Kohn-Kerekes: +“Let him go!” Jews are only hanged by mistake. + +In Tass he had two men hanged on a mulberry tree in front of the town +hall because they carried sticks. “Where did you buy those sticks?” +“Somewhere,” the men answered haughtily. “Hang them!” ordered Számuelly. +In Solt he had the notary and the innkeeper hanged. He spat on +Lieutenant Azily when he was already on the gallows. And on he went with +his hangmen. Csengöd, Öregcsertö ... everywhere he hanged. + +In Duna-pataj he met with resistance, so he attacked the peasants, who +had only scythes, with guns. Yet they stood their ground for five hours. +Hundreds and hundreds perished. In to-day’s ‘Red Newspaper’ Számuelly +reports in Duna-pataj alone three hundred counter-revolutionaries +killed. When his Terror Boys got possession of the village he had sixty +men, old and young, hanged and shot without questioning them. He himself +fixed the rope round several of the victims’ necks and kicked the +corpses with his patent leather boots. In Dunaföldvár also the trees +were turned into gallows. After a desperate battle Kalocsa was forced to +surrender. Számuelly erected his gallows in front of the house of the +Jesuits. During the execution a priest in full canonicals, with a +crucifix raised high, appeared in one of the windows and from a distance +gave absolution to the martyrs. Poor Hungarian peasants, unknown +yesterday, now immortal! They were thrown naked into pits—the +Directorates did not even register their names. Számuelly, with +disgusting callousness, certified ‘suffocation’ as the cause of death. + +A single gesture on the part of humanity would have been sufficient to +save us from all this shedding of Hungarian blood. Instead, the +victorious powers encircled us and pointed us out to their own working +men as an example of the blessings of practical Marxism. They talked of +‘peace’ in Paris. And to satisfy the more sensitive of their citizens +their representatives in Budapest now and then entered a formal protest +against the shedding of blood. + +[Illustration: + + ARPÁD KEREKES _alias_ KOHN. + + SZÁMUELLY’S FAVOURITE HANGMAN. +] + +A traveller came with the evening train from Budapest and he brought +news. The Revolutionary Council had fixed Thursday for the executions, +which were to take place in public, in one of the finest squares of the +town, the Octogon. All preparations were made: the military cordon was +posted early in the afternoon: the Lenin Boys were there. The whole town +was trembling with excitement and a crowd of some ten thousand people +assembled, waiting and murmuring. There were no gallows—it was intended +to hang the counter-revolutionaries on the lamp-posts. The carts for the +corpses arrived, and the excitement of the crowd increased. Six o’clock +struck. Somebody shouted: “They are bringing the condemned!” Then it was +given out that the hanging would not take place. At the last moment +Colonel Romanelli, the head of the Italian Military Mission, had sent a +note of protest to Béla Kun, which was reported in the newspapers:— + +“I address to you the demand that you respect without exception the +lives of all the hostages and political prisoners who have fallen into +your hands in consequence of the late events, including those who were +taken after armed resistance. I warn you and every member of your +Government that you will be called jointly and severally to account if +you execute the sentences mentioned above.” + +Béla Kun answered as follows:— + +“The Hungarian Soviet repudiates all threats which render the members of +the Government responsible for events which are the internal affairs of +the country.” He appealed to the “friendly feelings testified by Italy +towards the Soviet” and expressed his doubt whether Italy could be the +protector of “gangs of assassins who, in the interest of the +Counter-revolution had intended to murder women and children and +exterminate the Jews” and who had been sentenced by judges of the Soviet +“according to their own laws.” + +Számuelly goes on hanging people in the provinces, but in Budapest the +execution on the Octogon was prevented by the manly and determined +attitude of the colonel. But while Italy saves a few lives with one +hand, what action does she take with the other? Why does Italy refuse to +know who Béla Kun is and what it means in the eyes of Hungary that he +can boast of his friendship with Italy and that the Red army can +proclaim “We are smashing the Counter-revolution with Italian guns and +Italian arms?” It is said that the pearls from the lovely white necks of +Hungarian women go abroad, and that fine thoroughbreds are driven from +the Hungarian prairies in exchange for guns sent to exterminate us. + +If this is true, there will be no blessing on the exchange. Spilt blood +will ooze out from under the pearls and from under the hoofs of the +horses. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + + _June 28th._ + +The Counter-revolution has been beaten everywhere. The power of the +Dictators seems never to have been greater. When they first came they +had to share their power with the trade-unions, the Soldiers’ Council, +the ‘confidential men,’ the Peasants’ and Workers’ Councils and later on +with the National Soviet. Within three months they have freed themselves +of all these. First of all the peasants disappeared as a deciding +factor. They were followed by the ‘confidential men’ and these by the +Soldiers’ Council. The Workmen’s Council was reduced to a shadow, the +trade-unions were transformed and subdued, the Soviet was sent home, and +of the remnant of these three they made a dummy, the ‘Economic Council,’ +in whose hands the new constitution was placed. The beginning and the +end of this Constitution is the domination of their race over the ruins +of the destroyed power of the State. The edifice of tyranny has been +perfected. All means and all power are in its hands. It has absolute +sway over life and death. Law-giver, executive, judge, gaoler and +executioner, all in one. + +The red flags of victory are floating over seas of Hungarian blood. The +Dictators are revelling. Complimentary addresses and telegrams are +pouring in. Among the first, Comrade Frank pays his homage to the +Cabinet in the name of the Directorate of Balassagyarmat. The County of +Nográd! Its people bite their lips with shame and hatred. At the +recruiting meeting of Balassagyarmat not a single man presented himself +for enlistment, so the meeting had to be closed, and the Directorate +asked the Government for Terror troops, so that violence and rifle butts +may be used to force men into the army. + +Meanwhile the Red press reports a sequence of congratulatory addresses. +The women raise their voices too. What may they have to say? In the name +of the national organisation of Communist women, Sarah Goldstein, Mrs. +Elias Brandstein, Maria Csorba-Goszthony, Ida Josipovich and Vera +Singer, the women whom the unfortunate inhabitants of Budapest called +‘Lenin Girls’ after the defeat of the Counter-revolution, “greet with +love Comrade Haubrich and request him to present their heartfelt +gratitude to the others.” Meanwhile demented mothers and sisters weep +for the captive pupils of the military academy and the shadows of +horrified women roam under the acacias on the banks of the Danube. + +“The country honours the victors of the Counter-revolution.” So the +comrades of the Frank type swear to fight to the last breath for the +victory of the Revolution, and Sarah Goldstein and those of her kin send +their “loving thanks,” their warm gratitude. Otherwise there is silence. +Awful silence. And the summary tribunals of the Revolution are sitting +permanently. + +Colonel Romanelli prevented the executions at the Octogon, but hostages +are strangled secretly, quietly, on out-of-the-way building plots, in +the deep recesses of dark yards. There are frequent executions in +Parliament Square: the rabble hangs about there for hours on end; women +sit on the kerb and wait. + +“What are you waiting for?” someone asked. “For an execution,” a surly +woman answered. + +It is so simple, the Entente sees nothing of this. Soldiers with fixed +bayonets bring a victim. The hearse follows. The crowd turns to the +steps. A volley is fired. The stones beneath the lions are battered with +bullet marks. The hearse goes off slowly and the square becomes empty. +There is nothing more to be seen. + +In the House of Parliament, on the side reserved for the Peers, are +officers of the Political Investigation Department, modelled on the +Russian Cheka, and Otto Korvin-Klein sits there in judgment. Since the +representatives of the Entente have invited Béla Kun to disband the +terror detachments, the Lenin Boys have transferred their quarters from +the Batthyány palace to this place. + +In the adjoining houses people only sleep in the daytime: at night they +look trembling towards the House of Parliament from behind their +darkened windows. Above the entrance of the House of Lords shines a huge +arc lamp. Motors pass incessantly. This is the time when the terrorists +collect the hostages, the material for Korvin-Klein. The cars stop under +the lamp. The light shows leather-coated men dragging along their +miserable victims, whom they push into the entrance. Now and then a +scream filters through the walls of the House of Parliament. Then, as if +by word of command, the engines of the motors begin to purr, the horns +are blown to drown every groan, every death rattle. Armed Lenin Boys +emerge from the gate, dragging a form with them. The group proceeds to +the lower quay. Arms clatter, the steps die away in the distance. There +is a splash. Then the black group returns, but there is no longer anyone +in their midst. Romanelli has protested against public executions. But +near the House of Parliament people cannot sleep at night. + +The streets are dark and empty. In the whole town there is but one other +doorway lit up: under a red canopy an arc lamp burns above the door of +Soviet House. Beside it is a small trench mortar and terrorists stand on +the pavement in front of it. On the balcony a huge red flag hides the +machine-guns, and the entrance is vividly illuminated. The People’s +Commissaries arrive in motor-cars. The terrorists line up. Present arms! +Mrs. Béla Kun receives the same honours. And within the walls of Soviet +House the comrades insist on being called ‘Excellencies.’ + +A country gentleman told me about this; ignorant of the change he went +straight from the station to the Hungaria Hotel. The guards mistook him +for somebody belonging to the place, and only when he wanted to pay his +bill did they discover that he was an outsider. Afraid of being +punished, the frightened servants smuggled him out and the news of the +orgies in Soviet House escaped with him. Michael Károlyi and his wife +spend an evening there now and then. + +For a long time I had not heard of them. In the first week of the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat Michael Károlyi stood as an invisible +power above the Revolutionary Cabinet. The People’s Commissaries treated +him with respect. But after the Soviet elections, when Béla Kun and his +followers had obtained full control, Károlyi was thrust into the +background. They wanted to send him to Gödöllö, the former royal +residence, as Commissary of Production, and later they placed their +former protector with a Communistic co-operative society. For +appearances’ sake Károlyi pays occasional visits to his office, but he +does no work whatever. He has had a gramophone installed in his office. +Detectives guard the peace of his villa in the hills of Buda, while +motor lorries pass between the starving houses to carry food and ice to +him. But the hospitals have no ice for their patients. His wife is often +seen in a glaring red hat, driving through the quiet streets in the car +of the People’s Commissaries. At night they partake of the festivities +of Soviet House behind locked doors, in company with Béla Kun, Comrade +Dovcsák, Pogány, Landler and their womenfolk. The Gipsies who play to +them spread the tale. The revels go on and the music never stops. +Disregarding prohibition, French champagne flows freely. Tibor Számuelly +pours some into Countess Károlyi’s glass, pouring it with the hand that +fixes the rope round his victims’ necks. They drink to the eternal +prosperity of the Soviet, and costly banquets are consumed in +illuminated halls while the dark town is starving. The evening ends in +voluptuous dancing. Then the music dies away.... + + * * * * * + + _July 2nd._ + +People are being stopped in the street. + +“Your purse!” + +The 91st order of the Revolutionary Cabinet is being put into execution: + +“The banknotes of the Austro-Hungarian Bank, of the denomination of 50, +100, 1000, and 10,000 crowns, are withdrawn from circulation on the 1st +of July of this year. Anyone using them after that date for payment, +accepting or proffering them or exchanging them, will be charged before +a revolutionary tribunal. Besides the punishment, all notes found in the +possession of the culprit will be confiscated. The informer shall +receive half the value of the confiscated amount.” + +Detectives are about and the Red soldiers are confiscating on their own +account. They present their bayonets: “Your purse! Get it out of your +pocket! Blue money is prohibited!” and they take the notes of the +Austro-Hungarian Bank. Some of them keep the purse too—as a souvenir. +But the white-backed Soviet money is returned with derision to the +owner. Red posters on the walls proclaim: “Social production is the +source of prosperity!” The Soviet system, after despoiling the treasury, +the safe deposits and private dwellings, has now started to ‘produce’ +from people’s pockets. + +Just as Marxism was incapable of realising its political conception, so +it is incapable of realising its economic ideals. In its attempt to +alleviate the want of small change the Cabinet ordered six locksmiths’ +shops in Budapest to manufacture twopenny iron coins. The cost of +production of each of these coins was over a shilling. The Marxian +pamphlet theory has collapsed in the light of the sun; its political +application has resulted in unheard-of tyranny and slaughter, and its +economic application in bankruptcy and robbery. + +The Jews have been spreading the news for days that the ‘blue’ money of +the Austro-Hungarian Bank is going to be valueless. This morning at dawn +their wives went to the bridge over the Ipoly and stopped the peasant +women who were bringing their baskets to town. An old woman from the +other side came into the yard and told us that the Jewesses were, after +all, kind to the poor people. They read out at the bridge the new law +about the ‘blue’ money. Those who did not turn back at the news had +theirs exchanged by the Jewesses, out of sheer kindness, so as to save +them from the Revolutionary Tribunal. For three two-hundred-crown +banknotes they had given her a thousand-crown Soviet note. Of course it +was a ‘white’ note and her husband would not have such things in the +house, but in any case the soldiers would have taken the blue notes and +the white ones are better than nothing. + +Aladár Huszár came in. + +“What has happened? Anything wrong?” + +“No, nothing.” He was looking for his wife. They talked for some time, +then came back. I felt that they had read the anxiety in my eyes. + +“A reliable carriage has come from the other side of the Ipoly. You can +escape by that.” + +So we need worry no longer. Fate has decided. + +“We have no right to detain you. You are safer there.” And tears stood +in their eyes too. + +Aladár Huszár went to bring the carriage to the door while I packed my +meagre belongings. It was slow work; every trifle reminded me of +something and every movement reminded me that I was still convalescent. +Where shall I rest to-night? To part from good friends to go on the road +again, further from home, to knock again at strangers’ doors? To ask the +Czechs for protection! I shuddered. + +When I had finished packing I sat down on a chair and held my breath. I +wanted to think hard what I should have to do. I had little money and my +boots were worn. Yet, somehow I must get to Nyitra, whence I could +escape to Vienna. If I got well I might find some work. Or perhaps at +Szeged.... It tired me out to think of it. + +Noon came, then afternoon: Aladár Huszár came in with great glee, a +smile in his eyes. “You’ve got to stay with us! The carriage has gone, I +could not find it. Fate has decided.” + +“You stay at home with us,” his wife said softly. + +Fate’s carriage had gone. Goodness knows where it is now. It may be a +good omen, it may mean that these things will not last much longer. + +“We have lived through bad days together,” said Aladár Huszár. “We will +share the good ones that are coming as well.” + +We smiled at each other. We know by now that sufferings unite people +more than joys. + + * * * * * + + _July 5th._ + +Everybody says that Balassagyarmat will be in the neutral zone. Its +military evacuation is expected for to-day and people are so excited +they hardly know what to do with themselves. They stroll about in the +street with their hands in their pockets. There is no work, no food; the +shops, even the chemists, are empty. Women gather at the street corners. +And from the other bank there comes an uninterrupted stream of +heavily-laden carts. Fine old furniture, bedding, mattresses, old family +portraits, are heaped pell-mell on them. On one, amidst torn silk +curtains, on empty bags, I caught sight of a beautiful bracket clock, +the jolts of the car making its soul hum. + +“The famous Balassa clock from Kékkö Castle,” said Aladár Huszár. + +There came a flock of sheep, followed by a troop of singing soldiers, +then a herd of pigs, and some cattle. Valuable Swiss milch cows with +huge udders were being driven to the slaughter-house. + +The people glared gloomily at the plunderers. + +“The main roads are littered with books,” a young man said in front of +the window. “Everything you see has been stolen.” The loafers shook +their heads and swore. “The whole of the highlands is ruined. They did +not rob the gentry only!” + +“Who is all this going to belong to?” an old peasant inquired. + +“Who?” said a frightfully shabby man with a gentlemanly appearance. +“Listen to this! It tells you who: ‘The Red soldiers’ Ten Commandments. +10th commandment: Don’t take rich people’s houses, cattle, land or +jewellery. Leave those to the Soviet.’” + + * * * * * + + _July 6th._ + +They are coming! Somebody said so and the news ran through the town and +blossomed out in every little house. + +They are coming! How often have we said these words with horror within +the last terrible nine months. The soldiers are coming from the front +and are no longer defending our frontiers. The French, the Czechs, the +Rumanians, the Serbians, are coming. The Communists, the Red soldiers, +the searchers, the detectives, are coming. They are coming, the +terrorists. Then again we said, ‘the Rumanians are coming.’ + +And now the words are in our mouths again and they sound joyful and +great. Hungarians are coming! From Szeged! Everybody says so. It is +simply a question of days. + +The Red press splutters with rage. It foams with vulgar, coarse words +against the Entente and Count Stephen Bethlen, because it has heard that +even in occupied territory Hungarian White Guards are allowed to be +enlisted. But, according to ‘The People’s Voice’: “The comic-opera +Government of Szeged has not strength enough to organise the rabble of +the bourgeoisie, it has not even the power to form an armed force from +its hooligans, cut-throats and gutter mob, for the realisation of its +sinister projects.” + +We really know nothing at all, we do not even know whence the news came, +yet we keep saying to each other: “They are coming....” + +When darkness fell I took a walk in the little back garden. Suddenly +somebody rose from among the shrubs, it was the wife of Gregory, the +coachman: + +“Do tell me, please, Miss, what is happening?” + +The question came suddenly and I answered instinctively: “Our own people +are coming! The Hungarians have started from Szeged!” + +The old woman looked me straight in the eyes, as though seeking +confirmation. It was obvious that she had something to say. Then she +folded her shrivelled old hands, and, in a devout, humble attitude, +which words cannot express, her voice rose through the silent night: + +“Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name!” + + * * * * * + + _July 7th–10th._ + +The fleeing Directorates from the Highlands are flocking in and +requisitioning houses for themselves. Female detectives have come from +Budapest. The escaped Directorate of Losoncz has quartered itself on +Balassagyarmat. Its chief, Comrade Szijgyártó, terrorises and issues +orders right and left. He wants to dismiss all the officials who had +been left in their places and threatens that he will not allow any +bourgeois family more than one room whatever be the number of its +members. He commandeers whatever he wants—take everything from the +bourgeois! They are taking even from the poor. Orders have been received +that sixty head of cattle have to be sent to Budapest; they will not +even leave the milch cows. + +There is no food: the Government has stopped all supplies for +Balassagyarmat, it being in the neutral zone. For days the bakers have +baked no bread, nobody will cart wood, and there is no salt. A peasant +offered four chickens for two pounds of salt, although he would not sell +them for two hundred and forty crowns. One cannot buy anything for +money. Our Sunday dinner cost us a towel and a sheet: everything is done +by barter, money has disappeared from circulation. + +In vain has the Cabinet decreed under the pain of severe penalties that +the ‘blue’ money (of the Austro-Hungarian Bank) must be exchanged within +nine days for their own ‘white’ banknotes. At ‘The People’s Bank’ of +Balassagyarmat the people of the whole county have so far exchanged +twenty crowns. The peasants hide their money and say: “What good is it +to pay it into the bank if it is worthless? Let the worthless things +remain in our trunks.” The other day a soldier stuck the white money he +had received for pay on the wall. It has no purchasing value. + +The peasants laugh among themselves. They are hiding their crops, they +did not enlist, and they will not give their money to Béla Kun. As for +the propaganda speakers, they say: “We sent them back to the +Government—in blankets.” + +Since things have taken this turn, the three hundred crowns daily wage +fails to revive the enthusiasm of the Jewish agitators engaged by the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat. The Commissary for Education has now +decreed that henceforth the teachers will have to speak to the people in +the villages. + + * * * * * + +Voices in the next room. Railwaymen, postmen, simple citizens now +frequently slip in by the back door; they come for advice and bring the +news. + +The Czechs have again entered Kassa, but the Rumanians have not +withdrawn from the Tisza, whatever Clemenceau may have promised. The +heroic pupils of the military academy escaped death at the last moment: +the Terror tribunal sentenced them to hard labour. This is to +Romanelli’s credit. It is said that it was he who delivered Baron +Perényi and his patriotic companions from gaol whither the +Counter-revolution of June 24th had brought them. + +A deep sad voice spoke: “Fourteen counter-revolutionaries have been +sentenced to death in Budapest....” + +I strolled out into the little back garden but even there I could not +breathe. The trees did not move. The soil was hot and above it the air +trembled like leaves above an open fire. + + * * * * * + + _July 12th._ + +They came slowly round the corner, talking with an air of importance. +Then they stopped, as though quarrelling. They had Soviet caps on their +heads and were dressed, regardless of the heat, in leather coats and +black leggings. Then I noticed the hand grenades in their belts. They +had a bestial look about them, with faces that betrayed a familiarity +with gaol. The hand of one was covered with black hair and he had a +costly ring on his finger. Where did he get it from? I shuddered. + +They have been coming for days, their number has increased since the +Entente insisted on the evacuation of Balassagyarmat. The forsaken town +listens trembling at night when their nailed boots clatter along the +pavement and stares at them with horror from under doorways, from behind +drawn curtains. They laugh, boisterously, their mouths wide open.... + +I looked after them. As they lifted their feet I saw the heavy nails on +their heels. How many human faces have they crushed? + +The Lenin Boys, escaped convicts, miscreants ready for any +mischief—these are the props of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. +These are the men who take hostages. These are the judges presiding over +the terrorist tribunals of Bolshevism. They judge and hang when and +where they like. They can do as they like. Their commander is a sailor +called Cserny who was a leather-worker before the war. His car is +constantly racing through the streets of Budapest. Several people have +described him to me. He always wears a cap drawn deeply over his face +and goes about in a leather waistcoat with long sleeves, a red scarf +round his neck. His face is clean-shaven and his eyes are animated by +the soft, greedy expression which is characteristic of a bloodthirsty +feline playing with its prey. There are many rings on his red hands and +he uses scent. His appearance is that of a footman dressed in his +master’s clothes. His decisions are rapid, he does not waste time on his +victims, and when he has finished with them he spends hours looking at +the artistic frescoes of the House of Parliament. He is sentimental and +without mercy. He purrs and claws. + +It is said that this man got to know Károlyi when the sailors mutinied +in Cattaro. After the mutiny he fled to Budapest. He was given money by +his friends and sent on a tour of instruction to Bolshevist Russia, +where he made the acquaintance of Számuelly in a school for agitators in +Moscow. Soon after the October revolution he came to Budapest and during +the whole Károlyi régime he agitated undisturbed among the sailors. On +the night of March 21st he commanded the plunderers. + +And since then this brigand[5] is the absolute master of the nights of +Budapest. + + * * * * * + + _July 13th._ + +If bread runs short in a town the Revolutionary Cabinet at once +despatches—a propaganda speaker to the place. + +Comrade Soma Vass has arrived. + +The people taking their Sunday walk stopped in front of the town hall. +Comrade Vass (Weiss is his real name) appeared suddenly on the balcony, +near the red flag. But he wasted his time with his threats and +incitements, the public remained cool and indifferent. + +A labourer shouted to him: “Give us bread!” + +The speaker waxed hot: “That is not the question to-day. The question +now is the preservation of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. We will +not tolerate the Counter-revolution!” + +“Is bread a counter-revolution?” the labourer heckled. + +“Don’t interrupt, comrade! We shall crush the Counter-revolution. We +shall exterminate it. We shall hang every bourgeois. If there are not +enough gallows in this Soviet Hungary, we will grow them. Yes, comrades, +we will grow them!” + +[Illustration: + + JOSEPH CZERNY WITH HIS TERRORISTS “THE LENIN BOYS.” (Hanged 18 Dec., + 1919.) +] + +The heckler swore. One man lit a cigarette and several cried, “Shut up,” +but Comrade Soma Vass went on talking. Nobody paid any attention to him, +the people chatting among themselves. “He will grow gallows ... a +nursery of them ... grow them, shape them.... Well, at least he has a +programme of a sort.” + +And thus, after all the destruction, Béla Kun’s spokesman has nailed +down the only creative policy of Hungary’s Socialist production. They +are going to grow gallows. + + * * * * * + + _July 14th–20th._ + +Béla Kun has sent a note to Clemenceau asking for the evacuation of the +Tisza as promised in compensation for the abandoned offensive against +the Czechs; he received the following answer: + +“Béla Kun, Budapest. In answer to your wireless which you sent on the +11th inst. to the President, the Peace Conference declares that it +cannot negotiate with you as long as you fail to observe the conditions +of the armistice.” + +For a time I stared at the text of the telegram. How much blood, shame +and suffering would have been spared to humanity if the victorious +powers, instead of sending propositions through General Smuts to Béla +Kun’s band of murderers and dangling before the Soviet’s eyes the +possibility of its admission to the Peace Conference, had sent from the +start a reply to this effect. Let the spilt blood and the inhuman +tortures fall on the heads of those who wanted to bargain when +conscience, honour and charity forbade any bargaining. + +It is all clear now. The victorious Great Powers did not enter into +negotiations with Béla Kun because they were pressed to do so by their +own Proletariat, for that pressure would still exist, but simply because +he made light of the integrity of the country to which he had not the +slightest title. This shame can never be wiped out. The frigid, tardy +note cannot restore the lowered dignity of the victorious States. + +Béla Kun answered, his reply couched in provocative, ironical terms. He +made little attempt to disguise the doubt he had of Clemenceau’s +veracity and derided his impotence to impose his will on the Rumanians +and Czechs. + +Orders for mobilisation are again covering the walls of the town, and +the village criers are walking the streets and beating their drums. Huge +posters have made their appearance, representing the running figure of a +sailor, his mouth wide open. His head is about two feet long, his arms +about three yards. Above his head he stretches a red cloth inscribed +with the words: TO ARMS! And while this frightful poster-sailor overruns +poor, truncated little Hungary, deprived of its seashore, Béla Kun puts +out his tongue at the peace conference. At the meeting of the ‘Committee +of 150’ he rang the tocsin with one hand: “The Proletariat in Hungary is +going through its crisis!” The other he waved in triumph: “To-day the +Hungarian Soviet is an important factor in international affairs, more +important than old Hungary ever was! This is proven by Clemenceau’s last +despatch....” He had a word for everybody, but through his boasting one +could hear the chattering of his teeth. The Bavarian Soviet has died, +the Austrian Soviet was never born, the armies of the Russian Soviet did +not come to the rescue. And throughout Hungary his enemy +Counter-revolution raises its head. It is there on the edge of the +scythe as the stone sharpens it, it is in the glaring emptiness of the +recruiting offices, at the idle writing desks of the offices, in the +movement which hides the blue banknotes and refuses the white ones, in +the stroke of every oar that crosses the Tisza at Szeged. + +The Dictatorship is groping about, seeking something to cling to. As a +last hope it is clinging to the phantasmagoria of world-revolution, +which, after all, was from the beginning the foundation of its politics. +So the Soviet Cabinet has addressed an appeal to the Proletariat of the +world, calling on it to demonstrate in favour of the Hungarian and +Russian Soviets and to proclaim world-revolution on July 20–21st. + +[Illustration: + + A RECRUITING PLACARD FOR THE RED ARMY. +] + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + + _July 21st._ + +People call revolutions ‘youth’ and ‘dawn’. But revolutions are not +daybreaks, nor are they the chaos out of which comes the beginning of +all things. They are not the first hour of a new age, but the last +decaying hours of a senile age in which the features of the times have +become distorted. + +This is not dawn! Revolution is the midnight agony of a passing age, +when the vision of the future appears only through the blood and sweat +of the dying. The senile age dies in the revolution. And when the +disorder of dawn has passed and morning breaks, man becomes a child +again and an autocratic power takes it by the hand and leads it back to +order, to law, to church, to early Mass, into the presence of God. Then +comes the youth of the age, the period of dreaming idealism, of fights +for freedom, of Art. This age gathers flowers, ploughs and reaps, sings +and follows the footsteps of the beloved. Then comes the age of manhood. +It creates industry and commerce, it goes on board ship, weighs anchor +and brings treasures from beyond the seas. The treasures increase, the +superfluities accumulate and flow into a few hands, the reign of gold +raises its head above the misery of millions. + +The evening comes over a pale world of ill omen. The nauseous scent of +faded flowers pervades the air. In saturnalian revelries the cups are +emptied to the dregs. These are the hours of wild, dissolute orgies, old +faces painted to look young, derisive laughter. The bells of the +churches only mark time, law is only respected by the simple and +regarded no better than stupid, traditional nursery tales by the +cunning. The tired incapable crowd is ruled by degenerates, hereditary +wrecks, criminals and lunatics. Respect disappears, the hand that worked +drops its tools and the hour of midnight approaches. + +Then comes the agony of the senile age. Blood is shed, flames rise to +the sky and between fire and blood the age dies. Revolutions are not +mornings. They are the death-struggles of the midnight hour. And we poor +Hungarians have been for months the witnesses of such an artificially +provoked agony. It ends the age, but, above my sufferings, I feel that +the real dawn is coming towards us. + + * * * * * + + _July 22nd._ + +The day of the heralded world-revolution has passed. The Red press +gushes over the strikes in other countries, but reports that the +Dictatorship will summon before the Revolutionary Tribunal any Hungarian +workman who dares to stop work. In a fortunate country like Soviet +Hungary there is no longer any need for strikes. In Russia, where +happiness has been attained to an even higher degree, workmen who strike +are executed. None the less there is no work being done in town to-day. +Nor is there any on other days. Why work? For forged banknotes? + +World-revolution! That is the word which is being whispered to-day at +street corners. A mad hallucination! Yet, if it were to come? What if +man’s evil spirits were powerful enough to send millions in the same +hour to the assault of their God, their country, their home and +humanity? Or if Béla Kun’s word is just successful enough to induce the +Proletariat of the Western Powers to tie their Governments’ hands so +that things may continue here as they are for months and years, till the +fire has burnt out? + +A solitary figure came through the silence, came quickly, with an +elastic gait, though the bag on his back seemed heavy. He turned his +head constantly to right and left, and his eyes, widely opened, had a +stare in them which reminded one of the demented. He looked round, then +again started quickly towards the Ipoly. Then he disappeared. + +This stranger passes here frequently nowadays, though he is not always +the same. Sometimes he is young, sometimes old. He is fleeing from gaol +and death, and dreams of Szeged. Two friends of my brother Géza escaped +this way, across the river. They came to the house, on their way to +Szeged. They had no idea I was here, but they brought news of my +brother. He is hiding in the hills of Buda, like the others who have not +escaped abroad and are not yet in prison. + +They also told us that Stephania Türr had been in Budapest in June, +looking for Count Stephen Bethlen and me, to take us to Italy. + +One evening there was a knock at our gate at an unusual hour and a +newcomer stood in front of us like a shadow—Count Stephen Keglevich, +fleeing from his property in Abony. His wife and children are coming to +us too, they have had to flee separately, so as not to attract +attention. They were driven out by hunger and the children were on the +verge of starvation, for the only food they could obtain was what the +peasants succeeded in bringing them by stealth from Count Keglevich’s +own farm. Since May, when Szémuelly suppressed the Counter-revolution in +Abony, that region has been like a mortuary, and now war is beginning +again there. So they are escaping to Ipolykürt, beyond the Ipoly, to the +plundered castle. There they will, at any rate, be able to sleep on the +bare ground—the one thing the Reds and the Czechs could not take away. + +The patriotic Counter-revolution of the faithful Vends in Western +Hungary has been defeated by the Reds and the Vends have fled into +Austria. They have been interned in Feldbach and many Hungarian officers +have joined them. Baron Lehár is their commander. In Szeged the +legendary hero of Novara, Nicolas Horthy, is Minister of War. Paul +Teleki is Foreign Secretary. General Soós and Gömbös are organising the +national army. When I took leave of the latter in March, I knew that I +should hear of him if I lived. + +It is said that Colonel Julier, the new Chief of Staff, who was forced +to take Stromfeld’s place at the point of the revolver, will be Red only +till he has crossed the Tisza. It is also said that whole battalions of +the Red army are deserting to Szeged. In our imagination that town, like +a mirage, is floating amidst national coloured flags on the banks of the +Tisza, above the Great Plain. We see the three colours, we hear the +National Anthem whenever we think of the town. Our proscribed flag, our +proscribed hymn! I am a beggar, for the property of the dead and the +condemned reverts to the Soviet. But when my imagination sees the three +colours floating against the sky, when the great prayer of my race +echoes in my mind, I am the richest woman in Hungary. + +A hand has put ‘The Red Newspaper’ on the table: big type +again:—“Revolutionary outbreaks in Paris, Berlin and Turin. +Demonstrations of the foreign Proletariat in favour of the +world-revolution.” Then, set in small type, a short notice:—“Kiel.... +The demonstrations have passed without the slightest disturbance.” + +That is the history of the world-revolution. It is finished and the door +is still open. + + * * * * * + + _July 23rd._ + +The news is in everybody’s mouth: the Reds have won a decisive victory +on the Tisza and the members of the Directorate have regained their +confidence. It is from the attitude of these people that the town reads +the position of the Dictatorship. Their star is in the ascendant and the +Proletarians treat us with more rudeness than ever. Red colour has again +blossomed out on the soldiers’ caps, but they do not feel too sure about +it, and instead of ribbons they wear geraniums. That generally means +that the position is doubtful: a ribbon cannot be removed suddenly, a +flower is quickly torn off. + +Goodness only knows how often I have wandered round the little back +garden. If it is really true that the Reds have crossed the Tisza! Those +who have seen their bestial destruction in their own country, and +observed them returning with booty stolen from people of their own +blood, must falter when they think of their victims. + +“What news?” + +In Huszár’s hand the journal’s yellow, mean paper rustled. “They have +crossed ...” he paused, then went on: “... On July 20th we crossed the +Tisza at various points.... From Tokaj to Csongrád we are pursuing the +beaten Rumanian troops everywhere....” + +So they have won a victory with our blood against our own blood; for +this is not a question of Rumanians. A defeat of the Rumanians, the +re-occupation of the torn-off territory, the release of our Hungarian +brethren, were not the objects of the Dictatorship’s ambition, but a new +larder and a new field for robbery, new slaves and new legions. And we +cannot even deceive ourselves with the belief that the news is untrue. +It is true, it must be true, because Béla Kun, who loses his head when +in despair and is impudent after success, has sent to Clemenceau, the +President of the Peace Conference, the following ironical, provoking +message: “We have been obliged by the Rumanian attack, which was +undertaken against the wishes of the Entente, to cross the Tisza, and to +enforce the wishes of the Entente against the Rumanians.” + +[Illustration: + + THE LENIN BOYS POSE FOR THEIR PHOTOGRAPH WITH THEIR VICTIM. +] + +Our thoughts travel wearily to those parts where, behind the receding +Rumanian flood, foreign energy will set against each other the few +remaining Hungarians. Számuelly’s train is under steam, and if it starts +it will plant the further shore of the Tisza with gallows. + +A tightly-shuttered house has been burning here in Hungary for months. +Nobody tried to extinguish it. At last the smoke choked itself, the fire +burnt itself out. Who troubled about those who were in the house? Those +outside cared only that the fire should not spread to the adjacent +houses. Now the windows of the house on fire have burst, the fire has +been revived by the air, the flames lick the palings, spread, flare up, +run. What if they were to ignite the Great Plain and unite with the +Russian conflagration? + +Evening came. Hours dropped into space. One of us picked up the paper +and we now noticed something for the first time. Below the news of the +passage of the Tisza, three words darkened the page: “Sentence of +death.” At Saint Germain the victors presented their peace treaty to the +remnant of Austria. + +Our quarrel with Austria has lasted for centuries, and she brought us +hard times, yet there is no people on earth to whom her fate causes as +much pain to-day as to us. We have fought and fallen together on the +battlefield. Now they hang a beggar’s satchel round the neck of +unfortunate, torn Austria, and out of irony, with devilish cunning, send +her to take her share with her own predatory enemies, in the plunder of +Hungary. They compensate her with Western Hungary, with a piece of land +that promises endless revolts and is meant to act as a living wedge to +prevent for ever an understanding between the two despoiled peoples. It +is a devilish plan, the most perfidious part of the terrible Peace +Treaty. It pretends to be a present, but it is a curse and a disgrace. + +A single candle was burning on the table, and by its light we could see +a map on the wall—the map of Hungary! That unit of a thousand years +which was not created by man but was made into one country by nature. +The thing I could never believe, which was always deemed a threat meant +only for the Revolutionary Bolshevist Government, the frontier of +Hungary as delineated by Clemenceau, has disclosed itself in the +Austrian treaty as the real aim of their vengeance. In the name of +peoples and nations the men at the Peace Conference are preparing a +crime which is only paralleled by the partition of Poland. + +Suddenly I see, like a train of misty ghosts, a shackled procession pass +before my eyes: the granite walls of the Carpathians; the mysterious +rushes of Lake Fertö; the sea under the Carso; the Danube rushing +through the Iron gate; the summits of Transylvania; the forests of +Mármaros—all of them under a foreign yoke! I did not own an inch of that +ground, and yet it was all my own. They take it from me, and equally +from everyone who is Hungarian. Aladár Huszár has drawn upon the map the +frontiers fixed by the Paris Peace Conference. It is as if a knife were +passing through our flesh, leaving a line of blood wherever it passes. +The ancient frontiers are all left far beyond the line and deep in the +country there is an awful gash. The red line proceeds on the map, +staggers now and then as though in horror, stumbles, recoils and then +goes on, leaving ancient Hungarian cities without, cutting pure +Hungarian regions in two, leaving a miserable, truncated body—the +Hungary of the Peace Conference! + +Those who have never leant over the map of their own country, those who +have never drawn with weeping eyes new frontiers within the old +historical boundaries at the bidding and according to the predatory +desires of enemy peoples, those are ignorant of the meaning of torture, +of lust for vengeance, of revolt, of hatred, of patriotism. + +“We shall take it back!...” + +Which of us said it? It matters not. It is not the saying of one person, +it is the word of a whole nation. Even in our misery and destruction we +had the strength to say it. “We will take it back!” That is the phrase +which all our coming generations will breathe. That is the phrase +mothers will teach to their infants. Bride and bridegroom will pledge +each other’s troth with that phrase before the altar. Those who go will +leave this phrase as an inheritance, those who remain will take their +oath upon it. We will take it back! The last clod, the meanest tree, +every spring, every blade of grass, every stone. + +Nothing moved in the silence of the night. Only the flame of the +burnt-out candle flickered. + +“Let us go ... we must sleep. This is the last candle in the house....” + + * * * * * + + _July 24th–29th._ + +There is one piece of news to-day that gives us some hope. Even if the +ship seems still afloat, it is sinking, for the first rats are leaving +it. Michael Károlyi, who proclaimed he would hold out to the last +breath, who has betrayed Hungary and has driven her into Bolshevism, has +been arrested with his wife and secretary at a Czech frontier post and +sent to Prague. Retribution must be near, for he was afraid and fled. It +is reported that since the banks refuse to pay more than two thousand +crowns to any one individual, he provided himself with several millions +of Austro-Hungarian Banknotes and a false passport. He wanted to go +through Vienna to Milan, but Italy did not desire his presence. Bavaria +refused to admit him, but Prague offered him an asylum. They owed it to +him. Without Michael Károlyi the Hungarian Highlands would never have +passed into Czech captivity. + +He has gone, fled from the nation’s just vengeance, but he cannot escape +the long arm of God’s justice. Millions of Hungarians driven into +slavery and homelessness, seas of spilt Hungarian blood, miles of +Hungarian land, cry out to heaven against him. + +A mean man, a debased politician, and one of the greatest traitors in +the world’s history. + +Iscariot has passed. + + * * * * * + + _July 29th–31st._ + +Sometimes one can learn a town’s news by watching its street corners. +To-day some soldiers gathered opposite the house. One of them said +something, gesticulating, while the others stood and stared at the +pavement. There were no red flowers in their caps, though I saw some in +the gutter. Shortly afterwards I saw them leave the village with their +bundles on their backs and disappear through the corn-fields. + +Everybody is talking about the tremendous losses of the Red army. The +official papers try to screen them: “Our victorious armies.... The whole +of Rumania’s forces opposing them.... We withdrew our troops behind the +Tisza, in perfect order, without any losses in men or material....” + +“Twenty-eight thousand dead,” says rumour, and ten thousand men are +reported drowned in the Tisza. Soma Vass need not plant his nurseries +for gallows, the wholesale murder of Hungarians has been successfully +accomplished on the banks of the Tisza. And while they died, Comrade +Landler, the Commander-in-Chief of the Red army, and other comrades +watched them from a safe place through field-glasses. The Rumanian +victory and the defeat of the Reds are both paid for in Hungarian blood. +Never have Hungarians died a more tragic death. + +If this sort of thing lasts much longer there will be no one but +lunatics left when the end comes. Every hour brings new tales of terror. +In Budapest Tibor Számuelly is gaining more and more power. He wants to +become Dictator. Hitherto the Dictatorship has been too lenient, so the +terrorists are going over to his side. And their one idea, before they +lose their power, is to be revenged on the nation. Already the +Directorates have received secret instructions and are drawing up lists. +Számuelly is preparing for a massacre of the citizens. None shall be +spared, neither artisans nor peasants. + +News comes from the other bank that the Czechs are returning. They say +they have orders to occupy Vácz on the 3rd. More and more soldiers are +disappearing from the village, and Terror Boys are continually flowing +in from Budapest to take their place. There are already eighty here. + +After the arrival of the evening train people steal in the dark towards +the Ipoly. Hitherto it has been Hungarians who were escaping, now it is +mostly Jews who slink along the walls carrying parcels. In the town hall +they are feverishly packing up the archives of the Directorate; the +Jewish comrades have again withdrawn into the background. + +Szijgyártó has now become the absolute master of the town. Among other +things he issued an order to-day that every individual who is not +registered and whose stay is not considered justified by the Directorate +must leave Balassagyarmat within twenty-four hours, on pain of being +summoned before a Revolutionary Tribunal. Those who come from Budapest +will be sent back there under police escort. Once more there is talk of +searching houses: the terrible hand groping for me has returned. It will +be bad luck if it catches me now when its days are already numbered. + +We discussed the matter and the old plan of escape was revived—across +the Ipoly, somehow to Vienna, to Szeged; but again the horror of asking +hospitality from the Czechs in my own country, my poverty, my illness, +interfered. + +“Let’s wait and see how things develop,” said my friends. + +How often have they said that! + +Suddenly I thought of the house in Szügy: I could not leave without +bidding it farewell; so I walked over to it and saw the garden and its +mistress once more. + +[Illustration: + + TERRORISTS WITH A VICTIM WHOM THEY HAVE FLAYED AND TORTURED TO DEATH. + + (This photograph was found at their headquarters.) +] + +When I was there last the crops were still standing; now the wheat was +in sheaves and summer walked between their gold over the fields. Then I +came to the garden and found that the clean-swept courtyard was no +longer a soldiers’ right of way. Crimson ramblers were blooming on the +walls of the house, and round about the pump the downtrodden grass had +sprung up again. On the terrace, green plants and garden furniture had +taken the place of ammunition boxes. How rapidly the ruts of ammunition +carts and service waggons and dirt and garbage disappear. Will it be +like this elsewhere too? + +Before I left, Mrs. Beniczky walked through the garden with me and we +stopped for a moment near the trees between which I had caught a glimpse +of the hussar bugler among the Red soldiers, near the bushes whence I +had watched Pogány’s car. How much had happened since then! The trees +had become dark green and grave; the garden had passed its nuptial +glory. Its wreath had faded, its most beautiful flowers had gone. + +When I reached the small railway station of Balassagyarmat I saw that +soldiers were running about, throwing their arms into waggons. “They are +evacuating the town,” said a railway man, laughing scornfully. On the +open track, amidst piles of boxes and bags, carriages, bedding, +machine-guns, and pianos were standing near the waggons, ready to be +loaded. The streets were quiet, but carts were standing at the doors of +some of the houses and people were hurriedly packing things at random +into them. They are running away! Yet Comrade Landler reported in ‘The +People’s Voice’ of the 29th that: “There is no change in the situation +at the front.” + +The Red press is indulging in paroxysms of fury against the Szeged +Government. “Cheats, scoundrels, Jingoes,” are the epithets bestowed by +Béla Kun’s newspapers; and all the time little handbills are being +secretly passed from hand to hand. They were dropped by an aeroplane +from Szeged: “The hour of delivery is at hand! Prepare to support the +National Government!” + +The village listens, tense under the Red posters which disfigure its +walls. It listens abstractedly, as though trying to hide its thoughts, +and behind closed doors and windows people put their heads together. +Stories born of desire are spreading, but the insufferable thought that +we are in need of help from the Rumanians dominates our imagination and +hopes: “The national army has already left Szeged!... Whole Red +regiments have passed over and have laid down their arms. White +Hungarian troops will come with the Rumanians. Perhaps to-morrow.... In +Budapest the commander of the garrison has prepared the population for a +general alarm should the Dictatorship of the Proletariat be in danger. +The whole town is covered with posters.... An hour after the alarm has +been sounded nobody must be in the streets. Soldiers must hurry to their +barracks, workmen to their respective headquarters. Within an hour from +the alarm all electric trams must be withdrawn.... All shops and public +offices must be closed at once, as well as the doors and windows of +houses. Simultaneously with the alarm martial law will be declared.” + +Such preparations have never been made before, either in May when the +Rumanians attacked, or in June during the Counter-revolution. Those who +come from Budapest speak of the disruption of the Red army as it +retires, of its anarchy, of mutinies of Terror detachments, of +Számuelly’s autocracy. It is impossible to get a clear picture of what +is happening: “The White army is approaching! The Rumanians are +advancing from the Tisza!” + +One can hear the crackling and collapsing of the Dictatorship. The +powers of the Entente have sent a note, and the Cabinet has felt obliged +to publish it in its press. This note is no longer addressed to the +Soviet or the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. At last, then, the Allied +and Associated Powers are going to address themselves to the Hungarian +people! Under the title: ‘Declaration of the Entente on the Blockade!’ +the Red press screens the Note of the Powers in which they declare: “We +sincerely desire to make peace with the Hungarian people....” But peace +can only be concluded if the Hungarian people is represented by a +Government which “represents really the will of the people, and not by +one whose power rests on terror.” + +It has taken the Entente Powers four and a half months to come to this +decision! No wonder they have been slow to discredit Béla Kun, for, +after Károlyi, he has rendered them invaluable service. He has ruined +and robbed Hungary of her last sources of strength. Now they can take +possession of the booty which is no longer capable of offering +resistance and can pay with our thousand years’ old possessions the war +bills presented to them by their little allies. + + * * * * * + + _August 1st._ + +The news reached the village last night. The Red army has gone to +pieces. Comrade Landler reports that after “the unchanged situation at +the front, we are attacking the Rumanians who have crossed the Tisza.... +The Red army is in perfect order and has gained a victory over the +Rumanians.... We have retired, unbeaten, of our own accord.” + +The members of the Balassagyarmat Directorate are unable to disguise +their nervousness, the comrades are rushing about the shops clamouring +to buy no matter what so long as they can get rid of their white Soviet +banknotes. But however much they pester and threaten, the shopkeepers +refuse to sell. The shop windows are empty, only the propaganda shop of +the Commissariat of Education still offers its wares—pamphlets, +portraits of the Commissaries, Red stars, badges with the ‘Red man’ and +plaster busts of Lenin and Marx. But these are at a discount to-day. The +town is practically without traffic and the telegraph wires bring +incessant orders from Budapest: “Let everyone remain at his post. Let +none dare to run away....” + +Steps halted outside and I heard a Semitic voice say: “Let us lead it +into other channels....” What did that mean? While I was pondering the +front door bell rang. The Sub-prefect has come with a wire from +Budapest. Béla Kun’s rule is over! + +Something snatched at my heart and I felt that I wanted to shout. + +“It’s certain to be true,” the Sub-prefect said. “A purely Socialist +Government is being formed.” And he folded his hands carefully as if he +were afraid of committing himself. + +A purely Socialist Government! That was not what we had expected! Now I +remembered the rumours that the delegates of the Entente had not been +negotiating with the Viennese committee of Count Stephen Bethlen, nor +with the Government of Szeged, but had been exchanging pourparlers for +days, not with Hungarians, but with William Böhm, Kunfi and with +Károlyi’s henchman, Garami. + +I thought at once of what I had heard outside my window: “Let us lead it +into other channels....” + +So the Jews are still to be our leaders: the Red hangmen of yesterday +are resuming their old garb of moderate Socialism and are preparing to +pass the power from one hand into the other. The world-revolution has +not come off, and there have been other mistakes in their calculations; +they reckoned every item as they thought—the threats of the Entente, the +attacks of the Rumanians—but they forgot to take into account that dying +Hungary might have energy enough to cross its arms over its torn breast +and undermine Bolshevism from within with its old weapon, passive +resistance, despite the failure of the Entente and Rumanian arms. + +There were shouts in the guard-room opposite: + +“Who said that? Arrest him!” And Red Guards and Terrorists rushed +towards the post office. If the postmaster said so, he must be arrested. +But instead of answering them the postmaster called up Budapest, a +Terrorist meanwhile holding one of the receivers. And along the wires +the question rang to Budapest. The answer came at once: “The Government +has resigned, the Soviet exists no longer. Budapest is mad with +happiness.” + +The Terrorists glared at each other terror-stricken, but they did not +arrest the postmaster; instead they went to the Directorate for +instructions. But the Red offices in the town hall were empty and the +comrades had disappeared. Some of them had been suddenly taken ill and +had been obliged to go home. The news rushed along the darkening streets +and in a few seconds it had spread all over the town. + +Peace on earth and good-will among men! + +The house became too narrow for me. So did the garden. A violin was +being played next door, sobbing to the accompaniment of a piano. Then, +in spite of ourselves, we all burst into the forbidden, outlawed, +Hungarian hymn. We just stood and sang, and the National Anthem went up +in that summer night, to the starlit firmament. + +Below, in the dark, on the other side of the street, noiseless dark +figures slunk away. In the light streaming from open windows the +neighbours stood bareheaded. They were praying too. + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + + _August 2nd._ + +The shepherd’s flute sounded slowly through the breaking morning. I felt +disappointed; my elation had passed; my mind was still racked with +anxiety. Everything seemed the same in the streets: the red flag was +still floating over the county hall, the Red soldiers were leaning out +of the guard-room window just as they had done during the victories of +the Dictatorship of the Proletariat over the Czechs. A schoolmaster who +lived near by was walking in his shabby Sunday coat towards the +teachers’ Communist school. What has happened? The gates of the prison +are open: are the captives afraid to leave it? + +A little boy took his red, white and green toy flag from above his bed +and waved it out of the window. A man in the street shouted at him +threateningly. + +About noon the wife of a neighbour came, bearing alarming news: they +want to arrest Aladár Huszár. He went to the teachers’ Communist school +and distributed ribbons with the national colours and made a speech to +the teachers. When Comrade Weiss, the examining Commissary, arrived, the +National Anthem was filling the place. In his fury Comrade Weiss tore up +all the teachers’ certificates. The Jewish teachers stood by him, while +the Hungarians left the place with Huszár, singing the National Anthem. +Outside Red guards met them and tore the national colours off all of +them. + +So when Aladár Huszár came home we hoisted a huge red, white and green +flag on the house. + +The drum! What has the Town Crier to say now?... “It is forbidden to +wear or exhibit any emblems....” Presently two hooligans invaded us and +tore down our flag, but we don’t care. The whole village is in a +ferment. Patrol followed patrol. A man feverishly pasted pink posters on +the walls, displaying the telegram of the Secretariat of the +Socialist-Communist Party. + +“As the result of an agreement with the Entente, a + + WORKMEN’S GOVERNMENT + +formed by the trade-unions has assumed power. The officials of the +existing workmen’s organisations will continue to act without +interference.... The strictest martial law is to be proclaimed.” + +Green posters were then stuck up beside the pink ones all along the +street, containing the text of the new Government’s telegram. They +called themselves a Workmen’s Government instead of a Revolutionary +Cabinet, Ministers instead of Commissaries. President: Peidl; Interior: +Peyer; Justice: Garami-Grünfeld; then followed three of Béla Kun’s +Commissaries: Agoston-Augenstein for Foreign Affairs, Haubrich for War +and Dovcsák for Commerce; at the end of the list the former President of +the Soviet, Garbai, Minister for Education. + +I remembered the conversation I had overheard yesterday: “Let us lead it +into other channels....” Moritz Kohn has arranged his fraudulent +bankruptcy and suddenly Mrs. Moritz Kohn’s name appears above the shop. +But what is the National Army doing? + +The Dictatorship of the Soviet collapsed with the Red army; its position +became hopeless on the 31st of July when it became known that the +Rumanians would not stop a second time at the Tisza. Béla Kun had +hurriedly convoked the Workers’ and Soldiers’ Council of Five Hundred +yesterday afternoon. And in the great hall of the new town hall, where +on the 21st of March a handful of men had proclaimed the Dictatorship of +the Proletariat, Béla Kun resigned in a halting, tearful voice. During +the night he fled with the other Commissaries and their families to +Austria, finding protection under the wings of their co-religionist +Chancellor Renner. With the help of the Peidl Government they made their +way to the frontier, _protected by an escort supplied by the Italian +military mission in Budapest_! It is said that Számuelly has +disappeared. But among those who fled with Béla Kun was the bloodthirsty +Weiss—and so were Schwarz, Vágó and Pogány, and the twenty-stone lawyer, +Comrade Landler, the Red Commander-in-Chief. They absconded from their +army between the Danube and the Tisza, after having driven it into death +and destruction, though they had sworn to stand by it to the last drop +of blood. + +Without wounds received on the fields of Bolshevik glory, but with many +millions of Austro-Hungarian banknotes, they disappeared into the +obscurity from which they had emerged to Hungary’s misfortune a few +months before. They have gone, as Michael Károlyi did before them. So +the country hoisted its tricolour flag once more. But the Government of +Peidl, which not only tolerated but abetted and organised the flight of +the criminals, would not tolerate such a resurrection; so it forbade the +flag and proclaimed martial law. + +[Illustration: + + BÉLA VAGO _alias_ WEISS. + + ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR HOME AFFAIRS. +] + +Aladár Huszár has been arrested in the street and is in prison. The +commander of the Red garrison wants to have him executed for the +National Anthem incident, and for wearing ribbons of the national +colours, but the chief of the police telephoned to Budapest, asking that +he be reprieved. The answer came: “Keep him in custody and let the +Terrorists take him to Budapest.” The Terrorists openly declare that +they are going to settle with him on the way. Mrs. Huszár wanted to see +her husband, but the Terrorists would not let her. “Comrade Szijgyártó +is interrogating him now.” The news spread like wildfire. Machine-guns +were mounted in front of the county hall. + +Then the whole town began to simmer and even the inhabitants of the +red-postered houses came forth—officials, teachers, the whole educated +class, the people of no importance coming to protect the unimportant +folk’s friend. The railway men, the postmen, all of them, clamoured that +Huszár should be set free. And suddenly the Red garrison went over to +their side. + +The drum again: + +“Anybody found in the streets after 9 p.m. will be arrested by the Red +patrols.” + +But just then the Red guards sent a message to Comrade Szijgyártó that +if the prisoner was not released by nine they would lay down their arms +and refuse to serve any longer. + +People were talking excitedly in the streets, saying that the Rumanians +were already in Aszód and were coming in our direction. Comrade +Szijgyártó shook his fist with rage: “I ought to have had him hanged at +once.” The crowd became more and more threatening and—at nine o’clock +Aladár Huszár was at home. He was quite calm. Comrade Szijgyártó had run +at him with raised fists, had pointed a revolver at him, and threatened +to shoot him.... + +Suddenly we heard sobs from the end of the table. It was only then that +we noticed the children. With wide open eyes, deadly pale, they were +standing there and they had heard everything. When we were as small as +they my mother would not allow anyone to tell us gruesome stories; but +in spite of their parents the children of this age live through things +which we were not even allowed to be told in fairy tales. + + * * * * * + + _August 3rd._ + +The town is in the hands of the Terrorists and no news comes from +Budapest. The last message came this morning. The delegates of the +Entente are negotiating with the new Government and are inclined to +recognise it. The Rumanian advance has ceased. + +In the streets of Balassagyarmat the Communists, who were trembling +yesterday, are again assuming a provocative attitude; the comrades who +were ill recovered suddenly. The propaganda shop has been opened again +and the window is full of Communist Declarations. More than two people +are not allowed to meet in the street. + +The Terrorists wanted to arrest Aladár Huszár again, but he had fled. +The door bell is ringing all day—detectives and red guards inquiring for +him. And in the village the inhabitants and the railwaymen are arming +secretly. + + * * * * * + + _August 4th._ + +A shot was fired close to the house and this was followed by a regular +fusillade. People came running out of the houses and for some minutes +there was confusion. The wife of Gregory, the coachman, tumbled in +breathlessly: “What goings-on!—the soldiers have barred our street. They +are driving the people into the houses at the point of the bayonet.” + +I thought at once of Aladár Huszár and hoped they had not arrested him. +His wife received many messages not to show herself in the street and +naturally we wanted to know what had happened; so by the irony of fate, +it was I who crept out of the house. + +The people I met spoke excitedly; everybody was coming from the +direction of the county hall and nobody was going that way. A man said: +“Turn back, you cannot go there. A new detachment of Terrorists has +arrived and there is a corpse in the street.” + +So the trouble was not about Huszár. I thanked him for the warning, but +went on. Another running crowd was coming towards me. A servant girl +leant against the wall and began to tie her boot laces. + +“What’s happening there?” + +The girl answered, panting: + +“They have red caps, goodness only knows what they are, perhaps French, +but they are firing furiously.” + +The shooting had stopped now. Two schoolboys were peeping out from +behind a door: “The Jews have taken up arms,” they said mysteriously. +The street leading to the station was absolutely empty and nothing was +audible but my steps. Men in leather coats were standing in groups in +front of the county hall and round the machine-guns bayonets were +glittering in the sun. I looked round rather alarmed, this was the first +time I had seen the place and I had pictured it differently. There was +no tower on the town hall and not a trace of my imaginary arcades or old +pump. It was a pity, but the disillusionment of a dream is always so. + +As if I had suddenly been perceived the bayonets turned towards me and +the men in the leather coats shouted furiously: “Back!” Someone looked +out of a ground-floor window. The soldiers promptly stuck their bayonets +into it. “Bloody bourgeois, in with your head, or I’ll knock it off!” I +saw that the Terrorists were coming in my direction, so I thought it was +time to turn back. + +In the afternoon a detective called. He was one of those whom we call +‘radishes,’—Red outside and White within. He inquired after Aladár +Huszár and told his wife that the red caps who had been mistaken for +Frenchmen were hussars back from the Tisza front and that the firing was +caused by an attempt of the town guards to disarm Comrade Szijgyártó. He +was saved by the Terrorists, who were now masters of the town. Then he +looked carefully round: “The Lenin Boys have decided to hold out to the +last. They want to revenge the fall of the Dictatorship and intend to +plunder to-night. There are a hundred of them. They are out to kill and +have marked this house. Be careful!” He looked round again. “And please +don’t forget to tell Mr. Huszár when he gets back into office that I am +not a Communist.” + +Hours passed. The news passed like a shudder through the streets. Many +locked their front doors. I buried my papers again and we also hid the +money that was in the house. We all packed up our most necessary things. +As evening fell, we could bear our isolation no longer. I must try.... I +will go towards the station; perhaps I shall hear something by chance. +But the streets echoed with emptiness and the station was deserted. Only +a workman was sitting on the weighing machine filling his pipe. + +“When is the next train for Budapest?” + +“There won’t be any train,” the man answered and lit his pipe. Then he +closed his eyes. + +I went homewards. New posters were showing on the walls:— + +“Strict martial law.... All gatherings are prohibited and those who do +not obey the injunctions of the Red guards will be shot on the spot.... +Szijgyártó. County Commander.” + +Near a paling a short elderly Jew was standing and talking to a woman. +Quite coolly, obviously so that I should hear it, he said: “At half-past +five the Rumanians entered Budapest.” + +I stumbled, though my foot had not hit an obstacle, and the blood rushed +to my face. The Rumanians! I could hardly grasp it. The Rumanians! That +is the reason, then, why our people could not come! That is the reason +why the Entente stopped them! That is why so many of us had to die +during the long months of waiting! The occupation of Budapest was +reserved by the Great Powers for the Rumanians so that the city might +become their prey and they might still act the rôle of deliverers. + +I felt giddy as I walked home. The blow and the humiliation were so +great that everything else became indifferent. + +Budapest is in the hands of the Rumanians! + +The clock struck nine; suddenly I heard a violent knocking and furious +cursing at the end of the corridor, and a fat, angry man rolled into the +room. He had forgotten to take his hat off, and his pipe was in his +mouth. It was old Schlegel, a stout old German market gardener from the +banks of the Ipoly, a fiery Hungarian patriot, who within the last few +months had helped innumerable refugees across the river. + +“Donnerwetter! The devil, why don’t you open your door? I knock—the +curfew—they shoot people down out there.” + +Now that he was in safety, he calmed down and put his fat hand on Mrs. +Huszár’s shoulder: “I just came to tell you you need not be anxious. +Your husband is in my house. We have plenty of arms. If the Communists +try their slaughtering trick here, I’ll come too and shoot them like +dogs.” He produced from his pocket a huge rusty revolver and waved it +like a mace threateningly above his head. “That is all I had to say.” + +I stole to the front door to see if all was clear. The new moon had +already set and there was not a soul in the street. I made a sign to the +old man and in his gouty way, his right leg always foremost, he passed +me into the street. Without a word he touched his hat and with shaky, +baby-like steps disappeared at the end of the street between the high +stalks of the Indian corn. The electric light went out. The town moved +no longer. + +Our vigil was illuminated by a single candle, and we kept looking at the +clock. It was said that the Terrorists were guarding the streets leading +out of town so that nobody should be able to escape. Looting was to +begin at midnight. Even if they did their work quickly it would take +them half an hour before they came here. This house was said to be +marked as their third point of attack. + +Somehow I remembered a horror of my childhood. I was quite small. My +grandmother Tormay was telling us stories about her Huguenot ancestors. +She told us how, before the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, the men of +Catherine de Medici had locked all the gates of Paris so that none +should be able to escape and then marked with chalk the houses inhabited +by Huguenots. “But that happened more than three hundred years ago,” my +grandmother said, “when people were still wild and cruel.” + +The clock struck midnight. + +I asked Mrs. Huszár to escape at once with her children into the fields +of Indian corn as soon as the shooting started. We listened. Nothing ... +only the clock struck again. Half-past twelve. My friend was standing +near the window listening, and I thought how often we had sat up through +the nights like this during the last few months. + +“Do you remember? That night when we kept saying, ‘Now the Czechs have +fired!’ ‘Now the Reds!’”? + +Our fate has not altered. The Dictatorship of the Proletariat is still +alive and continues to torture us. + +One o’clock! + +A hen fluttered up the roof of the house opposite. Under the stars +silence pervaded the summer night. + +Half-past one! + +A dog barked, and all round other dogs responded. + +“They are coming!” + +The anxious moments passed. The dogs were silent again and in the cool +dawn the first cock crowed, followed at intervals by others. It reminded +us of clocks striking the hour in succession. + +The sun rose. The Terrorists have not come. Who can say why? The St. +Bartholomew’s night of Balassagyarmat has not come off. + + * * * * * + + _August 5th._ + +This morning we learnt that before starting on their plundering +expedition the Terrorists found a supply of champagne in the cellars of +one of the hotels. They got so drunk that they could not even stand. So +a few hundred bottles of champagne saved the town. Comrade Szijgyártó +was the only man who remained sober. It appears that he received an +ambiguous message from the Budapest Workmen’s Government and in the +course of the night he sent his detectives out to find whither he could +escape. When his men returned they reported that the roads to the +villages were guarded by armed men, so he was obliged to wait till the +Lenin Boys had slept off their drunkenness. But meanwhile the old police +of Balassagyarmat had assembled. Now people are talking of the +Terrorists’ intention to escape by train, but the police will disarm +them at the station. + +Everybody was out of doors. Here and there a young man in a leather +coat, with a brand new hat on his head, appeared, looking innocently at +the crows. + +Mrs. Huszár noticed it too and we looked at each other. “They have +changed their garb....” + +Suddenly policemen, railwaymen, guards with white flowers, officials, +women and boys began rushing towards the station. The whole street was +running and its rush was watched from both sides by the posted horrors +of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. The Red soldiers, wild sailors, +half-naked workmen wading in blood, shapeless female monsters. Yesterday +they were all alive; now, as I passed them quickly they receded on the +walls beside me as the phantoms of a terrible past. + +A youth came running from the direction of the county hall shouting at +the top of his voice. + +“The Lenin Boys have escaped!” While people were waiting for them at the +station they fled with their booty from the other end of the town. +People swore and angry voices shouted: “Scoundrels! But they will be +caught!” + +In that moment, as if a chain round the town’s chest had broken, +Balassagyarmat breathed freely again. Men raised their heads, spoke loud +and freely, many careworn faces made an attempt to smile. There was talk +and laughter under the trees lining the streets. Then a boy started to +work and others took it up—arms were raised, sticks and pocket-knives +worked feverishly, and in a few minutes, all through the town, the +posters of the Dictatorship were hanging in shreds from the walls. Thick +layers of paper fell on the pavement, bright coloured scraps covered the +cobbles, and were trodden in the dust. + +The grape harvest has come in the land of hunchbacks. + + * * * * * + + _August 6th._ + +Days have passed since the murderers of the country have fallen and fate +has not yet done justice to them. Reality has achieved nothing, so it +remains for imagination to sit in trial over the criminals. + +People tell each other that Michael Károlyi and Béla Kun have been given +up by the Czechs and Austrians and that both have been hanged. Between +the Danube and the Tisza and in Western Hungary the peasants are +arresting the hiding butchers of the Dictatorship and delivering them up +to the justice of the crowd, who make them eat the posters scratched +from the walls. Then they are executed by those whose father, mother, +husband or child they have murdered. + +Then comes one authentic piece of news: Tibor Számuelly has committed +suicide. He was the first who tried to escape. The Cabinet had not yet +resigned when he rushed in his car to the aerodrome, hoping to fly to +Russia. But not one of the pilots would undertake the job. Then he +started with some of his hangmen on a lorry towards Austria but was +arrested on the way, and while unwatched shot himself dead. + +“That is not fair,” said a farmer, “he ought to have been strung up on a +dung-heap.” + +“He deserved the torture chamber, not a bullet!” And the people curse +the scoundrel furiously for having escaped human justice. + +But once again our elation is stifled by sorrow, for we are receiving +more and more unexpected names of the victims of the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat. In the last hours, during its agony, the reign of terror +has snatched the lives of Oscar Fery and his faithful companions, +Menkina and Borhy. + +Oscar Fery, the organiser of the Hungarian county police, was the heroic +soul of the Counter-revolution. He was a brave soldier, who, +notwithstanding that he was a Lieutenant-General, stayed in Budapest +during the Commune so that in case of need he might be on the spot to +lead his police. The Dictators were afraid of him—he did not run away! A +few days ago, he was dragged from his home at night and with two +faithful officers was taken to the Terrorists’ barracks. When the fall +of the Dictatorship was unavoidable, the prisoners were killed in the +cellars one after the other. Oscar Fery was the last, and as he was +being taken to the cellar he fell over the mutilated bodies of his +companions. There was an awful storm that night, the roaring of the wind +dominated every sound. Yet for hours one could hear the screams of the +victims in the cellar of the barracks. + +The murderers have escaped, but their saviours continue to rule over +Hungary while the Entente negotiates with them. And the Rumanians are in +Budapest. + +“One can’t go on living like this. We would much rather be killed.” I +have seen weeping men to-day. + + * * * * * + + _August 7th._ + +There are no trains yet from Budapest and the town is surrounded by a +ring. Nobody can get out of it; no passengers, no newspapers come to us. +The Workmen’s Government has cancelled all the orders of the +Dictatorship, and no fresh orders have come through yet. Only a part of +the troops from the Tisza front could be disarmed. The soldiers have +over-run the country and many are robbing and plundering. + +A doubtful rumour spread yesterday evening. It was said that an +opposition Government had been formed in the capital. Is it true? Or, as +so often before, is it only an invention arising from our hope? Yet hope +_is_ rising. + +“You sit down and write an article in remembrance of Balassagyarmat,” +said Aladár Huszár. “The old patriotic newspaper has reappeared.” + +For months I have been writing only for my own self and the idea of +publicity came disturbingly to me, as if someone were watching my pen +over my shoulder. “Resurrection ...” I chose that title for my article +and I signed my name—the first time since the events of March. + +As I wrote it many thoughts passed through my mind. The name of +Elisabeth Földváry, my companion and protector during the sad days, has +fallen off me as a cloak. I return it to those who have a right to it +and I hope they will forgive me for using it. I give it back—but not +with a light heart. The cloak, worn for so many months, has practically +grown on me, and refuses to part from me. I must seek a road that leads +me back to my own self. And while seeking it, two individualities +collided within me: my own, which has to fight and work, and the other, +the poor, tired, shy, retiring one, which has realised the pleasures of +obscurity and the peace of quiet irresponsibility. Suddenly I feel +frightened. Will that which life has left me be enough for what life +expects from me? + +The door flew open as if torn by a hurricane: + +“Come, come, all of you!” shouted Aladár Huszár, holding a paper in his +hand. “Great news. A proclamation....” + +“Why? What? Whence?” + +He read, deeply moved: + +“To the Hungarian people! Inspired by the everlasting love with which I +cling to the Hungarian people, looking back on the sufferings we have +gone through together in the last five years, I give way to the request +addressed to me from all quarters and will attempt to solve the present +impossible situation!” + +We no longer asked any questions, we knew who it was who for five years +had suffered in common with us, he who loves the Hungarian people with +everlasting devotion, the people forsaken by everybody, whom nobody +loves. The Archduke Joseph! + +After all the hatred—everlasting love! A tear ran down my cheek; I did +not wipe it away but left it there to wash off the traces of so many +sufferings. + +A Government has been formed and its members are Hungarians, not +foreigners. Stephen Friedrich is Prime Minister. + +There was a time when Friedrich had been misled by Michael Károlyi. He +took his part in the October Revolution though in the course of the +winter he had opened negotiations with the Counter-revolution. He too is +responsible for those events, but he is the only one who has shown +contrition and has redeemed his fault. After the closing of the darkest +and most humiliating pages of Hungary’s history he has written his name +on the first clean page. + +The sun was shining and on the roof of the county hall the red, white +and green flag was being hoisted. The eyes of a whole town filled with +tears. + +On October 31st the hands of traitors drew the flag into the Revolution +as a snare. Then, in tragical disgrace, it was made to float over the +country which its enemies occupied and tore to pieces. The sight of it +became a torture, my soul revolted against it, and I turned away from it +that I might not see it; it became unclean and was besmirched. And when +everything that it stood for had been crushed and dissipated, they tore +it down with derision. From that moment it became ours again: it was +persecuted like ourselves. It was sentenced to death, stood before the +Revolutionary Tribunals; prison and the gallows were in store for those +who harboured it. The flag became a martyr. Because innocent Hungarian +blood has been shed for it, because it has been consecrated with blood, +and blood has brought it back to us and raised it above us—God have +mercy on him who dares to touch it! Its tricoloured folds are now +unfurled under the sky. And beneath it, on the walls of Balassagyarmat, +there stand the letters of the Palatine’s message: “... with everlasting +love....” + +Peasants, gentlemen, workmen, and Red soldiers of yesterday gathered in +front of the proclamation and read it, deeply moved. I stood there too. +The sun had set and yet it seemed that some mysterious afterglow lit up +the faces.... + + * * * * * + + _August 8th._ + +The day has come. The terrible spell is broken. Hungary again takes her +fate in her own hands. And to-day I am to see my mother again. + +Life returns to the groove whence it was torn some months ago. Through +the breach in the walls which have encircled us the horizon is widening, +the first train to the capital is starting. And I take leave of the +house which has given me a home, I take leave of the people, the +children, of my little corner near the window and of the shady palings +of the back garden, of everything that has been kind to me in my +misfortune, of all the unforgettable things.... + +Through the windows of the train the station buildings were already +receding. Then the last little houses disappeared, the waters of the +Ipoly, the poplars on its banks, the glittering heights of the distant +Fátra. Then everything became small and distant. The green trees +gathered close together, the roofs sank in the distance, and the flag +above the county hall seemed to rise higher and higher. Its staff had +become invisible, only its folds were floating like a huge, tricoloured +bird which had stopped in its flight above the town. And winding like a +thread of silver between its swampy meadows the Ipoly kept me company +for a time. Then parched fields came towards me, a sad, dry country. In +the fields of Indian corn the empty, straggling stalks rustled in the +wind raised by the train. And this rattling noise is heard everywhere in +Hungary to-day, for everything has been burnt. + +Somebody in our compartment whispered: “It was for to-day that Számuelly +had fixed the massacre of the bourgeoisie.... It was to have begun in +Budapest. Then all over the country.... Lenin and Trotsky had ordered a +stricter Dictatorship.” + +‘Lenin speaking!’ The awful words dissolved like rotten things in the +air. He speaks no longer here! Nor does Számuelly; but there are voices +from gallows-pits, from the graves and from the unburied dead. + +The track curved, and from the direction of the old castle of Nográd we +could see a storm racing towards us. In a few moments the sky was black. +The train threw itself against the hurricane, then was compelled to +stop. The heavy carriages trembled; the trees slanted and the dust rose +in dark clouds. The wind moaned like a monster organ. Such a wind +preceded the world-war. To prevent premonitions I said quickly: “If we +stick to each other and do not forget.... In one year, in two, or ten or +even a hundred years, Hungary will arise again, for there is a little +speck of earth which belongs to us. Six feet of ground at the foot of +Golgotha was enough to bring the Resurrection....” + +The storm passed to the west and the spires and cupolas of chastened +Budapest appeared again in sunshine above the plain and the hills. + +I took leave of my companions at the station and then a carriage carried +me off. I was alone. Flags were floating above me on all the +houses—curious flags, that had been cut in half when the terror was +requisitioning them for an auto-da-fé. On the walls the orders of +Rumanian generals were posted—on white paper. Like ambulant ruins, the +electric trams with smashed windows crawled along their rails. The shops +were still closed and between the blinds one could see that the windows +were empty. The dusty glass showed traces of removed posters. After the +robberies of Communism, life had not yet returned to the beggared town. + +With steel helmets and fixed bayonets a Rumanian patrol came round a +corner. The blood rushed to my face, and then I noticed something else: +in ramshackle cabs Rumanian officers with painted cheeks and rouged lips +were sitting with young Jewesses. How quickly they have made friends! +And how happy they seem! + +A motor lorry was standing in front of a house from which Rumanian +soldiers were removing typewriters. War contribution—everything is war +contribution. With mighty swings they threw the delicate machines one on +top of the other. A thud, a crash—that was the end of them! Rumania is +acquiring the tools of Western culture. But instead of broken +typewriters it might have acquired capital in the shape of hundreds of +years of Hungarian gratitude, if it had been content to leave the little +that was left to a ransacked people. + +Over the bridge flags were playing in the breeze. Suddenly I saw them no +more. There, above the hill, sadly, stood the royal castle. Opposite, on +the shore of Pest, the House of Parliament was standing with its +darkened stones. The building seemed quite young a year ago. How +suddenly it has aged, how tragic have become its bloodstained cellars, +its bullet-marked walls, the square where the rabble watched the +executions, the stairs leading to the river! + +On the side of Buda the flags were floating too, on the bridgehead, on +the houses. Towards the end of the town the palings showed now and then +the traces of torn-off red posters. + +Then I came in sight of our hills. But since I had last been here the +forest has disappeared. The Dictatorship of the Proletariat has +exterminated that too. + +Now I was going up the hill; nobody was waiting for me, nobody knew I +was coming. All the way along I was smiling to myself. + +The high, double roof of our house showed up bright against the blue +sky. The gate was open, the pebbles crunched under my feet, I opened the +front door. + +A white wall, an oaken staircase, flowers on my mother’s table. And I +stood there, irresolute. Steps were approaching, peculiar steps, as if +one foot were slightly dragged behind the other. Blessed steps, beloved +steps, I ran to meet them! My mother stood in the door. + +I felt that I turned pale. Already the flame was dying within her and +she was preparing for the long journey. But I will keep her back, she +must stay with me. She opened her arms and I felt her, who had always +been taller than I, so small, so elusive, against my heart. I will keep +her back, will make her stay. + +[Illustration: + + ROUMANIAN TROOPS OCCUPYING BUDAPEST. +] + +And in her arms my outlawry died. I was home again. + + + THE END. + + + + + APPENDIX. + THE CRIMINALS OF THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE PROLETARIAT[6] + + By OSCAR SZOLLOSY, LL.D., + + _Councillor in the Royal Hungarian Ministry of Justice._ + + +Lenin’s well-known axiom to the effect that in revolutions for every +honest-minded man (unfortunately) are to be found hundreds of criminals, +can scarcely be applied to Hungarian Bolshevism, for among the notorious +exponents of the same even the lamp of Diogenes would hardly have +enabled us to detect one honest-minded man. Criminalists of long +standing who lived through the horrors of the Red Régime in Hungary, +which lasted from March 21 to the end of July, 1919, could testify, even +without the decisions of the court of laws, that the leading spirits of +the ‘Soviet Republic’ (with the exception of a few fanatics) consisted +of common criminals, to the greater part of whom might be applied with +perfect aptness the definition of Anatole France, ‘_encore bête et déjà +un homme_.’ + +Every revolution has its idealistic champions, its enthusiasts who +inflame the masses with a fiery passion and are themselves ready to +endure all the suffering of Calvary in the service of the creed which +they profess. Fanatic apostles of high aims may be sympathetic even in +their fatal errors; and there is always something sublimely tragical in +their fall. Who would doubt the unselfish enthusiasm of Camille +Desmoulins, of Jourde, or of Louise Michel for their ideals, for which +they were content to suffer and die? + +In our moral judgment we distinguish between political and other +criminals; a similar sharp distinction is made by the general +conceptions of criminal law, for political agitators are liable to +confinement as first-class misdemeanants, while thieves are imprisoned +in common jails and murderers are condemned to the gallows. + +Revolution, as a movement of the masses aiming at the violent overthrow +of the existing system of law, from the standpoint of criminal law is a +single cumulative criminal act; committed against the community as a +whole,—a movement called into being by the co-operation of individuals +grouped into a mass in which individual actions are merely insignificant +episodes. The masses, however, cannot be called to account under the +criminal law; the judgment on them is pronounced by the nation and by +history. The work of the judge is to investigate the individual guilt of +the persons taking part; in this manner he finds himself dealing with +numberless varieties of revolutionary acts—from agitation, riot, through +destruction of movable property and numerous other offences, to +murder,—the series comprising practically all the acts known to the +criminal code. But of all these offences the only ones which may be +classified as political crimes are those unlawful attacks against the +aims of the State and the realization of the same which are of a +political character by virtue alike of their objects and their nature +(_e.g._, incitement against the constitution or against the binding +force of the law); in cases where only the tendency or motive is of such +character, while the means employed are base, as is true of most +revolutionary offences,—for without violence and dangerous threats there +can be no revolution,—we are confronted, not with political, but with +common crimes. The incendiaries of Paris who set fire to the Tuilleries +were common criminals, though they acted from a political motive. + +And those who, clothing themselves in the red cloak of revolution, with +Phrygian caps on their heads, ‘work for their own enrichment,’ are not +revolutionists at all—merely criminals. + +Bolshevism, the wildest form of Marxian Communism, which annihilates +capital under the pretext of making property public, destroys or +distributes among its own votaries the private possessions of others, +abolishes the right of choice of labour, subverts the thousand years old +system of production and, in order to effect all these things, ruins all +the institutions of an historic State, concentrates the proletarians in +the ‘council’ system with the object of exercising dictatorial power +over the bourgeois classes, persecutes religion and national sentiment, +places physical labour above intellectual work, transforms the common +seaman into an admiral, employing the real admiral as a scavenger,—this +suppression of the common liberties, more tyrannical in character than +the despotism of any Cæsar, could not have maintained itself for even +the briefest space of time without resorting to the means of extreme +terrorism. Therefore, having disarmed the bourgeois classes, and +rendering them defenceless, it placed King Mob on the throne and used +the same to keep the other members of the community in constant fear and +trembling. + +In our country the Dictatorship of the Proletariat was nothing more or +less than an organized rule of the mob, under the demoniacal direction +of Belial, the spirit of destruction of Jewish mythology. + +But what were the elements composing this mob? + +So long as the State power is the expression of the common will of the +people and has at its command disciplined physical force, the authority +of the State and the moral constraint involved suffice to hold in check +those criminal propensities and hidden instincts which are latent in the +masses. Under such circumstances the expression ‘mob’ is restricted to +vagabonds, professional criminals, the denizens of the common haunts of +crime who are a public danger. But, the moment the rule of law is +overthrown and the respect for authority vanishes, the lid of the box of +Pandora flies open, and the criminal or unhealthy instincts hitherto +kept in check rush unimpeded from their secret hiding-places, and the +mob is recruited by men who have so far been peaceful and industrious +day-labourers, factory hands, students, tradesmen or officials. And +those degenerate individuals who are criminally inclined are only too +eager to join any movement which enables them to give free vent to their +inclinations. During the opening weeks of the Bolshevik régime Budapest +became the gatheringplace of international adventurers flocking thither +from all quarters of the globe,—‘Spartacus’ Germans, Russian Jews, +Austrian, Rumanian, Bulgarian, and Italian communists hastened thither +in the hope of finding rich booty under the ægis of the Soviet +Government. At a mass meeting held in the suburbs, speeches were +delivered by demagogues in six different languages. + +But more foreign still to this country than the rabble of strangers were +the leading People’s Commissioners themselves, though all were born on +Hungarian soil. They hated, not merely the bourgeoisie, but the whole +Hungarian people, with whom they never had anything in common. Their +hatred was most violent against the agricultural peasant class, which +forms the bulk of the nation, whereas the industrial labourers represent +barely more than five per cent. of the whole population. While at +Petrograd, in the service of Lenin, Béla Kún had had Hungarian prisoners +of war, officers and privates alike, shot _en masse_ with machine-guns, +for refusing to join the Russian Red Army. + +When the future People’s Commissioners, laden with Russian gold, emerged +from obscurity, they pushed into the background the former leaders of +the working classes. In their incendiary speeches and newspaper articles +could be heard the hissing of the vipers of hatred. The terrible trials +of the four and a half years’ war, its demoralising effect, the +exorbitant demands advanced after the defeat by soldiers embittered by +battle and grown accustomed to a distaste for a life of work, the +unemployment caused by the shortage of raw materials, and the discontent +of the industrial labourers that had long been lurking beneath the +surface,—all these circumstances in a few months ripened the seeds sown +by the wicked and unscrupulous agitation of the adventurers. Their +adherents consisted, besides a few educated persons of disordered +intellect[7] or greedy of profit, of a small fraction of socialist +labourers (who terrorized the rest of their fellows) and the mob +described above. + +Were these men really capable of believing in the incredible,—of +believing that the results of a social evolution of a thousand years +could be changed in a single night by the help of bands of terrorists? +Did they believe that they could violate human nature by means of their +peremptory ‘orders’ (edicts), or that the world-revolution with which, +as an inevitable certainty, they constantly sought to cajole their +partisans would really hasten to their assistance? Did they honestly +desire to ‘redeem’ the working classes,—which, in fact, they +ruined,—with their devilish system? And is the bestiality of their +instruments the only charge that can be laid at their doors? There were +evidently some men among them who cherished such a belief and such a +desire; but it would be extremely difficult to draw such a conclusion +from the nature of their deeds. On the contrary, it is certain that +almost all of them were actuated by the hope of personal aggrandizement, +by a morbid and unbridled desire of omnipotence; they desired to seize +for themselves everything that seemed of any value to them in the +country and to destroy everything that stood in their way. An +exceptionally favourable opportunity for the realization of their aims +was afforded them by the desperate situation of the country and the +lethargy of the exhausted bourgeois classes; and to this end they +hastened to exploit the infatuation of the masses. + +Pre-eminent among them, alike for ability and for skill in the +application of Bolshevik ideology, was the People’s Commissioner for +Foreign Affairs, the keen-witted, astute and extraordinarily active Béla +Kún,[8] who remained to the end the soul and leading spirit of the Red +régime. Already during his activity as a provincial journalist, this +lizard-faced, well-fed agitator had shown the greatest contempt for the +morals in general acceptance among the middle classes and had +consequently been only too ready to sell his pen as a means to hush up +delinquencies committed by the bourgeoisie. He had been compelled, in +consequence of petty embezzlements committed at the expense of the +proletariat, to resign his post in the office of the Kolozsvár Workmen’s +Insurance Institute. Earlier in life he had been a votary of night +orgies; and during the ‘lean’ days of the Soviet régime he did not +abstain from sumptuous banqueting, while everywhere the masses intoned +the refrain of the Internationale, ‘Rise, starving proletarians, rise!’ +As People’s Commissioner, he took up his quarters in a fashionable hotel +on the Danube Embankment, under the protection of a body-guard armed +with hand grenades. His inflammatory speeches, in which he employed all +the hackneyed casuistry of the demagogue, at first exercised a +suggestive influence even on the more sober-minded section of the +working classes. He preached the necessity of an inexorable application +of the dictatorship; and he himself—ignoring his own revolutionary +tribunals—gave orders for the perpetration of secret murders committed +in the dark. It was in this way that he got terrorists to kill two +Ukranian officers who had come here to repatriate Russian prisoners of +war and whom he suspected of implication in a plot against his person. +In a similarly secret manner he provided for the murder, among others, +of Francis Mildner, captain in the Artillery, for having (as he, Béla +Kún, declared) encouraged the pupils of the Ludovica Military Academy to +‘stick to their guns’ during the Counter-revolution in the month of +June. Moreover, he gave Joseph Cserny, the formidable ‘commander’ of the +‘terror-troops,’ a general authorization for the perpetration, by means +of his underlings, of similar murders. + +[Illustration: + + SZÁMUELLY, ARRIVING BY AEROPLANE FROM MOSCOW, BRINGS GREETINGS FROM + THE RUSSIAN COMMUNISTS. +] + +The only one of his associates who surpassed him in bloodthirsty cruelty +was Tiberius Szamuelly,[9] a horrible figure who was the object of +universal abhorrence, even among the working classes,—a man who +experienced a perverse enjoyment in the destruction of human life. This +degenerate successor of Marat and Hébert was a sharp-featured, +narrow-chested Jewish youth of low stature; according to medical men who +knew him, his blood was tainted, and he was consumptive. Prior to the +war, he acted as reporter—without talent indeed, but never without a +monocle—to a clerical news agency; during the war he was an officer in +the reserve; and, at the age of twenty-eight, his hatred of mankind and +his experiences in Russia qualified him for appointment as a People’s +Commissioner. He was a type of humanity of the lowest kind, degenerate +alike physically and mentally. In the Governing Council he came into +conflict even with Béla Kún, because the latter declined to comply with +his delightful suggestion that the mob should be allowed at least three +days’ free pillage immediately after the proclamation of the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat. It was he who, at the meeting of the +Budapest Workers’ Council, raised the cry of ‘Death to the Bourgeoisie!’ +and the following day the seething crowd swarming along the boulevards +echoed his cry—‘Death to the Bourgeoisie!’ In April he was authorized to +exercise in person, in the rear of the Red Army and in places where +there was any counter-revolutionary movement, the rights of the +revolutionary courts-martial. And, indeed, he accomplished his task +thoroughly; those whom the members of the local Workers’ Councils +branded as ‘white’ he had hanged, without even the formality of a trial, +on the nearest pear or apple tree. As a rule, his manner of sentencing +to death the victims brought before him, was by a motion of the hand or +by secret ‘cue’; though sometimes he pronounced formal sentence in the +words—‘Step under the tree!’ These words were enough for his hangmen. He +condemned to death persons ‘taken up’ at random against whom there was +not even the shadow of a suspicion,—mostly for the simple reason that +they belonged to the detested peasant class. At Duna-pataj he ordered +his underlings to bury a wounded peasant, whom he saw being treated by a +surgeon, alive in a grave together with the dead. At Sopron-Kövesd he +had an old railway booking-clerk of the name of Schmidt hanged, and +compelled his son to watch the dying father’s convulsions for +twenty-five minutes, and then hanged the son on the same tree by the +side of the father. A short time previous to the overthrow of the +Commune, he endeavoured to establish a military dictatorship; and his +particular adherents had drafted a list of the State officials, police +officers and aristocrats who had been selected as doomed to be +slaughtered within three short hours. + +A dwarf in comparison with this monster was the red-handed, black-souled +Joseph Pogány,[10] one of Count Stephen Tisza’s murderers and the demon +of demoralization of our former army. From being a socialist journalist, +he became President of the Soldiers’ Council, later People’s +Commissioner for Public Education, and finally Commander of an Army +Corps. He was the son of a Jewish ‘corpse-washer’ of the name of +Schwarz; and, though endowed with but mediocre ability, was incredibly +ambitious. In his maniacal endeavour for self-assertion, the comic +elements were overshadowed only by the depravity of the means he +employed. Grotesquely adipose in figure, he loved to ape the poses and +gestures of Napoleon, and revelled greedily in the delights of power. He +travelled without exception in a Pullman car or in an automobile; and at +one of the health resorts on the shores of Lake Balaton,—when the misery +of the country was at its height,—he arranged horse-races in which his +Red Hussars took part,—for his own distraction and in his own honour. At +the first news of the approach of the Rumanian army, he warned the +entire population of Budapest that they must consider themselves as the +hostages of the Soviet Republic. (It was at the same juncture that +‘Comrade’ Surek, inspired with noble zeal, proposed at the Central +Soviet meeting that all hostages should be butchered at once and +mountains raised of bourgeois corpses!) + +Hardly had the men of the Soviet seized the reins of government, when +the _homo delinquens_ commenced his revels; every base and filthy +impulse was let loose, greed and bloodthirstiness held a bacchanalian +feast. When the old order was restored it was found necessary, as a +result of the denunciations received, to institute proceedings in no +less than 15,000 criminal cases; and the number of persons kept in +detention by the Public Prosecutor in the metropolis alone exceeded +three thousand: on the occasion of their arrest, almost all of the +latter were found to be in the possession of stolen money or other +stolen valuables. + +Typical criminals were placed in possession of all our public +institutions,—with the exception of the jails and convict prisons, from +which, indeed, individuals apparently harmless to the proletariat State +were released _en masse_ (those discharged from the convict prison at +Sopron, for instance, included a gipsy condemned for robbery and murder) +to make room for respectable men, hostages and political prisoners. The +former convicts were wanted to recruit the ranks of the ‘political +terror-troops’ and the Red Guard, as well as to furnish functionaries to +do the more important work of the administration of justice.[11] + +Hitherto it had been the sole ambition of journeymen in general to be +able to set up for themselves as independent masters of their respective +trades: now, they were informed by the _Voros Ujság_ (Red Journal) that +masters were without exception dishonest extortioners, since they +employed workmen for wages: so they came to despise, not only their +masters, but their handicrafts, too, and ended by joining the Red Guards +or some other band of pillagers. + +During four months and a half all Budapest wore the appearance of one +vast condemned cell. The night visits of savage Red Guards and drunken +terrorists, domiciliary visits (the most convenient pretexts for the +‘official organs’ to plunder flats), the ‘commandeering’ of food and +dwellings, compulsory recruiting, the taking of hostages, the arrest and +torture of innocent persons, and the glaring posters with their gruesome +threats,—kept the inhabitants, stripped of everything and nearly all +suffering the pangs of hunger, in a state of nervous tension, while +suicides of embittered fathers were every-day occurrences. Those who had +hitherto been held in check by the authorities, had now become the +authorities themselves; and, to the citizen accustomed to a disciplined +mode of life, nothing can be more disheartening than the knowledge that +the ‘authorities’ are the greatest enemies to the security of life and +property. + +When, under the pretext of ‘nationalization,’ the Soviet authorities +proceeded vigorously to confiscate property, thirty-four banks were +occupied by armed forces and placed under Communist management. The +entire stock of money and securities was seized, as well as the +jewellery, gold coins and foreign currency deposited in the safes. From +the Austro-Hungarian Bank (Budapest branch) two hundred million crowns +were taken and conveyed to Vienna for propaganda purposes; while foreign +currency of the value of at least forty to fifty million crowns was +distributed among the immediate adherents (male and female alike) of the +new masters of the country. Of the foreign securities seized several +millions’ worth were sold; while the Sacred Crown, the most jealously +guarded of all the nation’s treasures, was offered for sale. (The crown +adorning the dome of the royal palace was covered with a red cap.) + +The salaries of the persons employed by the new bureaucracy and the +wages of the workmen were raised so enormously that there could be no +doubt as to the probability of a speedy bankruptcy of the State. A +prison warder was paid wages amounting to about 30,000 crowns a year. +The Exchequer was soon empty; and there was a shortage of the means of +payment. At this juncture Julius Lengyel, People’s Commissioner for +Finance, declared to a meeting of the ‘trustees’ (_Vertrauensmänner_) of +the officials of the bank of issue that ‘there are excellent foreign and +native forgers able to make perfect counterfeits of the Austro-Hungarian +banknotes.’ The services of these ‘excellent forgers’ were actually +requisitioned; and they made an enormous number of forged +Austro-Hungarian banknotes, of 200, 25 and 2 crowns respectively. Thus +the workers’ delight at the rise of wages became converted into bitter +disappointment, for they were paid in forged notes which possessed a +very trifling purchasing value. The country folk refused to have +anything to do with money forged under the ægis of ‘authorities’ whose +term of power was so problematical, and in consequence ceased to supply +the capital with food. + +[Illustration: + + 1. LEOPOLD RADO _alias_ ROTH. +] + +[Illustration: + + 3. ERNEST BAUMGARTEN. +] + +[Illustration: + + 2. OTTO KORVIN _alias_ KLEIN. +] + +[Illustration: + + 4. WILLIAM AUSCH. +] + + (_For an account of these Terrorists, see the_ APPENDIX.) + +Meanwhile Terror was working at high pressure, not sparing even the +better-disposed among the working classes. Its appointed instruments—the +Detective Department of the Ministry of the Interior, with the +bloodthirsty Otto Korvin-Klein at its head, the Revolutionary Tribunals, +and the Political ‘Terror Troops’—never for a single moment lapsed from +the level of their respective callings. + +Otto Korvin (Klein), a hunchbacked, clean-shaven gnome of twenty-five +years, was a well-paid official of a joint-stock company when he was +called upon to join the ranks of the red, bloodstained knights of hate. +It was he who issued orders for the seizure as hostages of the +notabilities of our public life,—politicians, judges, bishops, writers, +manufacturers, generals; he who was known as _ornamentum civitatis_,—the +former Prime Minister, Alexander Wekerle, a man of seventy years,—the +former Ministers of War (Home Defence), Hazay and Szurmay, the Speaker +(President of the House of Deputies), Charles Szasz, the most +distinguished of Hungarian publicists, Eugéne Rakosi, Bishop Mikes, +etc.,—all these men now became the inmates of a common jail. But in many +cases, the instruments of Korvin’s vindictiveness—the terrorists and +detectives—did not even trouble to convey the hostages to prison; +dragging the victims out of bed and away from their homes in the dead of +night, they simply murdered them and robbed their corpses. Alexander +Hollan, Secretary of State, and his aged father were shot on the Chain +Bridge, their bodies, bound together, being thrown into the Danube. +Louis Navay, a former speaker of the Lower House, together with his +younger brother and a local magistrate, while being conveyed from Mako +to Budapest, were dragged from the train at Félegyháza, placed on the +brink of a grave dug in the neighbourhood of the railway station, and +then shot and stabbed with bayonets until they were dead; on the same +occasion, the Soviet mercenaries, as they proceeded on their journey, +shot three more hostages in the train and seven at the railway station +of Hodmezovasarhely. + +Maybe these unfortunate men had a happier fate than was that of some of +the political prisoners whom Korvin subjected to his diabolical +inquisition in the cellars beneath the Houses of Parliament. What was +enacted there, in defiance of all human feeling, surpasses the utmost +limits of bestiality. Some had the soles of their feet beaten with +rubber sticks or their bare backs belaboured with belts or straps; +others had their ribs or arms broken, or tacks driven in under their +nails; some were compelled to drink three litres of water at a draught, +or had rulers stuck down their throats, to force them to make +disclosures. By the side of a certain lieutenant-colonel Korvin placed a +guard with a hand grenade, ordering the latter to kill the unfortunate +officer, if he dared to open his mouth; another prisoner he threatened +to shoot unless he spoke immediately. A lieutenant was found wearing on +his breast an image of the Blessed Virgin: ‘hang the thing up as an +ornament for his gallows,’ shrieked the inquisitor in a paroxysm of +fury. A prisoner named Balogh, who refused to confess, was dragged by +the terrorists—his hands tied behind his back—up to the scaffold erected +in the cellar and left hanging there with the blood running from his +mouth and nose. For intimidation, the inquisitors showed the accused +persons a heap of noses, tongues, and ears that had been cut off +corpses. One of Korvin’s hangmen, a Russian Jew, with a limp, and curly +hair, named Gerson Itzkovitch, laughingly vaunted that he was in the +habit of gouging out a bourgeois’ eye with a single turn of his Cossack +knife, ‘like the stone from a peach.’ Those who were tortured to death +in the course of the inquisition were generally thrown from the stairs +of the Houses of Parliament into the Danube; the actor Andrew Szocs was +thrown down from the third floor into the courtyard, where his body was +left to decompose for several days. + +In order to prevent the wailings and death-cries of the victims being +heard by outsiders, a grinning chauffeur was told off to keep the motor +of his automobile incessantly whirring in front of the ventilation holes +of the cellars. + +These frenzied blood-orgies betray all the symptoms characteristic of +that perversion which manifests itself in a perverse and fiendish +delight in the shedding of blood, in shrieks of pain, and in maddening +tortures. + +Korvin’s female typist, Manci Hollos, endeavoured to comfort an +imprisoned lawyer in these terms: ‘You will make a handsome corpse; it +will be a pleasure to gouge out your eyes and kick your broken ribs.’ + +Hysterical women, too, were given a plentiful scope of activity by +Bolshevism, which induced women to wear short hair, in order to be more +like men, whereas the men wore long, flowing hair, after the Russian +fashion. Elizabeth Sipos, the notorious agitator with whom Korvin +contracted a marriage during the Dictatorship, devoted her energy to +spying out the counter-revolutionary plans of army officers. Margaret +Romanyi agitated in favour of Bolshevism among the telephone operators; +while Gizella Adler, in her capacity as political commissary, armed with +a revolver, herself delivered to the custody of the Red Guards such +persons as seemed to her to be suspicious. Mrs. John Peczkai,[12] a +woman doctor, took pleasure in assisting at executions; her hobby was to +be allowed to determine whether death had ensued, and she showed a +particular eagerness in making inquiries as to when and where the next +execution was to take place. Ethel Sari (a notorious pickpocket, who +later on became Secretary to the People’s Commissioner, Vago) took part, +with her husband, the gorilla-headed terrorist, Andrew Annocskay, in the +butchery at Maká, in the meantime methodically pursuing her usual +occupation of professional pickpocket. + +Those whom Korvin’s accomplices or the Red Guards brought direct to the +revolutionary tribunals, might have congratulated themselves on at least +escaping the cellars of torture of the Houses of Parliament; but +mutilation, starvation and intimidation were the order of the day in the +prisons. In the prison attached to the Budapest Central Court of Justice +alone 1,461 persons were held in custody, persons arrested as +politicians, and not charged with any criminal act. The tribunals, +composed of untrained individuals (industrial labourers and persons +‘with a past’), were not bound by any regular rules of procedure and +passed sentence with a rapidity of courts-martial under military law. +The Budapest Revolutionary Tribunal sentenced to ‘confinement in an +asylum’ an accused person who evinced symptoms of dull-wittedness; and +against this sentence there was no appeal. + +The Governing Council appointed the lawyer Dr. Eugene László political +commissary for all the revolutionary tribunals. This man was the +offspring of a marriage between cousins, and his mother died insane; his +fellow-lawyers and journalists (for previously he had been law reporter +to a daily with a wide circulation) spoke of him among themselves as +‘mad László’; yet he was one of the most fanatical of Communists and in +his degeneracy was quite the equal of the more calculating Korvin and +the more ignorant Számuelly. These qualities were amply sufficient to +fit him to act as super-reviser of all judgments passed by the +revolutionary tribunals; and his legal training enabled him to do his +work by simply ordering the members of the tribunals to pass the +sentences dictated by him. In the case of Dr. John Stenczel and his +associates, who were charged with being counter-revolutionists, acting +in touching agreement with Otto Korvin, László conferred the dignity of +judge on Joseph Cserny, directing him to sentence all the accused but +one to death. As President of the Tribunal, after ten minutes’ hearing +of the case, which was a mere parody of the administration of justice, +Cserny pronounced sentence of death on eight men and then, by way of +motive for the sentence, whistled between his fingers; of the men +condemned in this manner, three were shot, while the others were +graciously reprieved and sentenced to imprisonment for life. (One member +of this tribunal was Francis Gombos, a worker in the cartridge factory, +who was known to be ever ready to agree to a sentence of death; he +‘despised human life,’—though, it would appear only in the case of +others, for, when at a later date the Court of Law sentenced him to +death, he broke into sobs and implored mercy.) + +This same Eugéne László, who, during the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat, had no fewer than four flats in Budapest, was far less +severe in respect of the standard of morality applied to his own +actions, for—as appears from the evidence of his own officials—he stole +from the Budapest mansion of Baron Ulmann clothes, silver +cigarette-cases and other portable articles, which he then sold at a +high price, Joseph Cserny having bought from him, among other things, +caps for 100 crowns. These individuals also made a practice of arresting +as hostages rich merchants, whom they then released from prison—as a +proof of their magnanimity—in return for money and rice! + +A quite different type—one might almost say a true type of Apache—was +‘Comrade’ Joseph Cserny,[13] the broad-shouldered and big-limbed sailor +whom Béla Kún himself entrusted with the organisation of the ‘terror +troops.’ He was of a very powerful physique and possessed remarkable +muscular strength; and he was possessed with the conviction that in the +general upheaval he was called upon to play a pre-eminent part and must +to that end be a ruthless murderer. Not even Béla Kún himself was +suffered to contradict him on this point; and when, under the pressure +of the Entente Missions and of the workers, it was proposed to disband +his troops, he forthwith conceived the idea of offering his services to +the counter-revolutionists. From among the volunteers who applied to him +for ‘a job’—these persons were the very scum of society—he selected men +of the lowest repute, dare-devils ‘with a past’ ready to perpetrate any +crime,—the criminals known as ‘Lenin Boys,’ more than 400 in number, +whose special vocation was to stifle any counter-revolutionary movement. +What they really had to do, however, was not to take part in any open +fighting or in regular military operations, but to inspire terror in +districts where any counter-revolutionary movement had already been +suppressed by the Red Army,—by murder, torture and pillaging. We know +now, from the sentences of the courts of law, that this ‘institution’ +was ‘a gang organized for common wholesale murder’ and robbery, +re-assured in advance by Ernest Seidler, People’s Commissioner for +Police, who said: ‘You may put out of the way as many “bourgeois” as you +like; I will see that everything is hushed up!’ + +The ‘Lenin Boys’ took possession of Count Batthyány’s mansion in the +Theresa Boulevard, which was transformed into a veritable fortress; in +the cellars were amassed enormous quantities of ammunition, while the +‘garrison’ had at their disposal field guns, _minenwerfers_, and +twenty-four machine-guns. The pavement in front of the house was +barricaded, while before the gate heavy motor-lorries armed with +machine-guns were kept constantly in readiness. Each ‘Lenin Boy’ was +armed to the teeth with revolvers, a bowie knife and hand grenades. The +whole town knew the ‘Lenin Boys’ by their leather coats and flat caps +with bag-like flaps at the back. (Cserny himself carried a long, sharp +hunting knife stuck in one of his yellow top-boots.) To their +fortress-mansion the ‘Boys’ conveyed by motor-lorries enormous +quantities of ‘commandeered’ clothes, food, wine, jewellery and ladies, +who, after being forced to take part in their wild orgies, were boxed on +the ears and ‘chucked out.’ + +These bandits had a peculiar slang of their own to express their methods +of assassination,—viz., ‘to send to Gades,’ ‘to refrigerate,’ ‘to send +floating,’ ‘to send home’; their torture and flogging might be +‘under-done’ or ‘well-done’ (slang phrases adopted from the kitchen +jargon). Whenever Korvin or Gabriel Schán (the political commissary +attached to the District Commander of the Red Guard) telephoned to +Cserny, saying—‘I am sending you a man; send him to Gades,’ the person +in question was dead by the following morning, and his corpse ‘sent +floating’ on the Danube. + +From among these ruffians were selected the Soviet House Guards, as well +as the Számuelly Detachment, which was quartered in the leaders’ special +train, and was always kept in readiness to travel away.[14] + +Cserny’s spy, a boy of fourteen years from Nagyvarad, of the name of +Nicholas Gelbert, was able to obtain an entrance everywhere—as an +unsuspected child, and indeed carried on his trade with astonishing +zeal; on one occasion he himself shot a captain, for which act he is +said to have received from Béla Kún a reward of 10,000 crowns. + +When the ‘terrorists’ were temporarily disbanded, forty of the ‘most +trustworthy’ were transferred to the detective section operating in the +Parliament building; later on, however, the gang was again organized and +took up its quarters in Buda, in the Mozdony utca school. + +These brigands ‘despatched’ a host of persons without the formality of a +trial, either by the orders of their superiors or on their own +initiative, in the latter case either to humour their cynical lust of +blood or with intent to rob. One day an ensign of hussars, Nicholas +Dobsa, having lost his certificate of identity, went to the Soviet House +to procure a new one; in consequence he was brought before Gabriel +Schán, the Political Commissary, twenty-three years old, who had +formerly been a law student and had become one of the most blackguardly +desperadoes of the Red régime. The ensign smiled when speaking to his +inquisitor; this was reason enough for Gabriel Schán to have him +despatched as a ‘saucy youth’ to Cserny in the Batthyány mansion. Two +‘terrorists’ (Géza Groo and John Nyakas) seized the unfortunate young +man, dragged him to the cellar, and beat him unmercifully, fracturing +his lower jaw and one of his arms; then they dug a grave for him and +shot him. Merely because he had smiled when speaking to Gabriel Schán! + +Dr. Nicholas Berend, a University professor, on the day of the +counter-revolution in June waved a white handkerchief at the gunboats +which bombarded the Soviet House; he was shot and his body robbed by +terrorists, who took his money, watch, clothes and shoes (in a word, +everything), and then threw his corpse into the Danube. This was how +this notorious ‘political institution’ showed its respect for the +medical profession. In the evening of the same day, a medical student +named Béla Madarasz, who, preparing for an examination, remained +absorbed in his books in his garret room, and kept a light burning +beyond the prescribed hour, was dragged by the terrorists into the +street, where one of them gave him a blow on the head, while another +stabbed him in the abdomen; after his gold watch had been taken from +him, he was thrown into a dust-cart and ‘sent floating’ in the Danube. + +Gustavus Szigeti, a merchant who had been arrested in Veszprém on +suspicion of having harboured Count Festetich in his house, was, at the +instance of the Political Commissary for Veszprém, who offered a reward +of 5,000 crowns, taken bound by the terrorist Gabriel Csomor to a +sandbank in Lake Balaton and there stabbed to death by that ruffian, who +fastened a piece of a broken grave-stone to the corpse, cut off the tip +of the left ear, and sank the body in the lake, afterwards sending the +ear-tip to the Commissary as authentic proof that he had killed the +victim. + +The Soviet rulers indulged a special hatred towards the rigorous chiefs +of the former gendarmerie too. A few days prior to the fall of the +Soviet Government, Edward Chlepko, Commander-in-Chief of the Red Guard, +on the basis of a pre-arranged anonymous denunciation, had +Lieutenant-General Oscar Ferry arrested, together with two +lieutenant-colonels of the gendarmerie. The political detectives +Bonyhati (formerly a lieutenant in the reserve) and Radvanyi—two men +whom even Cserny dubbed ‘bloodhounds’—conveyed the unfortunate officers +to the Terrorists’ barracks in Mozdony utca, where, after three days’ +fruitless inquisition, all three were hanged by the ‘Lenin Boys’ on a +water-pipe in the cellar. These victims, too, were buried in the Danube. + +During the reign of horror in Budapest, Számuelly’s ‘death train’ rushed +from one end of the country to the other, landing its hellish passengers +at the scene of every counter-revolutionary movement. So far as we have +hitherto been able to ascertain, the official assassin of the +Dictatorship executed thirty persons in Szolnok, twenty in Kalocsa, +sixty-one in the small village of Duna-pataj, in addition killing a host +of other innocent people in twenty-five different towns and parishes. +The most ‘eminent’ of the hangmen of this Hungarian Jefferys were Louis +Kovacs, Arpad Kerekes (Kohn), and Charles Sturcz, who, at a mere sign of +the hand from Számuelly, hanged or shot seventeen, forty-six, and +forty-nine persons respectively. + +The usual custom of these human brutes was to place the victim on a +chair beneath the tree selected for the purpose, then to throw a rope +round his neck and order him to kick away the chair; whenever the victim +was unable, owing to his terror of death, to do so, he was beaten with +rifle-butts and prodded with knives, until the instinct of escape from +this sanguinary torture compelled the writhing victim to comply with the +command. These beasts beat greyhaired old men to death; in some cases +they gouged out the victims’ eyes before killing them with all the +refinement of Bolshevik cruelty. In one case, after hanging a parish +notary, they forced his wife, who was approaching confinement, to watch +her husband’s death agony. They even slapped the faces of the dead and +kicked them, using obscene language in their abusive mockery of their +victims. + +‘I could not continue to watch these scenes’ an army surgeon confessed; +‘I broke into a convulsive fit of sobbing,—a thing that never once +happened to me during four years of service at the front.’ + +In comparison with these monsters, the jackal is a mere lamb, the +rattlesnake an innocent gold-fish. They walked in human guise; but the +bestial instinct for plunder and butchery latent within them was not +restrained by any human feeling or kept within bounds (was, indeed, +rather enhanced) by human intelligence. + +Yet, undoubtedly, the awful responsibility involved must be borne by +those who either directly enjoined or at least watched, tolerated and +approved the perpetration of the crimes committed by them. + +Each of the responsible leaders knew that by ‘Commune’ the criminal +means liberty to steal, and by ‘terror’ blind butchery. + +These leaders were the conscious promoters of a fearful material and +moral devastation, and must have known that the very existence of a +whole generation of working men was at stake. ‘Thus crimes are born, and +curses—but not new worlds!’ + +With their souls full of hatred, they made boastful promises of earthly +bliss to those whom they swept to perdition. + +‘No greater catastrophe than Bolshevism could have befallen the working +classes,’ says—in one of its manifestoes—the council of the +newly-revived Social Democrat Party. + +Is it worth our while to inquire whether, amid all this horror and +terror, there is to be found anywhere even a spark of that ‘holy +madness’ which makes the apostle ready to die the death of a martyr for +his creed? + +Rigault, the Chief of Police in the French Commune, and one of its +blackest figures, waited in Paris for the coming of the troops from +Versailles; when the soldiers thronging into his suburban hotel mistook +the proprietor for him and were about to seize him, Rigault hastened +towards them with the words—‘I am Rigault! I am neither a brute nor a +coward!’ Ten minutes later, Rigault was dead. + +And the Budapest People’s Commissioners,—the men who had so often +emphasized ‘the unparalleled cowardice of the bourgeoisie’ and abused +our heroes and our martyrs,—when the assassin’s dagger slipped from +their grasp, packed in feverish haste the foreign currency which they +had ‘sequestered’ for their own private use from the Austro-Hungarian +Bank, and, boarding their special train, fled in a panic to a milder +climate,—away from this plundered, devastated and unhappy country.[15] + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ + + + Crown 8vo. 6s. net. each + + THE OLD HOUSE: A Novel + STONECROP: A Novel + + + Demy 8vo. (uniform with this + volume) 12s. 6d. net. + + AN OUTLAW’S DIARY + + Part I Revolution + with a Foreword by The Duke + of Northumberland. + + + Published by + PHILIP ALLAN & CO. + +----- + +Footnote 1: + + A photograph of St. Stephen’s Crown (the Holy Hungarian crown) is + reproduced at page 162 of Part I of this work. + +Footnote 2: + + A portrait of Böhm is reproduced at page 196 of Part I of this book. + +Footnote 3: + + Francis Rákoczi, the leader of the Kuruc rising against the Hapsburgs, + in the early years of the 18th Century, a national hero, is buried in + the Cathedral of Kassa. His body was transferred from Turkey to Kassa + in 1907. [Transl.] + +Footnote 4: + + It is a common belief in Hungary (and in many other countries) that if + a murderer approaches the corpse of his victim the blood will flow + from the fatal wound. [Transl.] + +Footnote 5: + + For a further account of him _see pp. 228–229_. + +Footnote 6: + + The Publishers of this volume are greatly indebted to Dr. Oscar + Szollosy and to the Editor of _The Anglo-Hungarian Review_ for + permission to include this account of some of the chief actors in The + Terror. + +Footnote 7: + + The People’s Commissioner for Public Education, George Lukács, was the + son of a wealthy banker, and was persuaded to join the Communists by + the crack-brained daughter of an extremely rich Budapest solicitor, + who subsequently assisted Béla Kún and his associates to counterfeit + banknotes, till finally she was thrashed publicly (in the street) with + a hunting crop by an embittered ‘bourgeois.’ A portrait of Lukács is + reproduced at page 106 of this volume. + + A certain Ministerial Councillor, Stephen Láday, once declared + emphatically to the writer of this article that Communism might be + very pretty in theory, but was, in his opinion, impossible in + practice. Two months later Láday became a Bolshevik People’s + Commissioner. + +Footnote 8: + + For a portrait of Béla Kún, see vol. i., p. 160 of this work, where a + further account of him is given. + +Footnote 9: + + See pp. 96–98. + +Footnote 10: + + See vol. i., p. 70. + +Footnote 11: + + A story which is far from improbable, though it certainly sounds like + a popular anecdote, runs to the effect that, at a trial of one of the + proletarian tribunals, in answer to the ‘Public Prosecutor’s’ + question: ‘Where did you take the stolen articles?’ one of the persons + accused of theft said, ‘To the woman in Budafok to whom you and I took + that bicycle last year!’ + +Footnote 12: + + A photograph of her is reproduced at p. 140 of this volume. + +Footnote 13: + + See also pp. 185–186. + +Footnote 14: + + There were similar detachments outside of Budapest, the same being + delegated to hold the provincial towns in mortal terror, _e.g._, the + ‘Fabik Detachment’ in Székesfehérvár, the ‘Gombos Terror Gang’ in + Györ, etc. + +Footnote 15: + + Béla Kún and a large number of his fellow-Commissioners escaped to + Vienna. Our efforts to obtain their extradition by Austria were + fruitless; under the pressure of the Socialists the Austrian + Government refused, and subsequently handed them over to the Russian + Soviet authorities. + + After the re-establishment of law and order, of the revolutionary + criminals arrested ninety-six were condemned to death, the rest being + sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. Of the persons condemned + to death fourteen were reprieved, eighteen (together with 400 other + condemned persons) handed over—in exchange for Hungarian prisoners of + war—to the Russian Soviet, while sixty-four were hanged, the latter + number including Korvin, László, Schán, and Cserny. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last + chapter. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75812 *** diff --git a/75812-h/75812-h.htm b/75812-h/75812-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2403d59 --- /dev/null +++ b/75812-h/75812-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13022 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + <head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title>An Outlaw’s Diary | Project Gutenberg</title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + 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{text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; } + .ph1 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; + margin: .67em auto; page-break-before: always; } + .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; + page-break-before: always; } + .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; } + </style> + </head> + <body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75812 ***</div> + +<div class='tnotes covernote'> + +<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p> + +<p class='c000'>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.</p> + +</div> + +<div class='chapter ph1'> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>AN OUTLAW’S DIARY</div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div id='frontispiece' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_frontispiece.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>ADMIRAL NICHOLAS HORTHY.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='titlepage'> + +<div> + <h1 class='c002'><span class='color_red'>AN OUTLAW’S DIARY:<br> <span class='xlarge'>THE COMMUNE</span></span></h1> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c003'> + <div>By</div> + <div><span class='large'>CECILE TORMAY</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='figcenter id002'> +<img src='images/i_title.jpg' alt='[Logo]' class='ig001'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> + <div class='nf-center'> + <div>LONDON:</div> + <div><span class='color_red'>PHILIP ALLAN & CO.</span></div> + <div>QUALITY COURT</div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='small'><em>First published in 1923</em></span></div> + <div class='c003'><span class='small'>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN</span></div> + <div><span class='small'>BY THE HEREFORD TIMES LTD., HEREFORD.</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span> + <h2 class='c004'>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +</div> + +<table class='table0'> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Admiral Nicholas Horthy</span></td> + <td class='c006'><em><a href='#frontispiece'>frontispiece</a></em></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>‘Red’ Posters</span></td> + <td class='c006'><em>page</em> <a href='#i_016fp'>16</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>‘<span class='sc'>Lenin Speaking</span>’</td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_022fp'>22</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>George Nyistor</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_030fp'>30</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>The Jews Call a Meeting</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_038fp'>38</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Julius Hevesi</span> <em>alias</em> <span class='sc'>Honig</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_048fp'>48</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Alexander Csizmadia</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_058fp'>58</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Juhasz and Peczkai</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_066fp1'>66</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Country Folk Going to Draw Rations</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_076fp'>76</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Eugene Hamburger</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_082fp'>82</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>On the Banks of the Ipoly</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_088fp'>88</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Tibor Számuelly</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_096fp'>96</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>George Lukács</span> <em>alias</em> <span class='sc'>Lövinger</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_106fp'>106</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>The Red May-day</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_110fp'>110</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Béla Kún in Kassa</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_116fp'>116</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Eugene Szanto</span> <em>alias</em> <span class='sc'>Schreiber</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_122fp'>122</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Béla Kún and Számuelly</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_130fp'>130</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Terrorists</span> (I.)</td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_140fp1'>140</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'>‘<span class='sc'>Számuelly ... took Hostages</span>’</td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_142fp'>142</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Alexander Szabados</span> <em>alias</em> <span class='sc'>Singer</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_146fp'>146</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>The Executioners of the Death Train</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_154fp'>154</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Map of Hungary</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_162fp'>162</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>The Library of Count George Szápáry</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_164fp'>164</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Arpad Kerekes</span> <em>alias</em> <span class='sc'>Kohn</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_174fp'>174</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span><span class='sc'>Joseph Czerny and the Lenin Boys</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_186fp'>186</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>A Recruiting Placard</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_188fp'>188</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>The Lenin Boys Pose with a Victim</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_192fp'>192</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Terrorists with a Victim</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_196fp'>196</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Béla Vago</span> <em>alias</em> <span class='sc'>Weiss</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_202fp'>202</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Rumanian Troops Occupying Budapest</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_214fp'>214</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Számuelly ... Brings Greetings</span></td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_220fp'>220</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='sc'>Terrorists</span> (II.)</td> + <td class='c006'>„ <a href='#i_224fp1'>224</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + +<table class='table0'> + <tr> + <th class='c007'>CHAPTER</th> + <th class='c006'>PAGE</th> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>I.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_5'>5</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>II.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_21'>21</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>III.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_35'>35</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>IV.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_53'>53</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>V.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_68'>68</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>VI.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_84'>84</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>VII.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_99'>99</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>VIII.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_111'>111</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>IX.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_125'>125</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>X.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_137'>137</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>XI.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_148'>148</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>XII.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_162'>162</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>XIII.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_177'>177</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>XIV.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_189'>189</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>XV.</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_201'>201</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007'>APPENDIX</td> + <td class='c006'><a href='#Page_216'>216</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span></div> +<div class='chapter ph1'> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>AN OUTLAW’S DIARY</div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> + +<div class='c008'><em>Night of March 21st, 1919.</em></div> + +<p class='c009'>There followed a moment’s silence, the awful silence of +the executioner’s sword suspended in the air. Humanity +in bondage draws its head between its shoulders, and, like +the sweat of the agonising, cold rain, pours down the walls +of the houses. Now....</p> + +<p class='c009'>A bestial voice shrieks again in the street: “<span class='sc'>Long live +the Dictatorship of the Proletariat!</span>”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The neighbouring streets repeat the cry. A drawn +shutter rattles violently in the dark. Street doors bang +as they are hurriedly closed. Running steps clatter past +the houses, accompanied by two sounds: “Long live ... +Death....” The latter is meant for us. Shots ring out +at the street corner.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Death to the bourgeois!” A bullet strikes a lamp +and there is a shower of glass on the pavement. A carriage +drives past furiously, then stops suddenly amid shouts. +A confused noise follows and the shooting dies away in the +distance. Other cars follow its track into the maddened, +lightless town. What is happening there, beyond it, +everywhere, in the barracks, in the boulevards? Sailors +are looting the inner city: a handful of Bolsheviks have +taken possession of the town. There is no escape!</p> + +<p class='c009'>One thought alone contains an element of relief: we +have reached the bottom of the abyss. It is disgraceful +and humiliating, but it is better than the constant sliding +down and down. Now we can sink no lower.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Presently the streets regained their former quiet, and +nothing but the throbbing of our hearts pierced the silence.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There is no escape for us. The opened gutters have +inundated us. St. Stephen’s Hungary has fallen under +the rule of Trotsky’s agent, Béla Kun, the embezzler. And +all round us events are taking place which we have no +longer the power to prevent.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>I have no idea how long this nightmare lasted. We were +silent: everybody was struggling with his own sufferings. +The lamp burnt low, and again the clock struck. I caught +at its sound, and counted the strokes: nine. Countess +Chotek, who had been with us, was there no longer, nor +did I see my brother. Time went slowly on. My room +appeared to me like the dim background of a painting; +figures sat in the picture rigidly, disappeared, and then +were there again. The door opened and closed. I saw +my journalist friend, Joseph Cavallier, in a chair which +had been empty a moment before. He spoke and pressed +me to go—mad rumours were circulating in the town, +awful events were predicted for the night. Lieut.-Col. Vyx +and the other members of the Entente missions had been +arrested, and it was intended to disarm the British monitors +on the Danube. The Russian Red Army was advancing +towards the Carpathians, the Bolsheviks had declared for +the integrity of our territory. Béla Kun’s Directorate had +declared war on the Entente. “You must escape to-night,” +said my friend; “they are going to arrest you. +Come to us.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>My mother called me and I opened her door with +apprehension. She was sitting up in bed, propped high +between the pillows: her face was livid and appeared +thinner than ever. She too had heard the cries in the +street, was aware of what had happened, and knew what +was in store for us. Her haggard, harassed look inspired +me with strength to face our fate.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Why don’t you come here? Why can’t we talk things +over in here?” She did not mean to cause pain, but her +words stabbed me. Poor dear mother!</p> + +<p class='c009'>When Joseph Cavallier told her of his proposal she +shook her head:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You live on the other side of the river, don’t you? +Don’t let her go so far.” Suddenly she recovered herself +and turned to me: “It is raining hard and I heard you +coughing so badly all day.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The others had followed us into her room, and all had +something to say. My sister-in-law mentioned her brother +Zsigmondy who lived near by: he had offered me shelter +in his home. My mother alone was silent. Though she +could not say it, it was she who was most anxious for me +to go. She looked at me imploringly. That decided me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It can only be a question of a day or two,” I said. +“Then, when they have failed to find me here, I can come +back.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>Did I believe what I said? Did I imagine that things +would happen like that? Or did I attempt to deceive +myself so that I might bear it the more easily? I noticed +a deep shadow that stole suddenly, I knew not whence, +over my mother’s face. It appeared on the other faces too, +as if all of them had aged suddenly. And beyond them, +around us, in the houses opposite, all over the town, people +aged suddenly in that ghastly hour.</p> + +<p class='c009'>They all went away and left me alone in my room. I +knew I ought to hurry, yet I stood idle in front of the open +cupboard. How many, I thought, are standing, hesitating +like this to-night, how many are hurrying and running +aimlessly about, not knowing whither to turn? Will it +be the same here as in Russia? Quietly the door opened +behind me: my mother had risen and came to me so that +we might be together as long as possible.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I will take just a few things, very few,” I kept repeating, +as if I wanted to force the hand of fate to make my +trial short. “Perhaps I may be able to come home +to-morrow....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>My mother did not answer. She tied the parcels together +for me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The housekeeper must not know till to-morrow morning +that you have gone....” She looked out into the ante-room +to see that no one was about, then opened the door +herself and accompanied me down the corridor. The house +seemed asleep, the sky was black, and the courtyard +underneath was like a dark shaft in which rain-water had +accumulated.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Leaning on my arm my mother walked along with me. +In silence both of us struggled to keep control over our +emotions. At the front door we stopped. Nothing was +audible but the patter of the rain. My mother raised her +hand and passed it over my face, caressingly, as though she +would feel the outlines that she knew so well.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Take every care of yourself, my dear, dear one!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I was already running down the stairs. She was leaning +over the balustrade, and I heard her voice behind me, +keeping me company as long as possible, calling softly, +“Good-night!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Good-night....” I called back, but my voice failed +me in a pain such as I had never felt before.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Beyond the street door there was a rattle of gunfire. I +tried to keep cheerful, and kept saying: “To-morrow I +shall come back to her, to-morrow.” I groped my way +across the dark yard and knocked at the concierge’s window. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>He came out, looking curiously at me in the glare of his +lantern: “There is a lot of shooting out there. It would +be wiser to stay at home.” But I shook my head and the +key turned in the lock; the door opened stealthily, and +closed carefully behind me, as though unwilling to betray +me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Next instant I stood alone in the rain. I shuddered: +my retreat was cut off. Home, everything that was good, +everything that protected me, was behind that door, +beyond my reach.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Motor horns, human shouts, rang here and there in the +distance, whilst the rain poured in streams in the broken +gutters. The road seemed absolutely empty. Suddenly +I heard steps on the other side of the street. They had not +approached from the distance but had started quite near +by; someone must therefore have stepped from out of the +shadow of the house opposite. Had he been waiting there +spying on me? The steps became hurried, passed me, +crossed the street. A dark shape hugged the wall under +the recess of a door. No bell was rung. I stopped for an +instant: the incertitude of the past few weeks reappeared. +The knowledge of being watched, pursued, the torture of +being deprived of my freedom, made me catch my breath. +The threat had followed me so long, appearing and disappearing +in turn, menacing me from under every porch, +from every dark corner. Should I fly from it? Should +I turn down a by-street?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly I felt tired and ill: my pulses were leaden and +my brain seemed weighed down with heavy stones. For +an instant I contemplated giving in. I seemed to be of so +little significance compared with the enormity of universal +misfortune. The crash of general collapse had drowned +the small moans of individual fates.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The shadow suddenly emerged from under the porch +and barred my way. We stared at each other. Then a +well-known voice said, “Is it you?” It was my brother +Béla, who had been watching for me so that he might +accompany me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Only a few lamps were alight on the boulevard, and our +heels crushed the fragments of glass from the broken ones. +Empty cartridge cases shone in the puddles.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Machine-guns stood in the middle of the street. Some +men passed, carrying a red flag; then a lorry, bristling +with bayonets, rumbled heavily by, full of armed sailors. +One of these shouldered his rifle and aimed at us. He did +not shoot, and when for an instant he appeared in the light +<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>of a lamp before the darkness swallowed him again, I +could see the bestial grin which contorted his face. The +lorry disappeared, but we could hear his voice shouting +something in Russian. There are many of these here +to-day. “A bourgeois, to hell with him!” The cry of +Moscow fills Budapest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Frightened forms ran across the openings of the streets +on the other side, and the air was filled with wild movements +and lurching fear. At last I rang the bell of the front door +which was to shelter me, and my brother wished me Godspeed +and turned back. It was some moments before the +door opened, and a woman came along, dragging her feet. +She looked at me suspiciously and seemed frightened. +Where was I going?</p> + +<p class='c009'>I murmured something, crammed some money into her +hand, and brushed past her. Here too the courtyard was +absolutely dark. I hesitated in front of the door of one +of the flats: something urged me to go on, something else +drew me back. At last I knocked, and a friendly face +appeared. The table was still laid under the welcoming +light of a swinging lamp: how peaceful was the sight of +that quiet little home after the howling, dirty, soaking +street! Michael Zsigmondy and his wife welcomed me, +but whether or not they had expected me I cannot say; +at all events they seemed to consider it quite a natural +thing that I should have come.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What is the time?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Past eleven.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was a knock at the door.... We looked at each +other. A tall, dark young man entered. “Count Francis +Hunyadi,” announced Zsigmondy, relieved. He did not +mention my name, and they carefully avoided addressing +me. The newcomer spoke:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Nobody knows what is happening. It is said that the Communists +want to hand the town over to the rabble to plunder.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I thought of my mother, who was surely thinking of +me too. Behind her I saw more faintly other faces: +brothers, sisters, friends, acquaintances. I began to +tremble for all those I loved.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Zsigmondy went to the telephone, but the exchange +gave the invariable answer: “Only official communications +are permissible.” Then that stopped too. The telephone +exchanges have passed into the hands of the Communists.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The rain stopped; the streets livened up, and now and +then the howls of the excited rabble came up to us: “Long +live the Dictatorship of the Proletariat!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>The children were taken into another room, and my bed +was made up in the night nursery. Bright pictures of +fairy tales were on the walls, lead soldiers and toy horses +on the floor. However long I may live I shall never again +feel as old as I felt in that nursery.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>March 22nd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The day was already breaking when weariness overcame +me and lulled me into something resembling sleep. It +must have lasted a short time only, then an almost physical +pain about my heart woke me. I felt like a person who +has lost someone very dear to him and on awakening is +reminded of his bereavement not by memory but by grief. +I shrunk from complete awakening. Not yet, not for just +one more minute! But it was in vain I tried to hide from +consciousness, swiftly I remembered everything. Hungary +was no longer. She had been betrayed, sold. <em>Finis +Hungariæ.</em></p> + +<p class='c009'>I found myself moaning inarticulately. My heart was +wounded and bleeding, and the blood that was flowing was +the blood of all those who were Hungarian. I pressed my +clenched fists to my eyes, pressed them so hard that my +eyeballs hurt and red flashes passed before them. Then I +opened them quickly and the grey dawn stared at me with +dimmed eyes. Their day had come!</p> + +<p class='c009'>The street seemed dead, but it was only resting from the +night’s revels. It must have been an hour later when steps +interrupted the silence—a hunchbacked little monster was +coming down the street with a sheaf of posters over his +arm and a bucket in his hand. Now and then he stopped, +smeared his paste over a wall, and when he went on red +posters marked each of his stopping places.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Long live the Dictatorship of the Proletariat!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The town must be given no chance to regain its breath, +to recover consciousness. When it wakes its whole body +will be covered with the red eruption. It will be everywhere. +It will cover the barracks, the royal palace, the +very churches.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I turned away from the window: it was useless looking +out: everywhere it was the same thing. A morning paper +was lying on the table. Yesterday’s compositors’ strike +was over. Socialist compositors had set the papers of the +Communists and the red was pervading the black print: +“Unite, Proletarians of the World!” This was followed +by Károlyi’s proclamation:</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>“To the Hungarian people! The government has +resigned. Those who till now have governed by the will +of the people and with the support of the Proletarians have +come to the conclusion that circumstances require a new +orientation. Orderly production can only be secured by +handing over the power to the Proletarians. Besides the +danger of anarchy in the productive activities of the +country there is the danger of foreign politics. The Peace +Conference in Paris has secretly decided that nearly the +whole of Hungary is to be occupied by armed forces. The +mission of the Entente has declared that the lines of +demarcation will be considered in future as political +frontiers. The obvious reason for a further occupation of +the country is that Hungary is to be made the battle +ground of the war against the Russian Soviet troops, now +fighting on the Roumanian frontier. The territories robbed +from us are intended as the reward of those Czech and +Roumanian armies which are to be used to defeat the +forces of the Russian Soviet. I, the Provisional President +of the Hungarian Popular Republic, am obliged by this +decision of the Paris Conference to appeal to the proletariat +of the world for justice and help; consequently I resign +and hand over the powers of government to the Proletariat +of Hungary.—Michael Károlyi.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I was filled with disgust. He admits that it was he who +has handed it over! I felt with horror that this proclamation +was nothing but the base documentary evidence of +the sale of a betrayed nation.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I alone can save Hungary!” It was with these words +that Michael Károlyi started his lies on the 31st of October, +1918. “I hand the powers of government to the Proletariat +of Hungary,” he declares on the 21st of March, 1919, when +lies fail him. In the interval he has squandered and sold +Hungary. The mask has fallen, and behind it appears +boldly the rabble which he calls the Proletariat of Hungary. +Practically all its leaders appear in the list of the +“Revolutionary Government Council.” Just as in Károlyi’s +Government it is headed by a deceptive Christian clown; +Alexander Garbai is the President. The others are all +foreigners. All the People’s Commissaries are Jews, there is +now and then a Christian among the assistant commissaries, +then again Jews and still more Jews. Jews are to administer +the capital, Jews are at the head of the police. A Jew +is to be governor of the Austro-Hungarian Bank.</p> + +<p class='c009'>This list gives one furiously to think. The puppets of +the October show have been swept from the stage by the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>events of last night. The demoniacal organisers, the raving +wire-pullers and prompters have taken their place, and for +the first time in the long history of Hungary, Hungarians +are excluded from every inch of ground, whether in the hills +and the vales of the Carpathians, or on the boundless plains. +The country has been divided up among Czechs, +Roumanians, Serbians and Jews.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The newspaper continues to address “Everybody.” The +Revolutionary Council proclaims haughtily that it has +taken over the government and that it is going to build up +its workers’, peasants’ and soldiers’ councils. Hungary +becomes a Soviet Republic. The Revolutionary Council +will start without delay a series of fundamental changes. +It decrees the socialisation of big estates, wholesale businesses, +banks and means of communication. The land +reform will not take the shape of dividing up the land into +small holdings but of organising it into socialistic productive +co-operative societies. The death penalty will be +imposed on the bandits of the Counter-revolution as well +as on the brigands who indulge in looting. It will organise +a powerful proletarian army. It declares its intellectual +and sentimental community with Soviet Russia. It offers +an armed alliance to the Russian Proletariat. It sends +brotherly greetings to the working masses of England, +France, Italy and America, appealing to them not to +tolerate any longer the looting expeditions of their capitalistic +Governments against the Soviet Republic of Hungary. +It offers an armed alliance to the workers and peasants of +Bohemia, Roumania, Serbia and Croatia. It appeals to +German Austria and Germany to ally themselves with +Moscow.... Long live the Dictatorship of the Proletariat! +Long live the Hungarian Soviet Republic!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I thought of the stories related by returning prisoners +of war, the vague news of the Russian Revolution, the +distant outlines of its nefarious actors and its beginnings +at Petrograd. Russia’s awful fate filled me with anguish +and apprehension.</p> + +<p class='c009'>This was the first ordinance of the Revolutionary +Council:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span class='sc'>Martial Law.</span>—Anybody resisting the orders of the +Soviet Government or inciting to rebellion against it will +be executed. Revolutionary tribunals will sit and try the +criminals. Budapest, March 21st, 1919.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I jumped up: I felt I should choke unless I did something.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That soldier down there is still walking up and down,” +said Mrs. Zsigmondy quietly.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>“It is lucky that the house has entrances on two streets. +I shall go out by the other.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A sharp wind, cleared by rain, was blowing on the boulevard. +The carriages seemed to have disappeared, and only +motor-cars were rushing about, armed sailors standing on +their steps and long-haired Jews, smoking big cigars, sitting +inside. The shops were closed, and red posters flamed from +their lowered shutters.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Long live the Soviet Republic allied to Russia!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The wind blew the torn down posters of the Károlyi +Government over the unswept pavements. Now and then +hurrying pedestrians passed with bent heads, their eyes +expressing stunned bewilderment. They could not understand +what had happened.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A chemist’s shop was open: that was the only concession. +My head was on fire and my chest torn with coughing. I +went in. Many people were waiting for their prescriptions. +Two people whispered to each other: “The resignation +of the Government was simply a sham to frighten the +Entente into re-establishing the old lines of demarcation.” +“Goodness no, my dear sir, there has been too much of +Károlyi’s cowardly pacificism. The Bolsheviks want to +reconquer the whole of Hungary.” A lean young man +standing by began to gesticulate wildly: “If that is so, +every Hungarian ought to stand by them.” The +other nodded: “We shall soon go home to Pressburg....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I was staggered. So they are still credulous, they still +believe! I went on sadly. When I reached the offices of +the National Federation of Hungarian Women I was taken +aback. There was nobody waiting there, the ante-room +was empty.</p> + +<p class='c009'>What a great thing we had been attempting, we women! +To stop a cart running down a slope! We wanted to +spread light and confidence and strength into the homes +and people of Hungary. Was it to be all in vain, our +sufferings, our labour?</p> + +<p class='c009'>As I opened the door into the inner office there was a +sudden silence within, and the secretary rose from his table. +Familiar faces turned to me, but they looked at me in +silence, as if a question were on their lips, as if they expected +something.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Faithful, brave women! In this moment I felt that +after all everything was not lost. What we had sown could +not be trampled down, the flames we had lit could not be +extinguished.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>A young girl looked in and nodded. “Soldiers are +gathering in front of the house....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We began to hurry. One gathered the list of names, +another threw our appeals into a basket: “There is a +corner of my house where they won’t look for them, I shall +hide them there.” Another tied some documents together: +“My husband will hide them somewhere in the National +Museum.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I will take these to a decorator who has hidden many +other dangerous documents,” said the secretary.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I wrote a farewell letter to my collaborators at the long +table on which I had done so much work. “We won’t +dissolve and we won’t cease to exist. Let everyone continue +our work as best she can till we meet again. And if there +is any trouble and anyone is persecuted, say that I am the +cause of all.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A girl leant against a cupboard and covered her eyes, +while two others dragged a heavy basket through the door: +it contained our office outfit. Suppressed sobs were audible +near the wall underneath the high crucifix. We shook +hands, no one said a word, and they let me go alone. But +when I turned back from the door I saw they were all +looking after me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The guardians of the house were some quiet, gentle nuns. +I knocked at their door and the Mother Superior opened it +as if she expected me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I thank you for your hospitality and pray your +forgiveness if our presence brings you misfortune.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Nothing happens but what God wills,” answered the +nun, with a resigned expression on her gentle face bordered +with white veiling.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Meanwhile the soldiers had retired from the vicinity of +the house, so I, as usual, bent my way towards home. Only +when I reached the beginning of my street did I realize what +I was doing. It was too late to turn back. Something +attracted me painfully, as though my heart were attached +to an invisible thread which was being drawn rapidly +towards the further end of the street. There it was that +I used to turn in other times when I felt weary. If only +I could go there, just for the time necessary to open the +door, look in, and nod. And the thread pulled me harder +and harder, with ever increasing tension. I crossed the +street. Just one more step to be nearer. Just one more! +As I leant forward I put my hand to the wall of a strange +house. For an instant I perceived our entrance and saw +the windows shining above. I looked at each of them +<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>separately. The fifth was that of a room of many memorable +evenings, my mother’s window. I bowed to it, as if +in greeting. Someone quite near to me bowed at the same +time. What was that? It was only my shadow that +followed my movements on the sunlit wall. Had anybody +observed me? How ridiculous I must have seemed! With +hastened steps, very fast, I returned to those who had given +me shelter.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Hours followed which have escaped my memory. News +from the impenetrable tangle filtered through in the +afternoon. The town has become more and more strange +and incomprehensible: it has put its neck into the halter +while talking of reconquering the country. Reliable news +is now obtainable of Károlyi’s resignation, and the proceedings +of the ministers’ Council have been divulged by +journalists. Before the meeting Károlyi had a long secret +talk with Kunfi; thence Kunfi proceeded directly to the +prison, where he made formal compact with Béla Kun and +the Communists in the name of the Social Democratic +Party. The agreement was drawn up in writing. Meanwhile, +in the old House of Parliament, Pogány-Schwarz +proclaimed the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. After that +everything went quickly: barracks, arsenals and munition +depots had already been given up to the Communists. +Now the post office and the telegraph have come into their +power.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Kunfi obtained from Károlyi an order for the release +of Béla Kun and his fellow prisoners; he then drove to +fetch them and they left their prison, as Hungary’s all-powerful +masters, to occupy the sleeping capital.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Meanwhile Károlyi was sitting with his Countess and the +former Prime Minister Berinkey in a room of the Prime-Ministerial +Palace. The town was getting restless in the +dark night. Wrapped in a blanket, Károlyi shivered and +asked what was happening out there. When he was told +that his proclamation had already been read in the Workers’ +Council he asked sleepily, “What proclamation?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Why, your resignation!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Impossible! I scarcely remember what it contained, I was +so hurried to sign it. Its publication must be prevented.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>An official told him that he was too late. “It is already +being printed by the papers and will appear in the morning.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Károlyi stammered that he had no intention of withdrawing +it, he only wanted to alter some passages. But +the Communists had taken good care that by then it should +have already been telephoned to Vienna. The wires +<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>carried the news of Károlyi’s resignation and his disgrace, +and the document, as edited by Kéri-Krammer, is preserved +for the edification of a horrified posterity.</p> + +<p class='c009'>This is not a tale, not a figment of imagination devised +to make people’s flesh creep. In the night of the 21st +of March Károlyi stood with his narrow head bent to one +side, his hollow chest heaving, in the room formerly occupied +by Stephen Tisza, and before the cock crowed thrice....</p> + +<p class='c009'>This morning someone met Károlyi and his wife walking +on the embankment of the Danube. A big red carnation +was glowing in his button-hole, and his wife wore a bright-red +hat in the shape of a Phrygian cap and a red collar on +her coat. Both looked happy and were laughing. “I am +so pleased,” Countess Károlyi said to a friend, “Hungary +has never been so happy as it is now.” At the Prime +Minister’s house, when taking leave, Károlyi expressed +himself in the same sense.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It must not be forgotten,” he declared, “that, though +it may ruin a few individuals and now and then inflict hardships +on certain people, it has to be borne in the interest +of the community. Let us pour oil on the wheels of the +new Government and let us do all in our power to make +it a success, because that is the interest of the Hungarian +people.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>They speak like that. Adorned ostentatiously with red +flowers and a red hat—wearing the hangman’s colours—these +two human beings walk about after having achieved +their work. One of their confidants, a Communist comrade, +said of them: “Károlyi and his wife wanted a revolution +that he might become the President of the Republic. Now +they want Bolshevism that in the reaction which they hope +will follow in its suit they may rule as autocrats.” And +the confidant grinned as he spoke. Is this the solution of +their enigma? I don’t know. Those who say so have +stirred the witches’ cauldron with them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly I saw Béla Kun. I saw him as he had appeared +to me on New Year’s Eve at the barracks when he went to +incite the soldiers. Károlyi let him, Pogány helped him. +Now they sit all together. And Számuelly is with them, so +are Kunfi, Landler and Böhm. They have not yet recovered +from the first shock: their good fortune has surpassed +their wildest expectations. Even in their dreams they had +never hoped for so much.</p> + +<div id='i_016fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_016fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>TWO “RED” POSTERS.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>At Limanova and at Doberedo the Hungarians showed +themselves obstinate heroes; who would have thought +that they would so easily bend their heads under the yoke? +The all-powerful Peoples’ Commissaries are already moving. +The people are crowding in front of the editorial offices of +‘The Red Newspaper,’ where Számuelly’s belongings are +being packed on a carriage. Béla Kun too is leaving the +two rooms which he had hired with Russian money under +the name of Dr. Sebestyén. Whither are they going? +Into the royal castle? Into the Prime Minister’s palace, +or elsewhere? They have the widest possible choice: +everything is theirs.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was a knock at my door. One friend after another +came in bringing news. Béla Kun has sent Communist +agitators all over the country. They drive through the +villages in motor-cars, beflagged in red, and shout: “The +Dictatorship of the Proletariat has been proclaimed! Kill +the gentlefolk!” A new order has been issued: it is +forbidden to wear arms; even revolvers have to be delivered +to the authorities. Only the ‘reliable people,’ Red +soldiers, factory guards and workmen’s levies, are allowed +weapons. The shops remain closed: their goods are +declared common property. The newspapers are to be +communised or prohibited. The buildings of the conservative +<em>Budapesti Hirlap</em> have been occupied by the +editorial staff of ‘The Red Newspaper.’ Armed men +occupy the tables, and on the front of the building the +Red flag floats.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A message reached me from Elisabeth Kállay: she and +her family have gone into the country and she asked me +to come to them. But I shook my head; to-morrow I +return to my mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Many have left town. Those who could went by train, +others fled by carriage, on foot, by whatever means they +could manage. All traces of them disappear—they simply +exist no longer. One political party after another pronounces +its extinction. The general officers and high +officials have disappeared from the scene. Nobody +attempts to raise a dam against the deluge, though +yesterday a sluice-gate might have stopped it.</p> + +<p class='c009'>October 31st has returned like a haunting spectre and +we live the evil day again. Then the trap was baited with +the device: ‘Independent Hungary,’ now it is: ‘Territorial +Integrity.’ The whole thing is like the semi-conscious +feeling during a nightmare that one has dreamt the same +horrors before.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Where are those who used to be always ready to give +advice to the King in Schönbrunn and the halls of the +Vienna Burg? Why do they not advise our unfortunate +<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>nation now? And where are now those who during the +war were ready to order thousands ‘over the top’ into +the jaws of death whenever a single trench was in danger? +Where is my whole haughty race which used to go so +proudly, singing a merry tune, to face death on foreign +fields? Why does it stand now, with glaring eyes, inactive, +on our fields at home? Since Károlyi’s treason, four and +a half months have passed. And this new danger finds us +again without a leader, without organisation. Running +shapes are in flight. Shadows are disappearing in the +distance, shadows which once were thought the great +realities of Hungary. And those who stay with us, in +offices, in poor officers’ quarters, are but hungry, ragged, +grey little shadows with bended heads.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Wherever the red hand of Bolshevism has grasped the +rod of power it has always raised a spirit of resistance. +The streets of Moscow, Petrograd, Helsingfors, Berlin and +Altona have run with the hot human blood of revolt—Budapest +alone has submitted in dizzy apathy. Is the +hideous enchantment more powerful here than elsewhere? +Here, where in the time of Károlyi’s revolution there were +no more than two hundred and sixty thousand organised +workers and even yesterday no more than five thousand +Communists? What has happened? Austrian bugles +have called on Hungarian troops for too many charges +during the war. Those who might have saved us to-day +are dead.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I felt a desperate longing for action: to do something +even if one had to die in the effort, to do something which +would break the charm and free the energies benumbed by +its humiliating spell! I clenched my fists and shook my +head in frenzy; it cannot remain like this. To-morrrow—to-morrow +I shall go home. And wearily I shut my tired eyes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The hours dragged on so slowly that they never seemed +to come to an end. Night was falling. The lamp was lit +in the next room. The street door was locked.... What +was that? The slamming of it resounded as if a lid had +been banged violently on a giant box. And we are all +sitting in the box and waiting helplessly for our fate to be +decided out there. As long as the house doors were open +the houses along the street seemed to hold each other by +the hand, and if one had got into trouble the slightest +movement would have been enough to warn the others. +That is so no longer. When the doors are shut the houses +release each other’s hands and each is left to itself with its +own misfortune.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>Out there in the dark threatening streets the stolen +motors are racing to and fro without a stop, carrying +treacherous plans, hostile orders, all over the town. And +behind the doors no one is safe until these plans and orders +have decided his fate.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was just before midnight when the bell rang in the +ante-room. Its sound choked the breath in our throats. +Zsigmondy went out to open the door. It was all right: +only my brother Béla had sent me a message not to go out +to-morrow till he had spoken to me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then we retired for a restless sleep. A lamp was burning +on the table of the night nursery; my bed was made, but +I sat for a long time on its edge, waiting like a patient in +the surgeon’s waiting room. There was a smell of printer’s +ink somewhere: if only one could read in these times, I +thought. There was a newspaper on the table. No, not +that. I turned from it in disgust. I wanted to escape +the present.</p> + +<p class='c009'>How often have I found consolation in books during sad +hours! But is there a book that could lull the present +sorrows to rest? I remembered having read <cite>Faust</cite> during +a great storm at sea till the night had passed, and during +an evil night of the war my mother and I had read <cite>Toldi</cite> +till the morning came. I wondered if to-day the armed +knight could carry me off with him as he rides to Buda to +fight a last fight for Hungary’s honour, to kiss faithfully +great King Louis’s hand? I shook my head. Was there +nothing? <cite>Hamlet</cite>, with visionary raving eyes, came and +went, but did not arrest me. <cite>Niels Lyne</cite> and <cite>The Idiot</cite>, +and rusty, armoured <cite>Don Quixote</cite>.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A patrol passed under the window. A soldier pulled his +bayonet over a corrugated shutter as if sharpening it for +some future victim. The others laughed, then they went +on. Silence followed, the silence of a huge wicked town +that gapes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>How long will it last? Why can I not think of anything +else? If I were at home now I would count my books to +pass the time. One, two, three.... I imagined myself +taking an old volume from the shelf. Kant’s <cite>Critique of +Pure Reason</cite>. What good is that? At the other end of +my bookcase there is another book in a parchment binding +as smooth and cool as ivory: the Iliad. I thought of it—I +had bought it in Siena, a long time ago. Bright, great +heroes, Homeric songs, would mean nothing to me now. +And Dante. No, I do not want him. His <cite>Inferno</cite> knows +nought of the tortures we endure.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>The horn of a solitary motor resounded through the night, +and volleys were fired in the direction of the barracks. +Quietly, so as to make no noise, I began to walk up and +down in the nursery. There were books lying about among +the toys; picture-books, coloured animals, big, funny +alphabets. I looked at several; and thus a much used, +shabby story book came into my hand.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I sat back on the edge of the bed, the book open. It +brought to me the memory of holidays, old Sundays, mild +childish illnesses.... Someone is reassuring me, kisses me, +hushes me and reads in a subdued voice at my bedside, +strokes the hair from my forehead.... The pages turn +quickly. And where neither Goethe nor Arany nor Dante +nor Kant could succeed in carrying away my thoughts this +revolutionary night, the eternal fairy-tale, that consoler +of children, of sick and of suffering, triumphed.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>March 23rd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>One gets the impression that things have been like this +for ever so long, though it all started only the day before +yesterday. Good Friday was just two days ago. To-day +is Sunday—but not Easter. The resurrection has failed +and the grave-diggers sit grinning on the tomb.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In some churches the bells were ringing, in others the +people had gone to Mass, my brother’s message kept me at +home. Again there was a newspaper lying on the table. +In huge black letters Béla Kun’s proclamation to the +proletariats of the world was glaring at me: “To +Everybody!” It was revolutionary incendiarism, inciting +hatred. In their old-fashioned way the church bells +appealed above the roofs for love and good-will. Meanwhile +the wireless had spread broadcast the news of +Hungary’s shame and misfortune. And from Moscow +there came the triumphant answer. It is published in +<cite>The People’s Voice</cite>:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“This afternoon at five o’clock the Hungarian Soviet +Republic got into wireless communication with the Russian +Soviet. The Hungarian Soviet called Comrade Lenin to +the apparatus. Twenty minutes later Moscow answered: +‘Lenin speaking. Request Comrade Béla Kun should +come to wireless station.’ But Béla Kun was at the +meeting of the People’s Commissaries, so another comrade +answered from the wireless station: ‘Last night the +Hungarian Proletariat seized all powers, established the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat, and greets you as the +leader of the International Proletariat. The Social +Democratic Party has adopted the Communist point of +view and the two parties have united. We call ourselves +the Hungarian Socialist Party. We ask for instructions +in this matter. Béla Kun is Commissary for Foreign +Affairs. The Hungarian Soviet offers the Russian Soviet +a defensive and offensive alliance. Fully armed, we turn +against all the enemies of the Proletariat and ask for +information concerning the military situation.’”</p> + +<p class='c009'>At nine in the evening Moscow called again.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Lenin speaking.... Hearty greetings to the Hungarian +Soviet’s Proletarian Government, in particular to Comrade +<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>Béla Kun. I have just communicated your message to +the Congress of the Communist Party of Bolshevik Russia. +Enormous enthusiasm ... we will send a report on the +military situation as soon as possible.... A permanent +wireless connection between Budapest and Moscow is +absolutely necessary. With Communist greetings, Lenin.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>‘Lenin speaking’.... How terrible these two words +sound; how terrible the deathly silence that follows them! +‘Lenin speaking’.... So he is there now, with his bald +head bent sideways, his enigmatic smile frozen on his broad +mouth, his Kalmuk eyes open wide and his nostrils +expanded as though he smelt blood. ‘Lenin speaking’.... +And Trotsky is there too, his bestial, cruel face +peering over us; his mouth broadens and the red beard +on his chin shakes. All the other Russian Jewish tyrants +are there too, and they wave their bloody hands. They +may give their orders; their lieutenants will obey, and +we shall live or die according to their good pleasure and +instructions.</p> + +<p class='c009'>My brother Béla came into the room and I learned from +him that I could not go home any more. In hasty excited +sentences he told me that yesterday evening when he had +gone to see our mother the glaring lamps of a big car had +suddenly lit up the dark street. It stopped in front of the +next house, though this has no entrance from our street. +Three men dismounted from the car and kept our street +door under observation.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mother’s housekeeper has been talking to them this +afternoon, probably to inform them that you have left. +She had scarcely returned when the car pulled up before +our door and the men asked for you. They wanted to come +up to our flat. They insisted, affirming that they came +from the police, and had to see you personally. The +concièrge told them that you had left town and banged +the door in their faces. The car, however, remained where +it was and kept the house under observation. The men +only left at dawn, hoping to see you return.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>While he told me all this I had a feeling as though an +ugly hand were groping for me in the dark, trying to get +hold of me, but missing me, passing beside me. It was +the hand of Lenin.</p> + +<p class='c009'>My brother said, following up his own thoughts: “You +cannot remain with the Zsigmondys. It is impossible for +you to go home. They informed the concierge that they +would come and fetch you to-day.”</p> + +<div id='i_022fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_022fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>“... LENIN SPEAKING.”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>My mother’s face appeared before me, a haunted +expression in her blue eyes. It would be terrible for her +to see me arrested. What was I to do? I had sent a +message to Count Stephen Bethlen this morning, but he +had already left home. Everybody for whom I send has +disappeared. The threads are broken. How shall I start? +Left to themselves, what can women do at a time like this?</p> + +<p class='c009'>I had not noticed that the Secretary of the Women’s +Union had entered. He told me that in a few days it would +be impossible to travel without a permit and advised me +to leave town while it was still possible. The Kállays had +been prevented by the crowds at the station from leaving +by train to-day, but would start to-morrow, and invited +me to go with them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I hesitated; but, after all, it was only a question of a +few days. So as soon as I was alone I wrote to my mother +and told her I should leave next day, though I did not yet +know my destination, and asked her to spend the evening +with me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Hours have never passed so slowly. When it was quite +dark I escaped from the house. A cold wind blew through +the empty streets. The tired town had once more resigned +itself to its fate and now suffered in silence; the posters +alone spoke; huge sheets covered the walls. The same +words everywhere: Proletariat ... Dictatorship ... +Proletariat.... The broken street lamps had not been +repaired, and the pavement was covered with refuse: for +days the streets have not been swept.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The staircase was in darkness. A single lamp was +burning in my sister’s sitting-room. And there, in the dim +light, I saw my mother again. I was shocked by her +appearance: she seemed to have become shorter since we +had parted and her face was much thinner. Did she fret +for me? Was I the cause of this change? Never in my +life did I feel so moved in her presence as then.</p> + +<p class='c009'>And yet she seemed quite calm, and on one occasion she +even laughed, with her own hearty laughter. We talked +of all sorts of things, except the fact that I should no longer +be with them on the morrow. The children seemed quite +happy, chattering among themselves in a corner. The +hours passed so happily for me that now and then I had +the illusion that the old times had returned for a moment +before disappearing for ever.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One or the other would say: “At most it can last a week +or two.” Or again: “Colonel Vyx has been locked up +and an English officer has been assaulted in the street. +Insults of this kind will surely not be taken lying down by +<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>the Great Powers. It is impossible that the Entente should +suffer the establishment of Bolshevism in Hungary. She +knew how to send ultimatums demanding lines of demarcation, +so that the Roumanians and her other friends could +loot at leisure, now she is sure to display more energy when +her own interests are at stake.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let us put no hope in anybody but ourselves,” said +my brother-in-law. “It was the Entente who brought us +to this.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>One of my nephews said: “That is the reason why so +many people are rather pleased that the Communists +display hostility to the Entente. Who knows, perhaps +our territorial integrity....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Don’t expect any good from these people,” I interrupted. +“Among the apostles of Communism there may +be some idealists, but those who apply it practically are +all scoundrels. It is impossible, man cannot withstand +nature.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly someone asked if I had decided where I was +going to. Should I accept the Kállay’s invitation, or +should I attempt to get across the river Ipoly to Pressburg +and thence into foreign territory?</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do the Kállays realise what this invitation means in +these days?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You must not accept it otherwise,” my mother said.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Wherever you go, you must mislead those who are +after you,” said my brother-in-law. “Write a letter and +have it posted in another part of the country.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>My mother rose: “It is time to go.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>My heart stopped beating. But she held her head high +and there were no tears in her eyes. Only when leading her +down the stairs did I feel that she leaned more heavily on +me than she used to. Who will lead her when I am gone? +My nephew, Alexander Eperjessy, took her home. I +asked him to occupy my room and stay with my mother, +otherwise I should not be able to tear myself away.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Don’t worry about me,” mother said; “and don’t +you come back till you can do so openly and without +danger.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I have been with her almost daily as long as I can +remember, yet it was only this evening that I really learned +to appreciate her. She had never asked for anything and +yet was always ready to give. She never spoke of herself +and listened to everybody. She had no words of endearment, +she kissed vaguely and her arms were rarely +caressing. She was never demonstrative, the seat of her +<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>affections was her heart and not her lips. And while we +were walking side by side through the dark night on our +short, sad road, I felt that if this heart were one day to +stop, then mine would throb but haltingly ever after.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We had passed the house which had given me shelter. +I thought my mother had not noticed it, being accustomed +to go on towards home. But suddenly she stopped, and, +as was her wont on rare occasions, she drew my head to +her quickly and gave me a kiss which went half into the air.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Now, my dear, God bless you!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I tried to find her hand but failed. She had already +left me and I could no longer see her in the dark. I could +only hear her step in the empty street. That quaint, dear +step, which sounded as if she dragged one of her feet a +little. Then that ceased too. Silence, empty silence, +dominated the night. Silently I wept, and the world +disappeared in my tears.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>March 24th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Dawn. The dawn rose with a dull greyness over the +ill-fated city, as though the light had risen from the mire. +Morning was in sole possession of the dirty unswept streets. +I leant far out of the window, and in the distance I noticed +two soldiers staggering painfully along. One of the +achievements of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat: +prohibition of alcohol!</p> + +<p class='c009'>As I turned back I caught sight of my travelling bag. +My mother had packed it yesterday and had smuggled it +out of the house without the spying servant observing +them. I sat down by it and waited. After a time the +house awoke and the time passed more quickly. I do not +remember all that followed: Zsigmondy changed my +money, and I noticed how little I had—one thousand six +hundred crowns. I counted it over again, but that did +not make it more. My mother had wanted to give me +some, but it had all come so unexpectedly that we had +only very little money in the house, and she would need +that little.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I should have liked to put back the clock, but there was +the cab waiting in the street and they were carrying my +bag down the stairs. As I waved my hand from the +corridor Mrs. Zsigmondy leant out of the door which had +opened to me so hospitably and smiled through her tears.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When I was in the carriage it suddenly occurred to me +that perhaps I ought not to have accepted Zsigmondy’s +<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>offer to come with me to the station: he might get into +trouble; but he insisted so simply and heartily that I could +say no more.</p> + +<p class='c009'>From behind the clouds a pale sun lit up the gloomy +town. All the shops were closed, and the tiny red flags +adorning the buildings fluttered in an icy wind. Careworn +faces passed rapidly before the window of the rattling cab. +A black crowd had gathered on the pavement in front of +a pork-butcher’s shop, the signboard of which advertised +luscious hams and appetising sausages, looking now like +the impossibilities of a prehistoric age. But the shop +window was absolutely empty. Further on a baker’s shop +displayed a wooden sign on which were painted beautiful +loaves and rolls. This, too, gave the impression of a +diagram in a museum, showing things of the past; it made +one feel suddenly hungry. Posters everywhere, innumerable +red posters. But there were no goods in the shops, +and disappointed women slunk along the walls.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Red Newspaper!” howled a tiny urchin. “The +Young Proletarian!” And he waved the papers in the +air. Few passers-by bought any, but went on with their +heads drawn between their shoulders as if they expected +blows. Is this the town of the glorious revolution, this +sad mass of dirty, frightened buildings standing amidst +piles of dustbins filled to the brim? Is this the rapturous +achievement for the sake of which Hungary had to perish—a +town where the factories have stopped, the shops are +closed and all work has ceased? A town where all and +everybody have but one of two thoughts: either “We +have lost everything,” or “Now everything is ours!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The appearance of the principal railway station was like +a nightmare. Its walls were covered with obscene drawings +and dirty scribblings; it had not been swept, and sawdust +had been strewn over the mud. Machine-guns were standing +in the ankle-deep dirt, greasy pieces of paper were flying +about, unnameable filth covered the flagstones and oozed +beneath the people’s feet. A rough, impatient crowd +pushed and jostled, and the air was pervaded by an +insufferable stench.</p> + +<p class='c009'>While Zsigmondy took my ticket I looked at the people. +Many of them kept their eyes to the ground as if they +wanted to hide—these were in flight. Some swore +obscenely. A sailor was examining luggage at the entrance, +and rewarded himself for his trouble by continually putting +things from them into his pocket. At a distance I saw +Elisabeth Kállay. She saw me too, but we did not take +<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>any notice of each other. Suddenly I found my sister +Mary standing by my side. She was very pale and only +her eyes greeted me. The Secretary of the Women’s +Union came towards me: “The trip won’t last long and +I shall bring you news!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I passed the newspaper stall. Nothing but ‘Red +Newspapers,’ ‘The People’s Voice,’ ‘The Young Proletarian,’ +and the little red and blue volumes of ‘The +Workmen’s Library.’ In the crowd I managed to embrace +my sister. Then, “God bless you, Zsigmondy!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Now I was on the platform. I had to walk a good +distance before I shrank into the corner of my compartment. +The train was a long time in starting, and human +shapes were hurrying down the corridor. A fat man tore +the door open and looked inside as if searching for somebody. +Then I, too, looked on the ground like those anxious to hide.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly the columns before the window slowly began to +move. Then the shape of goods sheds passed slowly by. +The wheels rattled over the points. Then the compartment +became lighter: we had reached the open track. And +as the train gathered speed I knew that I had left the town, +with its People’s Commissaries, its police, its prisons, behind +me. I was free!</p> + +<p class='c009'>For a moment I realised this, then again my consciousness +became dimmed and a pleasant fatigue overcame me. +From the window I watched the telegraph wires rise, then +came a post and jerked them down, then they rose again +till the next post came. I turned to look at my fellow +travellers. Every seat was occupied. In one sat an +officer whose insignia of rank had been torn from his collar, +leaving the marks of three stars. His field-gray cavalry +cap was ornamented with a red rosette. As soon as +Budapest was left behind us he took his cap off and threw +the rosette out of the window. An old lady looked on in +alarm and drew away from him: her husband wore the +‘red man’ ostentatiously in his button-hole. Both seemed +scared. Opposite sat a well-dressed man, who buried his +face deeply in a book, using it as a screen. I looked at it: +<cite>The Workmen’s Library</cite>. On the title-page was the drawing +of a book from the pages of which sprang a naked, unkempt +workman, holding a burning lamp in his hand. This lamp, +I suppose, represented the light spread by the contents of +the book. I strained my eyes to catch the title: it ran +“<cite>The Principles of Communism</cite>, by Frederick Engels. +Translated by Ernest Garami.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Why read it now? I thought. Why did he not read it +<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>long ago? Why have not all those who suffer to-day read +it long ago? It was there, always, in their midst. Its +principles were set out in a thousand publications, in a +thousand minds. These little books have been doing their +work for a long time, and their wrappers were pink only +because for the time being they did not dare to demonstrate +outwardly that they were red.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The slave is sold once for all. The proletarian has to +sell himself every day, every hour.... The slave frees +himself if he abolishes the institution of slavery. The +proletarian can only free himself by completely destroying +private property. This cannot be achieved by any other +means than by a revolution.” And in the Socialist +revolution there is an end to the family, the country, and +religion.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I stared at the stranger. Why did he want to read +about these things now? They have been proclaimed +aloud for tens of years. But what had been done in +Hungary to counteract them? Has anybody been at work +among the people contradicting them? Has anyone +founded a popular library to proclaim the tenets of Christ, +the significance of country and family, the primary conditions +of human society, with similar persistence among +the people? The Communists worked hard. They fixed +their goal and with every action, every word, every letter, +strove to achieve domination. Meanwhile Magyardom let +the decades pass passively, inactively, and now that the +earth has given way under its feet it has lost its head.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The alarmed fellow-traveller went on reading his book, +hastily turning page after page. I should have liked to +tell him that it was no good hurrying now—he was too late.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Just then a man stopped in the entrance of our compartment, +a violin in his grimy black hand. His low forehead +was surrounded by curling oriental black hair, his eyes were +bloodshot, and one of his nostrils was missing, as though +it had been gnawed away by some animal. He pressed +his fiddle under his bristly blue chin, a smile began to +spread over his horrible syphilitic face, and with a slow +rhythm the bow passed over the chords. His body swayed +to and fro with the tune, and each movement seemed to +raise a filthy stench in the compartment. The tune and +the musician became one, and above the rattling of the +train sounded the strains of the ‘Internationale.’</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’ll play it again if anybody wants to learn it,” he said, +as he finished, and looked round with a sly, aggressive look. +But nobody answered. Only the man with the ‘red man’ +<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>in his button-hole jumped up nervously and waved a +twenty-crown bank-note in his hand. The filthy black +hands seized it eagerly and disappeared. Then we heard +the fiddle whining in the next compartment: the Jew-Gipsy +was teaching the new tune to the people.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If anybody wants to learn it....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Aszód!... The train stopped. I had often heard that +after Budapest Aszód had been the place where the +Communists had met with the greatest measure of success. +I looked out of the window. Over the Reformatory a huge +red flag was flying, and a similar flag was hoisted over +the station. A crowd gathered in front of one of the +carriages, and some people who were late came tearing +along and took their hats off. A fat little man with Semitic +features and a red rosette descended from a reserved +compartment. He might have been a broker, but now +he was addressed as “Comrade on a Political Mission.” +He was received by a deputation and people cringed before +him. I noticed that the crowd was composed of two types +only: the impudent adventurer and the frightened coward, +but presently others joined them. Someone said they were +agitators from Budapest and had come with armed soldiers. +Propaganda and terror—the two means of government +of the Communists. The fiddler was one of them: he, too, +was an agitator.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I passed through the festive crowd unobserved, they +being too busy to pay any heed to the travellers. Far out +beyond the platform a dilapidated little local train was +smoking. Mrs. Kállay and her two daughters were heading +for it, so I followed them. At last we dared to get into the +same compartment. We even exchanged a few words, and +the further we got from the Red town the freer we felt.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Elisabeth Kállay whispered to me that she was hiding +her diadem in her dress, and Lenke furtively produced an +old revolver from under her coat. We could not help +laughing. Other passengers also seemed to have their +secrets, for many of them were abnormally corpulent and +sat uncomfortably on their seats. Everybody was saving +whatever he could, and nowadays only that which one can +carry on one’s person can be said to belong to one.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The air blowing in through the window was pure and +sharp, and beyond the line were lush meadows, deep, +swampy fields, budding trees, white cottages, roads, carts +and peasants. Here everything seemed to be going on as +usual, as if nothing had happened. The mud of the country +roads was cleaner than that on the asphalt of the town.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>We had left the flat country of the disgraced capital and +presently the hillocks of Nográd came to meet us under +the evening sky, the bare, red-brown woods and white +villages on the banks of the Galga forming the landscape.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A landau was waiting for us behind the station. The +coachman took off his hat respectfully and spoke to us +just as in the old days. How strange it seemed! Springless +carts rattled down the road and the elderly men in them +doffed their hats: had not they yet been told that they +were in duty bound to hate those who had always protected +them? A church bell pealed somewhere on the top of a +hill, and the light of a bright fire streamed out of the door +of a house. A woman stood within its beams and made +the sign of the Cross. She did not yet know that the new +power had declared war on God.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Now the road goes up a hill, the wheels crunch on fine +gravel, a gate opens between the trees, and a sudden light +flares up in the night. We have reached the Kállays’ +turretted castle.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In a few minutes we are all sitting together in a well +heated room. A wide garden surrounds the house, the +night surrounds the garden. And the world is far away, +somewhere beyond.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Berczel. <em>March 27th, 1919.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Days have passed since my arrival, yet I do not think +that I shall ever forget the first morning when I awoke here. +I seemed to be floating in a pure ocean of absolute silence. +Then, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, a small voice fell +from above into the ocean of silence. After the threatening +hum of the revolution in the city, the wild howling, the +panting hatred and the ominous nightly tramplings, there +was such beauty in this voice that I remember being +enraptured in the semi-consciousness of waking.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A small bird was sitting on a twig before my window. +Instead of the abyss of human infernos, of narrow streets +and worn dark walls, my eyes lighted on a twig and a bird, +and I wept out of sheer gratitude that such things still +existed. I should have liked to gather in my hands every tiny +particle of the sound so that I might send it to those who +remained prisoners among the stones of that accursed city.</p> + +<div id='i_030fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_030fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>GEORGE NYISTOR.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>LABOURER. ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR AGRICULTURE.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>How different is life here! It is like a fairy-tale related +to soothe children at bed-time.... It is a quiet village. +On the hillock can be seen the bell tower and the shingled +roof of the church. Below, at its foot, are small cottages +and small farmyards. People go to bed early in the +evening: only now and then is a window lit up. The cow +bells ring, a dog barks somewhere. And horror does not +creep through the night, worry does not sit on the threshold +of the morn, threatening the dread shadow of events to +come. To-day is like yesterday and to-morrow bears no +different aspect. Sometimes I fear that conscience has died +of exhaustion within me. A clouded glass screen has risen +between me and the world. Even the village seems to be +beyond the screen and there is nothing on this side of it +but a castle, a wide park, and narrow, useless little paths +on which the past treads undisturbed. These are set with +white seats which have not been provided for fatigue. +Beds of flowers which only exist in order to be beautiful, +dark violets, without a purpose but just to flower.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A white lace hat appears and disappears in the cool +sunshine: the widow of Benjamin Kállay passes under +my window. Her husband, the most brilliant Finance +Minister of Francis Joseph’s reign, the inspiring spirit of +the Monarchy’s Eastern policy, the governor of Bosnia +and Herzegovina, had been a scholar and a historian. The +old lady had been the uncrowned queen of the small southern +provinces and one of the most beautiful women of the +receptions at the Vienna Burg. Now she discusses with +the bailiff the spring sowings, though when the harvest +comes they may no longer be hers. For that matter, are +the house and gardens still her own? Everything is +uncertain. She also worries about a son and a daughter. +Elisabeth Kállay had been the one Hungarian maid of +honour of Queen Zita, accordingly the Communists eye her +with distrust. Frederick Kállay is an aide-de-camp to +the Archduke Joseph and had left Budapest with him. She +has had no news since then. “Good God, what are we +coming to?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>When she says this her two daughters rise in revolt: +they will have no despondency. I like to hear them speak: +they voice the fine, strong vitality of my race:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And you, why are you always staring into the air?” +Elisabeth has put her hand on my shoulder. “Instead of +moping like this you had better go and commit your +thoughts and sorrows to paper.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I have taken a good many notes. When I left I asked +my young nephew to keep them for me. But what’s the +good of going on with them?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Elisabeth Kállay, however, urged me on: “Go on +writing your diary; it will come in useful some day.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>Thus one evening, when I was left to myself, I took up +my pen and looked back on the past days and gathered +fading memories. It is a practice, however, that makes +things both easier and harder. This diary affords the +relief of self-confession, but it also tortures me by compelling +me to live the past over again. And who shall say if +I shall ever reach the end?</p> + +<p class='c009'>I looked up from my writing: Lenke Kállay appeared +at my window, holding her head high. She brought news, +good news. Elisabeth said: “Let no one dare to speak +of evil tidings.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Stephen Bethlen is in Vienna and has petitioned the +Powers through the French High Commissioner, M. Alizé, +for help against Bolshevism. The Entente is certain to +intervene and will send troops to checkmate the Proletarian +Dictators. Thirty thousand French soldiers have embarked +at Marseilles, with General Pétain in command.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It won’t continue like this much longer. We shall get +on our legs again presently.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Did they say it, or did I? We have said it for a thousand +years and when the men grew tired of saying it the women +said it. They said it during the Tartar invasion, after the +defeat at Mohács. To-day we say it again, though everything +has collapsed, though we have been robbed of our +all and are the most unfortunate people on earth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Yet we still trust and have faith. Why? Nobody +knows. Yet how often have I felt in me that faith which +is stronger than our fate, and how often have I noticed it +flaming up in others! What is it? The mysterious desire +for existence? Or is it more than that, is it the subconscious +knowledge of our vitality?</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is like the belief in the miraculous deer—an old legend +which is ever present in the Hungarian mind in time of +trouble. It tells how among the endless swamps of Maeotis, +at the beginning of time, a white deer with shining antlers +appeared to two brothers who were lost in the morass. +The divine deer lured them on and guided them over +invisible tracks. And to this day, whenever we fall in the +morass the miraculous animal appears, gleaming white and +leaping lightly across the bog, and guiding us along invisible +tracks towards the future.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Things can’t remain like this: we shall get on our legs +again presently. The Miraculous Deer is leading us.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span><em>March 28th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The folding doors of the big drawing-room on the first +floor open quietly, and in the room beyond books with gilt +backings are set among flowers. The fire is already burning +brightly in the porcelain stove in the dining-room, whilst +above the red-shaded lamp the ceiling appears heavy and +dark. Between the windows stands a chest that once +belonged to Imre Thököly: the walls are ornamented with +Oriental dishes and old Chinese plates.... The footman +stands stiff in his black dress coat: his white shirt gleams, +and his hands holding the dish are gloved in white. Little +silver buttons glitter on the page’s jacket.</p> + +<p class='c009'>My thoughts fly homeward: in the villages there is still +a sense of home, which has long since departed from the +towns. I thought of the past winter, the closed shops, the +scanty tables. If only I could give that sense of home to +somebody.... And again I feel the glass screen raised +between myself and reality.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mrs. Benjamin Kállay, dressed in white silk, presides +over the table. Her head is held up a trifle haughtily; +her sharp profile is crowned with snow-white hair, and her +full chin disappears in lace. Somehow she reminds me of a +portrait of Louis XV.... Presently she nods and rises: +her gait is solemn and slow: the wings of the door open +before her and we follow her into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Outside, drums are being beaten in the village, and now +and then a scrap of the crier’s announcement reaches our +ears.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The revolutionary council.... Revolutionary tribunals ... the president and two members ... prosecuting +commissary ... clerk of the court.... No restrictions +whatever ... any hour of the day ... in the open ... +death sentence ... carried out without delay....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I had a curious impression that the words seemed to have +little connection with what was said: ‘Lenin speaking....’ +Nobody actually said that, yet I seemed to hear those +two words as a sort of refrain.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The drumming went on:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“False reports ... revolutionary tribunal ... executed.... +The Revolutionary Council is abolished.... In the +Soviet republic all rank, title and nobility are abolished....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>At this moment the footman brought the coffee on a +silver tray: “Is it your Excellency’s pleasure that coffee +be served here?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>How incongruous it all seemed! The huge room, the +unreal continuation of the old aristocratic life. Is it real, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>or is it a mirage? The snow-white lady, her head erect, +among her lace, sitting in an arm-chair. Her two daughters, +one leaning gracefully over her embroidery, the other turning +the leaves of a book. The huge Venetian glass +chandelier, which once shone over Maria Theresa, spreads +a gentle light. On the wall, between two pastels representing +children, the Empire clock of gilded wood ticks +slowly, and its ticking sounds as if ripe corn were being +rubbed together. Slowly life is passing before our eyes, a +grain of life with every moment that departs beyond recall.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mirage is still there. Nothing is altered. But +outside, the filthy tide is rising, spreads and rolls onwards +from the Red town, covers the fields, touches the villages, +laps at the walls of the cottages. It comes nearer and +nearer; and the wind which it raises drives before it +phantoms which rush by and in their flight glare in through +the windows. Elsewhere it is different. The glitter of +the peasant’s scythe menaces the castle. The despoiled +landlords have to flee or become the bailiffs of Béla Kun’s +‘Co-operatives of Production’ on their own estates. Our +fate is coming without doubt. But still, here in the great +drawing-room, life has not yet altered. These people +round me are just waiting for whatever is to come, and +whether death or reprieve be their destiny, they are +faithful to the blood which is in them.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>March 29th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Communists from Aszód have arrived in the village. The +glass screen between myself and reality has suddenly +cracked. The agitators dragged a table in front of the +town hall, climbed on it and addressed the crowd. When +we asked the coachman what had happened, he looked +down and gave an embarrassed, evasive answer:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They are going to stay till to-morrow....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>These Communists boasted that the workmen of the +aeroplane works at Aszód had got the town in their power +and that the directorate had had the lord of Iklad, Count +Ráday, and his wife, arrested.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The news has only just reached us. When the Rádays +heard of the proclamation of the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat they wanted to go to Budapest with the manager +of the aeroplane works. But the Communists of Aszód +were quicker than they. They closed the barriers, and +the Lord Lieutenant of the county and his wife, who had +nursed the wounded in the hospital of Aszód during the +war, were escorted back by armed Red soldiers, some of +whom she had herself nursed back to life. They locked +the Countess up in the Reformatory, the Count and the +manager they put up against the wall. A firing squad was +drawn up: a lieutenant enquired if all was ready. At the +last moment they let them go. It was all done for amusement, +to give them a good fright. One often hears of such +things nowadays; the novelty and strangeness of it are +wearing off.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Countess Ráday did not know that her husband was +still alive until he returned to her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>But this villainy was relieved by a generous action. +When the people of Iklad heard what had been done to +their landlord and benefactor, they rose and armed themselves +with scythes, and went to his rescue, but before they +reached Aszód the prisoners had been sent to Budapest. +For a long time this band of armed peasants threatened the +Reformatory. Unfortunately not every village is like +Iklad and not all landlords like Count Ráday.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Other news reached us too, uncertainly and stealthily, +from castles and towns. Then the first newspapers came +<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>from the capital: the great day they had prepared and +announced had at last dawned, and we shrank from its +contact. With what a voice was it proclaimed! Our +language had never yet been prostituted in this way, their +alien press uses our tongue to torture us. It spits on our +past with grinning contempt and drags in the mire +everything that might still promise a better future. The +triumph of the revolution howls from its pages. Vulgar +brutalities, foaming, abject hatred, are enclosed in the +wrappings of world-saving theories.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The only paper of the Counter-revolution has been +suppressed: the conservative <em>Budapesti Hirlap</em> has been +strangled and the subscribers sent ‘The Red Newspaper.’ +The newspapers which have been allowed to continue their +existence approve, fawn, incite and lend their old reputation +to facilitate the conquest of the groping, tottering countryside. +Unsuspecting people absorb the poison from the +papers to which they have been accustomed. Ideas become +confused; even the honest lose their bearings. The papers +propagate their news as ordered by the head of the +Bolshevist press-directorate—a Jew.</p> + +<p class='c009'>If ever the time comes to call to account this soul-killing, +defeatist, alien press, which revelled over the revolution, +over Károlyi, the capitulation, the Republic, the foreign +occupation, and now lauds Béla Kun and Bolshevism; +should ever that time come, I can imagine the defence: +‘... the terror, ... brutal force....’ But why do the +papers carry on? Why do they not stop publication? +The press-dictator elucidates this point when he declares +proudly, “the Free Union of Journalists played an important +rôle in the preparation and realisation of the political +revolution in October and the social upheaval of to-day.” +These mouthpieces of Hungarian public opinion have for +the last few decades been exclusively Jews.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Though I shudder with disgust yet I cannot resist the +temptation of taking the newspaper into my hand, and I +read ‘The People’s Voice’ of March 25th:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The work has begun.... The courage to demolish, the +relentlessness of destruction and the unfaltering determination +to rebuild, these are the spiritual instruments by +which the Proletarian State must be established and its +socialism must be realised.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>What can be their physical instruments when destruction +is only a spiritual aid? I read on: “Lenin predicts +victory in the near future!... The Russian Red +army is victorious on the Galician frontier, and the enemy +<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>is in flight. The victory surpasses all hopes.... The +position of the Imperialist Government in England is +shaken. Hungarian events have caused the downfall of +Clemenceau.... Serbian imperialism is on the verge of +complete collapse. The southern counties have accepted +the principle of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. There +are signs of disruption in Serbia. The Proletariat is +preparing for the final battle.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The papers lie in a heap, and I pick them up at random: +“The Revolutionary Government has decided to raise a +Red army. It has been decided to change the names of +the barracks from that of imperialist kings and militarist +generals. In future they will bear the names of Lenin, +Marx, Liebknecht, Rosa Luxemburg....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A Red army instead of the national army. Instead of +Francis Joseph and Maria-Theresa barracks we shall have +Lenin and Rosa Luxemburg barracks.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Austria has recognised the Hungarian Soviet Republic +and has accredited the envoys of Béla Kun.... Two +new Soviet Republics: On the 28th a Soviet Republic was +proclaimed in Wiener Neustadt. In Chotin the Bessarabian +Soviet Republic has been proclaimed. At the elections for +the Workers’ Councils in Brunswick the Communists have +gained a victory.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>My nerves began to give way: though it might be all +untrue, I could stand it no longer. I fled, out of the room, +out of the house, out of the garden.... In the village +the drum was beating. “The Revolutionary Government +has decreed....” I turned back. Is it impossible to +get away from it for a moment? I locked the garden door +behind me so that I should hear it no longer. A white dog +was playing on the lawn and its mistress followed; she +was carrying a Viennese newspaper.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“At the request of Clemenceau allied troops under +General Mangin are to be sent against Béla Kun’s Soviet +Republic. Balfour protests. The British——”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We are the prisoners of the Entente and what happens +inside the prison depends upon the gaolers.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly the window panes rattled with the vibration +of a distant, dull boom.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Guns!” we both exclaimed simultaneously. “From +the direction of the Ipoly river. Far away.... At +last!...” Then we suddenly looked at each other in +amazement; what we felt seemed so incredible. It is to +our enemies that we must look for liberation, to France, +to the country of Franchet d’Espérey, Colonel Vyx, and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>to our little neighbours who for months have been robbing +and tearing our country. What has happened to us?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Humanity has sometimes forgotten for centuries the +plans and the power of the Jews. The fate of Egypt, the +conquest of Canaan, the dissolution of Rome, the religious +strife in Byzantium, the decline of Spain ... these and +many other things. And far away are the great persecutions +of the Jews, which were always the consequence of +too much audacity, too great activity, on the part of the +chosen people. These persecutions, the fruits of exasperation, +were never of long duration, and after them Jewry +quickly sank back into obscurity, whence it threw sand +into the eyes of the peoples that they might be blind for +a generation and forget.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the years before the war the suspicions of the +Hungarian nation, so often aroused before, had been lulled +to sleep. We saw how the Jews, coming from the East, +took possession of the land after acquiring the liquor shops +of the villages. From the little draper’s shop in the town +they laid grasping hands on our whole economic life. We +saw them during the war withdrawing into safety and +acquiring millions while our own folk gained crutches. +We heard that the Zionist Congress of Paris carried the +following resolution: “Jewry must try to get possession +of Budapest first, then Hungary, so as to have a base for +the establishment of its world-rule.” And many of us +read in 1917, during the war, the declaration of their leading +spirit in Hungary, published in <cite>Világ</cite>, the mouthpiece of +Freemasonry: “We reserve our institutions, our means +and our men for a superhuman effort later on.” Now the +<em>later on</em> has arrived, has emerged from obscurity. Twenty-four +Jewish People’s Commissaries lead the rest and +pronounce judgment of life and death upon Hungary.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The sound of an enemy gun is heard in the distance, and +suffering humanity breathes freer and thinks of liberation. +Perhaps it will come nearer and shoot down the walls of +our prison.... But no: happier nations would never be +able to understand that that was needed.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>March 30th–31st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Items of news arrive daily, but there is no sequence. Only +a few days ago it was announced that ‘the British Foreign +Secretary protests. London will not permit it.... Thirty +thousand French troops have embarked in Marseilles....’ +Now the talk is of General Mangin’s Anglo-French armies: +he is on the way and has taken the field against the +Bolsheviks.</p> + +<div id='i_038fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_038fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>THE JEWS CALL A MEETING AND DECIDE TO ORGANISE A JEWISH RED REGIMENT TO FIGHT FOR BOLSHEVISM.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>I put out my candle and sat alone in the dark. A vision +of spectres rose about me, shaking their heads, apathetic +spectres of suppressed doubts which extinguished all hope. +What if nobody comes to our help, if the nations allow us to +perish miserably while they stand round and watch us being +eaten up by the worms which arise from our own decay? +Surely we cannot descend utterly into the depths unless +the victorious Great Powers permit it? Why do they not +prevent it, if they do not want Bolshevism? With Károlyi +for ever cringing, Colonel Vyx, the head of the Entente’s +Military Mission has stopped at nothing. Taking advantage +of his position he has trodden for months on our self-respect. +He has treated the Eastern bulwark of Europe, a highly +cultured people with a lineage as ancient as his own nation’s, +like the French officers treat the savages in their own +colonies. Why did this egotistical little Jew of Alsatian +origin, possessed of plenipotentiary powers, withdraw all +the French troops from Budapest on the eve of the proclamation +of the Dictatorship? Why did he permit the +Posts and Telegraphs, over which he had absolute censorial +sway, to serve Béla Kun in the preparation of his revolution?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Some day these questions will be answered. The message +signed by Colonel Vyx, published in the papers of the 26th, +although the provinces only got the news to-day, throws +some light upon one point. The Military Mission of the +Entente unexpectedly <em>appeals</em> “in the name of conciliation +and justice” to the Revolutionary Government “to give +without delay every possible publicity to the following +communication.” It refers to the document in which +Károlyi announces his resignation: “In his proclamation +to the Hungarian people the President of the Republic +said that the Mission of the Entente had stated that it +would in the future consider the lines of demarcation as +political frontiers. I formally declare that this is an +erroneous interpretation of the words used.... It has +never been intended to suggest such political frontiers.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>So it appears that once again Michael Károlyi has +deceived the nation. But is it not curious that Colonel +Vyx’s mission has delayed this explanation until now? +Why did it not take action at once, when Károlyi endeavoured +to justify his resignation by the alleged finality of +frontiers fixed in the Entente’s note? Why did it allow +him to use nationalist arguments in order to throw Hungary +<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>into the arms of Bolshevism? And why did Colonel Vyx +permit Béla Kun to creep in under the same nationalist +flag which had covered Károlyi’s exit?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Who consented to play the game of these two abject +creatures in the fateful hour when the stakes were a country’s +fate? The tardy explanation of the Entente Mission +inevitably creates the impression that Colonel Vyx played +into their hands, or, at the least, that he showed considerable +partisanship in their favour.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The exposure of Károlyi’s deception concerning the fixing +of frontiers shows the falsity of Béla Kun’s battle-cry: +“For territorial integrity!” Now that he wields both +armed forces and finances, he sings another tune. He has +declared to a correspondent of the Viennese <cite>Neue Freie +Presse</cite>: “In Soviet Hungary we do not insist on territorial +integrity.... We do not recognise any economic +frontiers.” These are the men who have Hungary’s fate +at their mercy! The very thought makes one’s blood +boil. Is all our ancient pride of race, all our glorious +history, to be thus trampled under foot by Jews? Why +does the Entente delay? Why does it give Bolshevism +time to recruit an army for its own support?</p> + +<p class='c009'><cite>The Red Soldier</cite>, a new daily paper, has just appeared +in Budapest. Propaganda is active: Pogány recruits, +Számuelly directs. What a nightmare it is! The cradle +of the Red army is draped with low-class comedy. Its +advertisements take the shape of newspaper paragraphs +and vicious posters. From a world of brothels, of cheap +upholstery, of merry-go-rounds, of foul-mouthed agitators +speaking from red stands, is the Red army recruited.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is proposed to hold Red soldiers’ gala performances at +the theatres, and the newspapers are devoting unending +columns to rapturous approval of the idea. “The temple +of the Muses stands in festive attire!” Yes—and to the +sounds of the Internationale the crowd rushes the free seats. +In every theatre a different leader will address the audience: +the Galician Neros will mount the stage and play their parts. +“There is no such thing as one’s own country! Long live +the country of all the Proletarians! An army is the tool +of nationalist society. Death to militarism! Long live +the Red army!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Someone knocks at my window: it is Elisabeth Kállay +in a fur coat standing in the twilight. Yes, by all means +let us go. The evening has become heavy and unbearable +indoors. Let us get some fresh air.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We walked along the river Galga, and frost from the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>hills came on the breath of the icy wind. Coming home +we crossed the courtyard. There was a light in the stable +and a pink-cheeked, fair little girl was sitting on the threshold. +Indoors a woman was sitting on a stool beside a +cow and one could hear the milk squirting regularly, +sharply, into the pail. The coachman doffed his hat and +remained bareheaded, a farmer who was leaning against +the wall stood up and saluted us. I could not help thinking +of the war-cry of ‘The Red Newspaper’: “Class war +must be carried into the villages!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>They were talking of the agitators in Aszód.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let them bark,” said the farmer placidly; “first we’ll +see what those people in Budapest are up to.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I could not distinguish his face but it seemed to me that +it was not an individual but the whole Hungarian peasantry, +suspicious, cautious, who had spoken. The Hungarian +peasant speaks little and is not over-fond of work. Now +he leans on his plough and watches gravely who shall be +the owner of the soil.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Michael Károlyi has promised it to us. It is true he +did not redeem his pledge, and what he gave of his own +was, as it turned out later, no longer his property.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Communists have promised even more,” said +Elisabeth Kállay in the cautious way which the times had +taught us.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They only promise the townsfolk that everything is +to be theirs,” said the farmer; “here they say that the +land too, is common property.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Well, well,” said the coachman, “it is not easy to +understand these new-fangled laws.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That is why we first listened to the Communists,” +continued the farmer reflectively. “We wanted to see +what was going to happen to the land. But later on....” +He remained silent for a time, as if debating with himself if +he ought to speak out or not. So the coachman continued:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“When they started to talk about the law abolishing +religion, we did not like it.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That’s so,” agreed the farmer; “nor did we like it +when they made a law that, if I may be excused mentioning +such things, if people lived together for a year in free +love, that should make them a lawfully wedded couple.” +There was silence for a time. The men, ashamed to talk +to us of these matters, seemed to whisper among themselves.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“But what roused the women into white heat,” the +farmer laughed, “was the decision that even a married +man could marry like this over and over again, as his old +<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>marriage was automatically dissolved by any subsequent +union.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The former gravity had disappeared.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“After that the Communists were in a hurry, I can tell +you, to get on their carts. They would not dare to come +back here at any price.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The woman had finished the milking some while ago and +was standing in the stable door beside the child. Now she +spoke from her dark corner:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They said they would make picture-shows of the +churches, and that there would be no more illegitimate +children, nor any inheritance, and that the State would +take over our children.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>At these words the little girl clung crying to her mother’s +skirts. “Mummie dear,” she implored, “you won’t let +the horrid State take me away from you....” The woman +shook her head. The coachman laughed and said: “I +don’t know, if you are really naughty....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The child howled, so her mother picked her up in her +arms and in that one tender movement negatived all +Communist ordinances. She disappeared, carrying the +weeping child and seeming to become one with it. I +followed them with my eyes: beyond them, set in a sea of +darkness, were the soft outlines of the sleeping village: the +roofs of the cottages alone were visible under the starry sky. +And Lenin is to come here too!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Bled white, the villages sleep and offer no resistance. But +in their very dreams the villagers cling to the soil; and the +soil is their country, and their country is Great Hungary.</p> + +<p class='c009'>My heart went out to the villages. The village, the +Hungarian village, is selfish like a child, indifferent like a +sign-post, and as strong as wind and weather. Its sins +are the wild revels derived from its vineyards; the desire +for fecundity in men, women and soil alike. Its blessings +are sowing and reaping.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There is here a ray of hope. Will the Hungarian village +be our salvation?</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 1st–2nd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Even a few days seems a long time when one is counting +the hours. And now the second week has gone and there +is no sign of our distress coming to an end.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Bolshevism is destroying with the impudence of ignorance +and building with the inexperience of barbarism. Lenin +decreed that the old order should be ruthlessly destroyed +<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>and the new order constructed without delay. The +Bolsheviks of Budapest hasten to obey. With such +insatiable zeal do they set to work that their topsy-turvy +legislation is but a disclosure and a legalisation of their +previous arbitrary actions.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The papers give practically no other news. They aim +blows at human ethical conceptions and at Hungarian +life. They provide a defence for evil-doers and for brigands.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Jewish Commissary for Justice has proscribed the +administration of justice, for he has suspended the sittings +of the law-courts!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Never before have I realised to what an extent we are +at these people’s mercy. Károlyi set the criminals free; +the criminals let crime loose to supply their needs. +Immorality and lawlessness require the freedom of crime +for their sway. To produce unlimited means for its rule +Bolshevism abolishes the private property of others, +distributes it among its own adherents, and uses it to pay +its servants.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Anxiety is now perpetually with me: I feel like a person +going late at night through a dark abandoned street who +hears moaning from behind a closed window. It is impossible +to enter: no policeman can be found. What is +happening? Dark speculations haunt one’s mind as long +as night endures.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Class hatred has established spies and watchers in all +the houses of Budapest: the secret agents of the new +power are to be found in every house; they watch, blackmail, +and report. On their good-will depends the +distribution of food tickets within the house, and those +whom they suspect are deprived of bread. Their sanction +is required to obtain permits if one requires wood, soap, +or boot laces, and Proletarians alone receive the permits. +There is a meatless week in Budapest. The countryside +is refusing to send supplies, and food is running short. +Yet they proclaim boisterously that Plenty is the outcome +of social production! It is the business of the ‘confidential +man’ in every house to see that the Proletarian should not +notice the wolf at the door. But it is the intellectual +workers who are on short rations: the middle classes are +to be deprived of food tickets. Everything is for the +Proletarian. Such privileges have never before been +known, but it is not love for the Proletarian that inspires +these privileges; it is the hatred for the Hungarian +Christian citizens, the delight in their sufferings, that are +the principles upon which the new rulers govern.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>Under the guise of philanthropy Galician Jews and +Proletarian rabble are planted among the hated bourgeoisie. +The kitchen is common property and the middle-class +occupier is obliged to put his furniture at the disposal of +the intruders. Home is home no longer. Even in the +restricted area assigned to them the bourgeoisie is to have +no peace. The Jewish Dictator of the capital has decreed: +“Baths for the Proletarian children!” It sounds a very +human provision, but is really only a pretence for new +provocation. A tendencious poster has appeared, announcing +that the bourgeoise women who “from their +silken couches used to step into their perfumed baths” +shall make room for dear little Proletarian children, who +till now were deprived of the luxury of cleanliness. The +order runs:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“... We also requisition the bath-rooms of private +dwellings once a week, on Saturdays, for the whole day, for +the gratuitous bathing of the children sent by schools +and nursery schools with their certificates. The owners +of the bath-rooms have to provide gratuitously the +necessary fuel, lighting, towels and soap.—Moritz Preuss.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>And the class they call bourgeois can buy neither fuel +nor soap! They want the bourgeoisie to perish, perhaps +they revel in the idea that they may thus introduce vermin +and infection into clean homes. Abroad they create the +impression of being philanthropists, and at home they +amuse the rabble. For days the houses of Budapest have +been terrified by the rumour that Tibor Számuelly intends +to allow the mob three hours’ plunder.</p> + +<p class='c009'>My own home was continually in my mind. I could +see my mother sitting alone among her household gods. +I could see her walking through the rooms, touching now +one thing, now another, things that remind her of my +grandmother, of my great-grandmother, of old times, +things that are part of her life.... She cannot write to +me, nor can I write to her. I long to go to her for a day, +or only for an hour....</p> + +<p class='c009'>As I said this Elisabeth Kállay looked at me:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you know how many of us are already in prison? +Do you want to go there too?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It seemed to me that my mother’s face was leaning over +me and that she repeated: “Don’t worry about me, and +don’t come home till....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A carriage drove through the gate, came slowly up the +drive and stopped in front of the house. A carriage in the +village! The hospitable generation which lived before us +<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>saw nothing terrifying in that. But now I asked myself: +“Have they come to requisition? Are they agitators, +Socialist delegates, or detectives? Are they on my track?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>My heart beat fast, and a plan occurred to me. I +resolved that if they came for me I would escape by the +other side of the house, where there is a little door under +the walnut staircase, and that thence I should make for +the vineyards, and over the hillock on to the main road. +I was quite astonished to find how exactly I remembered +every ditch, every lane, as if from the very start I had +observed the country with a view to a possible escape.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then came a sound of movement and of laughter, +starting under the porch and spreading all over the house. +The newcomer was a friend, Baroness Apor, lady-in-waiting +to the Archduchess Augusta. She brought us newspapers +and news. A Vienna paper gave a long account of how +Count Louis Salm had boxed the ears of Michael Károlyi +in the street—the latter was in Vienna on behalf of the +Revolutionary Cabinet. As he was emerging from the +door of a house of doubtful reputation Count Salm ran up +to him: “Take that for the Italian front, that for Hungary ...” and as the blows fell each was similarly explained. +A crowd gathered round them and a cab was passing. +Károlyi made desperate signs for it to stop. Then Count +Salm exclaimed: “Look at him, this is Michael Károlyi who +has betrayed Hungary!” The cabman swore a big oath, +lashed out with his whip at Károlyi, turned his horse and +drove on, while the blows were still falling hard. I wish +it had been a Hungarian who had given them!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Baroness Apor told us that Archduke Joseph’s palace +had been occupied by the Red commander. The furniture +had been carried off and ‘communised’ by the comrades.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Archduke and the Archduchess had been compelled +to flee on the evening of the 21st. They escaped on foot +in pouring rain, to the accompaniment of a good deal of +shooting in the town, and hid with some faithful friends +until next evening. Then they managed to escape in a +ramshackle old coach through the excise barriers of Buda +and made off for the hills. The Archduke travelled south +with two aide-de-camps; the Archduchess went to Alcsuth +after having given all her jewels to her husband for travelling +expenses. He will attempt to get into communication with +the French commander in the hope of raising the nation.</p> + +<p class='c009'>New hope!... The room seemed to brighten up and +life ceased to seem a burden. Perhaps after a week, or a +few days.... No, neither after a few days, nor hereafter—because +<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>when it came to crossing the frontier into occupied +territory the Archduke turned back: he could not bring +himself to leave that last bit of our country which is the +only hope of our resurrection.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Meanwhile his son had been arrested and had been taken +on a springless cart to Kanizsa, his guards telling him all +the way that Számuelly was waiting there to settle his +business. They asked him if he wanted a ‘black coat’ +for his journey, and pointed to trees: “This one would do +nicely, or do you prefer that one?” Now he is imprisoned +in Budapest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>So is the former Prime Minister, Alexander Wekerle, +and Bishop Count Mikes, and Count George Károlyi who +hates the Communists. Countess Raphael Zichy stayed +at home, refusing to leave. Is she repeating her famous +saying: “There is no terror, there is only cowardice!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Under pretence of looking for arms,” Baroness Apor +told us, “armed Red soldiers invade houses at night. The +safe deposits have been broken open and pilfered by the +Government. It is impossible to withdraw money from +the banks. All jewelry worth more than two thousand +crowns becomes ‘public property.’ Mine has been taken +too. A friend of mine preferred to throw her pearls into +the Danube. Anybody who still possesses anything is +hiding it if he can. There is a perfect exodus to the hills +of Buda. At first people only buried little jewel-cases. +Then came the rumour of a new order. The larders were +going to be ransacked. Off to the hills went the barrels of +lard, the boxes of sugar and tea, the household linen.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>One of us broke in:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Yes, but what do people say, how long will this last?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Nobody knows. People are in despair. News is +contradicted as soon as published. Károlyi negotiates +with the Missions of the Entente in the name of the +Bolshevik Government. The Italians, they say, are +sympathetic. It is even said that they are disposed to +recognise the Soviet Republic. The Italian delegate, +Prince Borghese, is a great friend of Béla Kun and the +beautiful Jewesses of the Commune. It is also rumoured +that a Boer general called Smuts is to be sent here to +force the Bolshevik crowd to resign.” Baroness Apor +glared rigidly before her as if she saw something terrible. +“Számuelly is getting more and more to the fore,” she +continued after a short pause. “The Government threatens +in his name whenever it wants to cause alarm. The +others are busy drawing up the new Constitution. They +<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>speak and issue orders as if things were to remain like this +for ever.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>None of us said anything. Our thoughts were so similar +that speech was superfluous.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 4th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Sometimes nobody visits us for days; but it happens +occasionally that people come to see us. As soon as I hear +their steps on the gravel I run and hide in my room. The +other day while I was sitting there Countess Dessewffy was +saying in the drawing-room that the police were after me, +but that she knew I had made good my escape to +Switzerland. It seemed quite amusing. With the exception +of one friend nobody knows that I am here or who I +am. This is Baron Jeszenszky, whose property is near by, +at Kövesd. He often goes to Budapest. Then we wait +impatiently for the news he brings back. Anything that +gives hope finds credence with us. Baron Jeszenszky +waves his hand in despair: “Mark my words, this will +never come to an end.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The more we contradict him the more pessimistic he +becomes. If, however, we agree, he gets angry and becomes +hopeful. “What lack of faith!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I feel similarly inclined, and so does everybody else, for +we express our doubt only in the hope of being contradicted; +we try hard to raise some hope in ourselves and are angry +when it is thrown over.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We went early to bed and I read Sir Thomas More. The +book opened where the conquering Utopys reaches his +island where he is going to found the realm of universal +happiness:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“... But Kyng Utopys, whose name, as conqueror, +the Iland beareth (for before his tyme it was called Abraxa) +which also brought the rude and wild people to that +excellent perfection in al good fassions, humanitye and +civile gentilnes, wherein they nowe goe beyond al the people +of the world: even at his firste arrivinge and +enteringe upon the lande, furthwith obteynyge the victory....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Sir Thomas More, the forefather of Socialism, imagined +it like that. He wanted to found his land of universal +happiness on a gentle, civilised people. Will there ever +be people like that on this earth? Until there is, Socialism +will remain the island of Utopia.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span><em>April 5th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The men of the village Directorate came up to the castle +to-day. There was some formality about their visit, and +they wore their black Sunday hats. Mrs. Benjamin Kállay +received them herself. The bad man of the village spoke +the loudest among them, and whenever this occurred the +others cast their eyes down and nudged their neighbours: +“Come, speak up, now!” I thought of the little peacock-blue +Sèvres vases up in the drawing-room; the Persian +dishes and the old hand-painted fans in the glass-case. +How were they going to describe them in their inventory?</p> + +<p class='c009'>One of them declared that no more wine must be brought +up from the cellar, for prohibition had been enforced. +Nothing in the house must be removed, for it all belongs +henceforth to the State. The others nodded as they +looked around. “The people from the towns are going +to come soon.” And so they left without making an +inventory.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The day has not yet come, but what of the morrow? +Incertitude is increasing daily. Everything becomes transitory. +In one’s plans one does not even dare to make +arrangements for the following day. Generally one makes +no plans at all. Days and hours become independent +units, without continuity or cohesion among them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Sunday hats of the Directorate were flocking back +to the garden gate. One of them lingered behind, then +seized the opportunity of turning back. He stood there +before us, an old man, humble, hat in hand, with sad eyes:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Dear little lady,” he stuttered shamefacedly, “might +I ask your Excellency for a little wine? Nobody will know. +I want it for an invalid. A young woman who is dying.” +A bottle was given to him and he hid it furtively under his +coat.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Soviet Government threatens with its summary +jurisdiction anyone found drinking wine. Not even the +sick are allowed any. But drunken soldiers stagger +unmolested in the gutter. The People’s Commissaries have +champagne orgies in their special trains and throw the +empty bottles from the windows. They have drinking +bouts in the Soviet House of Budapest, the former Hotel +Hungaria, which they have requisitioned. The occupants +were expelled without notice and within a few hours the +Commissaries, some with their wives, others with their +mistresses, occupied the place.</p> + +<div id='i_048fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_048fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>JULIUS HEVESI <em>alias</em> HÖNIG.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>VICE-COMMISSARY, MINISTRY FOR SOCIALISATION.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>Everything I see, everything I hear, carries my thoughts +to the guilty town, bids them seek among its million people, +for the sake of one! To-day I received the first message +from home. Charles Kiss, our faithful friend, has escaped +from among the accursed walls and brought me a letter +from my mother. She is well; she has already left for our +cottage among the hills of Buda. She was in want of +nothing, nobody interfered with her. They have not been +looking for me. Thus Kiss brought me nothing but good +news.</p> + +<p class='c009'>While I listened to him I was filled with joy: “Then +there is no longer any reason why I should not go home!” +At this his face changed suddenly. No, not yet, better wait +a little longer.... And as he argued the point I suspected +his former statements more and more. So they had only +been designed to re-assure me!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Hans Freitag, Councillor at the German Legation, had +come to see my mother and had warned her that I ought +to escape if I were still there. Now the removal of my +mother to the hills had a different meaning to me: my +mother had to choose between her flat in town and her +cottage in the hills. Need for choice came suddenly and +she had moved the previous day. But I learnt that the +flat was now occupied by very decent people; the Red +soldiers who brought them behaved quite nicely. They +had put altogether three families and a school into the flat; +they were Jews and Proletarians but it was all right, no +harm had been done, everything had gone smoothly. Only +a little furniture and a few pictures were left behind in the +flat.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Slowly I began to visualise the whole thing. Red +soldiers.... That meant she had been expelled by force. +All sorts of insignificant trifles swept through my head. +The tiny treasures of the old show-case.... The snuff-box +which had a tinkling little tune hidden within it.... The +yellow porcelain dame with her crinoline and her unnaturally +slender waist.... Where have they gone to, those +friends of my childhood? And the ash-tray which used +to stand near the clock? Has it gone? And the watercolours? +And my mother’s work-basket, her patience +cards? The crucifix from Ravenna on my bookcase? +Who has removed it? My manuscripts, my books, my +pictures?</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Jewish Commissary of Education had decreed that +books left in houses became the property of the Soviet +Republic. All collections of books have to be reported. +Valuable pictures become common property.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Charles Kiss re-assured me: “Everything is still there,” +<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>but I could believe his kind-hearted statements no longer. +A torturing picture haunted me incessantly: I saw a home +pulled to pieces, strange people in our rooms and the front +door, through which my lonely mother had to leave, wide open.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The subject had been changed a long while ago, but I +had not noticed it. I realised it only when I heard someone +say: “It will last longer than we had expected.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I shuddered as a hopeless silence ensued. The ticking of +the clock above fell on our ears. One by one the minutes +dropped into eternity seeming to make time unbearable. +Yet from the silence of despair victorious hope dared to +raise its head.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The People’s Commissaries seem to be already +quarrelling among themselves,” said Charles Kiss. “They +are even said to have come to blows. Számuelly wanted +to get the Red army into his own hands.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Yes, they may quarrel over a question of power, but +when it comes to oppressing us they hold together.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Yet it ended with the downfall of Pogány. The +adherents of Számuelly informed the Soldiers’ Council that +he intended to abolish the system of ‘confidential men’ +which had been so successful in poisoning the mind of the +remnant of our army. Now the Social-Communists require +a well-disciplined, serviceable army.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Marxism only sticks to its principles, ends and catch-words +as long as they serve as weapons to attack society. +The ‘confidential men’ would not stand the plan. It +happened yesterday. In the afternoon they drew up the +International Red Regiment, which is ready for any +mischief. Accompanied by an infuriated mob of dissatisfied +workmen and hungry good-for-nothings they went up +to the Royal Castle. They invaded St. George’s Square, +clamouring for Pogány. The ‘confidential men’ of the +regiment broke into the Commissariat of War. From the +balconies they urged their men on. The system of +‘confidential men’ to which Pogány owed his shameful +power, by means of which he had removed Ministers of +War and terrorised the whole nation into submission, now +became the instrument of his own downfall.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The dogs barked somewhere in the grounds. This alone +broke the silence. Then Charles Kiss went on:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“In a few minutes the news spread over the town. Many +heard the howling of the demonstrators who were cursing +Pogány. People were already saying that he had been +hanged and that Béla Kun had been hanged at his side. +Later on it turned out that the news was false. All that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>had happened was that the Cabinet had increased the +number of its members and had made certain changes. +There are now more Jewish People’s Commissaries than +ever. Pogány and Számuelly have become Commissaries +for Education. Béla Kun controls the War Office. Then +people found a new ray of hope. We put all our confidence +in General Smuts.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“So the news was true after all?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We expected a lot of him,” Kiss went on. “Budapest +was confident that a British general, one of the Delegates +of the Paris Peace Conference, would not come to an agreement +with Béla Kun and his company. The town was full +of hope. Everybody had some good news. Számuelly’s +declaration was attributed to the general’s coming.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What sort of declaration?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>He took a newspaper out of his pocket and spread it over +the table. There it was, in huge type, in a conspicuous +place. It was characteristic of the world we lived in that +it was considered within the province of the Minister of +Education to make such a declaration.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“For several days unscrupulous elements have been +spreading the news that I intend giving permission for +general plundering. This is a base calumny and a disgraceful +lie. I appeal to the Comrades to give me an opportunity +to face the scoundrels who spread this news and to make an +example of them. I ask them to help me to put those who +spread this news before a Revolutionary Tribunal and have +summary justice meted out to them. Tibor Számuelly, +Assistant People’s Commissary for Education.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“When it became known,” Kiss went on, “that General +Smuts, though he had ordered rooms in an hotel, had not +even entered the town but had summoned Béla Kun to the +railway station, there was no limit to our illusions. But +it did not last. This morning the Communists informed +us triumphantly of their success; the Entente had entered +into negotiations with the Governments of Moscow and +Budapest....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>My mind reverted to Brest-Litovsk. We did not know +it at the time, but it was there that we lost the war. Now +even the victors may lose it in Budapest and Moscow.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“General Smuts came here,” Kiss added sadly, “not +to threaten but to negotiate. The journalist friends of the +People’s Commissaries told us that General Smuts had +offered the Government a favourable line of demarcation. +If Béla Kun will consent to come to some arrangement, the +Powers are prepared to compel the Roumanians to retire +<span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>eastwards and to form a neutral zone occupied by British, +French and Italian troops. The journalists also say that +the General will recommend in Paris that the interested +States should hold a conference which would finally fix +their respective frontiers. He promised to use his influence +to persuade the Powers to invite Béla Kun’s Government +to Paris. He will have the blockade raised and provide +fats and other articles of which we are in need. All he +required in compensation was the cessation of all attempts +to spread the idea of a world-revolution. The success +made Béla Kun dizzy. He would be satisfied with nothing. +The attempt of the Entente to compromise with him has +strengthened his position incredibly, and now he is proclaiming +to the world that the Great Powers are afraid of +him. He wants no increase of territory, he wants free +trade and free propaganda in the neighbouring States.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Last autumn, the great collapsing Monarchy appealed +to Wilson and asked for his intervention. Through Mr. +Lansing, his Secretary of State, he sent the following +answer: “We will not negotiate with you.” And with +cruel irony he referred the peace-begging Power to its little +neighbours. Then he did not deign to speak to us, but he +has no hesitation in bargaining with Béla Kun. Are they +really afraid of him? Or do they think that he will surrender +Hungarian nationality in exchange for the freedom +of Bolshevism? Is the national ideal of Hungary more +dangerous in the eyes of the Entente than the national +ideal of the Jews? The British General has gone. His +steps die away in the distance. He has knocked at our +window and we could not move and appeal to him. The +villains have tied our hands and gagged us and we strain +at our bonds in helpless agony.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 6th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The woman for whom we were asked for wine yesterday +was buried to-day. The coffin was placed on the ground +in the clean-swept little farmyard, and her mother arranged +the corpse as though she were putting it to bed. Suddenly +she knelt down beside the coffin and with her trembling, +rugged old hand stroked the rough boards and cried aloud: +“Good God, why hast thou taken her from me, why could +not I die in her place?...”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Thus do mothers address grim death. What will they +say when the attempt is made to take their living children +from them? Her lament became louder and louder and +dominated the ceremony. The Cantor said farewell to the +deceased in verses, singing them to an old-fashioned melody +which he repeated over and over again. This melody +contained the memory of ancient bards and the sorrows +of wandering troubadours; the verses mentioned by name +all the mourning relations, each of whom, as his name was +pronounced, sobbed loudly, as though expressing his +personal grief in the general mourning. When the husband +was named he pressed his face into his doffed hat and his +shoulders shook with sobs. The others had their turn, but +the old woman alone lamented from the beginning to the +end.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Everybody wept over his own sorrow, in the coffin alone +there were no tears. The tree in the yard stretched over +it, and as the branches swayed in the wind the dim sunlight +threw their shadow over the coffin. The shadow revealed +that there were fresh buds on the branches, signs of nature’s +resurrection, and I realised that spring was coming.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<em>In Paradisum</em>....” The priest blessed the coffin, +blessed it as he blesses an infant at a christening, the +couples at a wedding, with the same large movement which +has served since the time of Christ for the blessing on this +earth of new life, of love and of death.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In Budapest the Red Power has decreed that from this +day Christ’s churches are to be closed and kinematographs +established in them. The Christian priesthood is threatened +with the halter. The teaching orders are expelled and the +nuns driven from the bedside of the sick and the cradles +of the orphans. The dresses of their Orders are torn from +<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>them. Their buildings become Communist meeting-places +and the scenes of secret orgies.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Theoretical Socialism has declared that religion is the +private affair of the individual. Now that it has got past +the stage of theory and has entered that of bloodthirsty +reality religion has ceased to be a private affair, for not +even the soul must possess private property. Private +property has been abolished and common property has +been substituted. Religion is no longer a private affair, it +is public business. And public business in Hungary is now +controlled in the name of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat +by twenty-six Jewish People’s Commissaries, who this day +crucify the Word with the same panting hatred with which +they crucified Him two thousand years ago. And the +people stand now as before, unimpressed, at the foot +of the Cross, again not understanding what is being crucified +above its head with laughter, contempt and hatred.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is easier to drive cattle on than human beings; this +the Communists realise. By taking from the people its +religion they take everything from them but the couch, +the platter and the cup; they deprive them at a stroke of +morals, philosophy and beauty.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The people knelt round the coffin and prayed, because +someone was there to tell them to pray; they turned to +their inner selves, above the cup and the platter, because +there was someone who told them that there was a God above.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then the funeral procession wended its way out of the +little farmyard. Four men lifted the coffin, one of them +the dead woman’s husband. His head leant against the +boards as though leaning on her shoulder. The weeping +crowd followed them up the hill-side. The bell tolled in +the steeple above the roofs. And the bell was still ringing +for the dead when, the funeral over, the mood of the people +had changed. The girls, gay in their finery, displayed +their charms. Two farmers bargained over the purchase +of a cow. A young man pinched the arm of a grinning +maid....</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 7th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>News reached us to-day. After driving the King from +Schönbrunn, Vienna has driven him from Eckartsau too. +An escort of British officers protected him and his family. +Henceforth he is to live in Prangins. Thus the little +mountainous region whence long ago Rudolph, Count of +Habsburg, set out towards the Imperial Crown, bearing in +<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>his hand his great destiny, has now, after eight hundred +years, received his heir, holding nothing in his hand but +the past. But there is as much force in an historical past +as in an historical future.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The event provokes a few sardonic lines, set among the +brief news items of the Red papers. The French mob +shouted insults at its King when he was taken to the +Temple. To-day the rabble shouts too. But the +Hungarian nation has nothing in common with the rabble. +The same crowd which knocked down one night the statue +of Francis Joseph in Budapest and smashed the effigies +of kings on the millenary memorial, is now vomiting insults +shamelessly in the columns of its newspapers. But it is +the foreign hand, the foreign voice, that acts and speaks.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The double-headed eagle which swooped down on so +many thrones of Europe, has returned with broken wings +to the mountains. Its shadow passed like a cloud over +the fields of lost battles.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A short notice is all that the foreigners’ press has to give +to the King of Hungary. Those who fawned before him in +endless columns so long as they could use him against the +country, now have no more to give to him when he in turn +can give no longer. Cowardice knows no mean between +cringing and slinging mud. As for the Hungarians, whatever +they may think, in presence of the misfortune of a +man and a King, they bow respectfully and in silence.</p> + +<p class='c009'>King Charles IV. expiates not only his own mistakes, +but those of his predecessors for four centuries. The +descendant pays with the loss of his country, because the +ancestors would never make Hungary their home. The +dynasty allowed its advisers systematically to weaken +Hungary. And this camarilla, to keep the people of the +Great Plain in check, has let loose upon it every possible +nationality, ending with the immigrant gabardined fathers +of Béla Kun and Számuelly. But it was not alone upon +us, it was upon them too. The Habsburgs never understood +that our strength was their strength and our weakness +their weakness. Their whole country was made up of +peoples which were attracted by their kindred beyond the +borders. The peoples of the Monarchy were all looking +outward. The petted Austrians looked towards Germany, +the Poles towards Warsaw, their favourites, the Czechs, +towards the Slav giant, the Roumanians towards young +Roumania, the Southern Slavs towards Serbia, the Italians +towards Italy, the Jews towards the Jewish Internationale. +The Hungarians alone had no such kin. We did not look +<span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>longingly anywhere, nobody tempted us beyond the frontiers. +And yet the rulers preferred all the other peoples +to us, and loaded them with goods, treasures and power.</p> + +<p class='c009'>And now the peoples have gone, taking with them our +land, our goods, our treasures. This is the harvest of four +hundred years policy of <em>divide et impera</em>; the peoples are +divided, but the Habsburgs rule no longer over them. +Between the torn pieces the crown has fallen to the ground.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 8th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>There were elections yesterday in what is left of Hungary. +Now that Socialism is in power it shows how it carries out +the principles of universal suffrage and secret ballot, which +for decades were the catch-words with which it endeavoured +to seduce the electorate. The time has come when no +obstacle to Marxism exists, all ways and means are at its +disposal. In the village since early morning men and +women have been flocking to the communal hall. In the +Soviet Republic, Proletarians alone have a vote, but those +who do not avail themselves of their right are deprived +of their food tickets and are liable to be summoned before +the Revolutionary Tribunal. Priests have no votes. +Hungarian gentry cultivating their own land have no votes, +nor have crippled heroes nor invalided officers. Lawyers +are not Proletarians. But any Russian or foreign Jew +can vote if he is a Proletarian. And the Jews who, before +the social upheaval, claimed that they belonged to cultured +classes, have now turned Proletarians. Even the sons of +bank directors. At the town hall door stood a man who +handed out the printed list of the official candidates.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The voters looked at the list. One or two read it and +swore.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let’s cross this one out and write our cousin’s name +instead,” the women advised. The returning officers +shouted: “Let no one dare to cross out the names of +candidates or substitute others in their place!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Well, Mr. Comrade,” a labourer asked, “then what +am I to do with this bit of paper?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You just go and vote with it, comrade,” was the answer, +and the ticket was taken out of his hand.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Devil take it!” exclaimed the men, passing lists over +the table. And in this spirit the proud and triumphant +Proletariat elected its council.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the neighbouring villages and even in Budapest it +was done in the same way. Comrade Landler’s emissaries +<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>had prepared the lists of candidates in advance. +Preliminary meetings and the assembling of crowds were +prohibited. Even the privileged class of Budapest working +men only saw the printed list of the candidates when the +voters entered the booth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Somebody who had visited Budapest told us who were +the candidates of the People’s Commissaries. In one single +constituency there were twenty-two comrades whose name +was Weiss—a typically Jewish name. Under the supervision +of Red soldiers everything went off smoothly. In +one single ward only was there any disturbance. There the +terrorists had not dared to forbid gatherings; consequently +the electors put their heads together, made up a list of their +own, and defeated the official candidates. This little +incident was quickly settled by the Commissary for the +Interior: he simply annulled the election and the official +list was declared duly elected. Socialism has shown how +it applies its own principles when it achieves power. The +advocates of the unrestricted freedom of the press tolerate +nothing but the official newspapers. The champions of +free assembly will not tolerate the gathering of a few people +in the street. Those who incessantly clamoured for a +reduction of working hours have introduced forced labour. +The frenzied enemies of militarism shout at their recruiting +meetings: “Join the Red army!” The foul-mouthed +demagogues of secret universal suffrage impose on the +people their official candidates.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The foreign intruders have put the roof on the edifice of +which Hungarian labourers had been the masons and +bricklayers. Does Hungarian labour see at last for what +ends its trade-unions have been used? Those who attained +power through the trade-unions are now attempting to +destroy them. By a single decree the Jewish tyrants of +the Soviet Republic have abolished the unions. The +Commissaries of Hungary boldly declare in their official +newspaper, ‘The People’s Voice’:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Part of their task has been achieved by the power +displayed in the great battle of class war.... They +caused the upheaval of the Proletarian Revolution. Class war +is marching on victoriously and has left trade-unionism +behind it. It has become superfluous. The humanitarian task +of trade-union organisations must come under State control.”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 9th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Catastrophes get more and more frequent, evil spreads +<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>and takes root. Early in the morning of the 7th a Soviet +Republic was proclaimed in Münich. Will Bolshevism +stop there or will it involve unfortunate Red Austria? If +our premonitions are realised the horrible rule which +attempts the subjugation of the world will extend from the +Eastern border of Asia to the banks of the Rhine.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Bestial tyranny spreads like a deluge over the earth, +and the bloodless victims of the war are dragged helplessly +into the vortex. It has already swept away towns, +countries, even continents in its uncurbed stream. It has +surged up from under the earth through the gratings of +gutters, through the doors of dark dwellings, down the +marble staircases of banks, over the columns of the newspapers. +The groping, mystical Slav, the high-spirited yet +conservative Hungarian, the meditative clumsy Teuton, +what a contrast of races! Yet the realisation of the Soviet +system has been accompanied in every case by wonderfully +similar symptoms. The awful conception shows no trace +whatever of the racial characteristics of the three peoples, +yet it has been carried through on the same plan and by people +of the same psychology in Moscow, Budapest and Münich.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When Russia collapsed Kerensky was ready, and +Trotsky’s spirit was watching behind Lenin’s shadow. +When Hungary was fainting and reeling from loss of blood, +there, behind Károlyi, were Kunfi, Jászi and Pogány on +the look-out, and they were followed by Béla Kun and his +band. And when Bavaria began to totter, Kurt Eisner +was waiting to organise the first act. As with us and with +Russia, the second act followed and there stood Max +Levian (Lewy), the Moscow Jew, to proclaim the repetition +of the Proletarian Republic and the replica of Hungarian +and Russian Bolshevism.</p> + +<p class='c009'>While I was tracing the connection of the bloody events, +my mind turned to certain incidents of the past. Early +spring was looking through my window and gentle winds +fanned my face. But I thought of a dense, sticky fog. It +was from the fog that a man’s howl rose: “Long live the +Revolution! To death with Tisza!” There it was again, +howling from the staircase of the House of Parliament: +“Let us see no more soldiers!” What demoniacal power, +hidden by the fog, prompted these cries? What power +cast its spell to lure a haughty, brave nation into shame, +cowardice and perdition? Months have passed since I +first asked this question, and the obvious answer revolted +my conscience, which required time to be convinced. But +Calvary has taught me the lesson. Now I seek no longer, +I know. It is not by accident that the scourge and the +executioner, the law and the law-giver, the judge and the +sentence, of the Turanian Hungarians, the Teutonic +Bavarians and the Slav Russians were one and the same. +The racial differences of the three peoples are too great to +render that mysterious resemblance possible. It is clear +that it must originate from the soul of another people +which lives among them, but not with them, and has +triumphed over all three. The demon of the Revolution +is not an individual, not a party, but a race among the races.</p> + +<div id='i_058fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_058fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>ALEXANDER CSIZMADIA.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>LABOURER. ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR AGRICULTURE.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>The Jews are the last people of the Ancient East who +survived among the newer peoples of shorter history. As +the carriers of biblical tradition they have been assured a +certain tolerance and they look for the accomplishment of +certain ancient curses. Despised in some places, they were +feared in others, but everywhere they remained for ever +foreigners.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Jew comes uninvited and declines to go when +dismissed. He spreads and yet holds together. He +penetrates the bodies of the nations. He invisibly organises +his own nation among alien peoples. He creates laws +beyond the law. He denies the conception of ‘patrie’ +but has a ‘patrie’ of his own which wanders and settles +with him. He scoffs at other people’s conception of God +and yet builds churches of his own everywhere. He +laments the fallen walls of Jerusalem and drags the ruins +invisibly with him. He complains of his isolation but +builds secret ways as arteries of the boundless city which +has by now spread practically throughout the world. His +connections and communications reach everywhere. Otherwise +how can it be possible that his finances and his press +should, wherever they may be centred, strive for the same +goal all over the world? How is it that his racial interests +are identical in a Ruthenian village and in the heart of New +York? He praises one individual, and the praise rings +over the globe. He condemns another, and that man’s +ruin begins wherever he be. Orders are given in mysterious +secrecy. What the Jew finds ridiculous in other people, +he keeps fanatically alive in himself. He teaches anarchy +and rebellion only to the gentiles, he himself obeys blindly +the directions of his invisible leaders.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mirabeau was led towards the Revolution by Moses +Mendelssohn and the influence of beautiful Jewesses. They +were there, in Paris, behind every revolution, and they +appear in history among the leading spirits of the Commune +of 1871. But they are only visible during the hours of +<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>incitement and success; they are not to be found among +the martyrs and the sufferers. When the returning powers +of order proceeded to take revenge on the Commune, Marx +and Leo Frankel had fled.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was during the days of the Turkish Revolution that a +Jew said proudly to my father: “We made that: the +Young Turks are Jews.” I remember at the time of +the Portuguese Revolution Marquis Vasconcellos, the +Portuguese Minister in Rome, telling me: “The Revolution +of Lisbon is instigated by Jews and Freemasons.” And +to-day, when the greater half of Europe is in the throes of +revolution, the Jews lead everywhere in accordance with +their concerted plans. Plans like these cannot be conceived +in a few months or a few years. How, then, is it possible +that people have not noticed it? How could such a worldwide +conspiracy be concealed when so many people were +involved? The easy-going and blind, the bribed, wicked +or stupid agents of the nation did not know what the game +was. The organisers in the background belonged to the +only human race which has survived antiquity and has +remembered how to guard a secret. That is the reason +why not a single traitor was found among them.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 10th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Baron Jeszenszky paid us a visit.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You would not recognise Budapest any longer. There +are queues in front of all the restaurants. Many people +take up their seat on the kerb early in the morning, so as +to make sure of a dinner. They have to take tickets +beforehand if they want to get a meal, just as one used to +book one’s seat for the theatre. The meals too are like +stage meals, for they consist of tiny portions of bad food +which have to be gulped down in a hurry because the +following number is waiting impatiently. A porridge of +millet, greens and stewed cabbage, that is the menu. That +is the food for which people wait for hours and pay +exorbitant sums. They enter hungry and leave hungry. +They stagger, sick with hunger. Everybody is emaciated.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Only the new privileged classes, the families of People’s +Commissaries, the millionaires of the Revolution and the +body-guard of the Cabinet, the ‘Terror Boys,’ live well. +I thought of the Batthyány palace. A band of terrorists +occupied it in the first days of the Commune, and they +have remained there ever since. The grand drawing-room, +where I used to see masses of azaleas between the magnificent +<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>old furniture, is theirs, with everything that artistic +and beauty-loving generations have collected. I wonder +who listens now to the ticking of the old clock which once +belonged to Michael Apafi, Prince of Transylvania? What +hands finger the ivory Christ of Countess Louis Batthyány? +Dreadful tales are told of the palace. It is said that those +who are dragged there by the terrorists are never seen again.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Baron Jeszenszky then spoke of other things.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Palaces are treated worse than other places. The finer +the mansion the dirtier the people who are installed in it. +Cooking ranges are put into the drawing-rooms, their +chimneys rest against the brocade-covered walls. Libraries +are transformed into sculleries.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Somebody mentioned the National Club.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The whole place is unspeakably filthy,” Jeszenszky +said. “The silver, the whole equipment, the library, have +all been confiscated. The office which disposes of the +property of the Church has been established there. An +unfrocked priest of the Piarist Order sits there organising +the despoiling of the Church and the confiscation of the +property of the various creeds. The provincial Soviets +receive their orders to attack convents and the palaces +of bishops from this place.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Evening was darkening the windows. The clock struck. +For a while we stayed with Jeszenszky, then we walked +towards the village.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let us look at that house which is for sale,” said +Elisabeth Kállay, as we turned off the main road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We crossed a small farmyard. The house was surrounded +by mud, and it took some time before the good wife could +be found. She asked us to wait as the master was out, and +brought us chairs. A young man strolled out from the +stable, doffed his hat, and sat down on the stairs. Now +and then he looked stealthily at us, then went on smoking +his pipe in silence.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Lenke Kállay spoke to him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“One knows little that is good and little that is bad +about this new order,” he said cautiously. “There are +some who like it and some who don’t. It may be true that +the Government intends to give every farmer three hundred +acres and make them free of taxes.” Then he cast his eyes +down and began to stir the mud with the point of his boot. +“You see, they will confiscate nothing but big fortunes, +and that for justice’s sake.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The sound of a cart was heard approaching from +the main road. Elisabeth Kállay turned in that direction.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>“I have heard that carts and horses are being +requisitioned for the Red army.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The attitude of the man changed suddenly. He raised +his head threateningly and his voice was full of rage: +“Just let them try. I will knock down the first who +touches mine!”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 11th–13th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Palm Sunday. Spring has come. Easter is approaching +through awakening nature, and yet this Palm Sunday is +very different from all those I can remember. The days of +persecution, forgotten for thousands of years, are rising +from their grave and haunting us. Life is like the ravings +of a fever-stricken brain; the Christian faith is persecuted +in Hungary to-day. Our churches are in danger. Kunfi, +the People’s Commissary for Education, the Jew who has +so often changed his religion, has decreed that the priests +must read from the pulpit every Sunday for three weeks +only that which they are directed to read.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The apathetic village has cast off its apathy: as if rising +in defence of its property it becomes demonstrative. In +the be-ribboned costumes of the country, girls in white +shirts, with long waists and short skirts, women in shawls, +are going up the hill-side. Behind them comes the throng +of men. The procession has a determined obstinate look +about it. Besides its faith, beyond its prayers, there is in +the soul of this people the old Hungarian spirit of rebellion. +There are many of them; the whole village, even the +invalids, have turned up. The banners of the church are +swaying slowly, higher and higher up the hill. A cross, +carried aloft, shows against the sky. The little sun-kissed +square in front of the church swarms with men in black and +women in all colours of the rainbow. Bells ring and the +smell of incense pervades the cold air of the church. +Palm leaves are consecrated by the priest at the altar.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I hid behind the Kállays in the dim light of the oratory. +The crowd surged at the end of the aisle, furrowed faces, +seamed with toil. In front of them little girls, starched +little figures rendered artificially ugly, their tightly-plaited +hair standing up on the sides of their heads, like little horns +ornamented with ribbons. The boys stood on the other +side. Those who stood bare-footed on the cold flags raised +their feet alternately to warm them against their legs. A +tall boy nudged his small brother. The little one looked +back, but prayed on without laughing. Even the children +<span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span>seemed more serious than usual. I have never seen a more +serious crowd.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The poor village organ struggled pantingly with the +Gregorian chants. Under the motionless church banners +the human voices rose, some high, some low, a little out of +tune and clumsy. Yet the ancient liturgical song, the +thousand-year-old mournful song of Palm Sunday was very +touching.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“... And they betrayed the Son of Man to be crucified....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>These words, so often heard, fell like blows on my heart, +and had now a new meaning for me. I felt that this Palm +Sunday was not a commemoration of the past, but a +statement of the dark happenings of the present. Christ +was undergoing a fresh Passion on this earth. The ancient +plaintive tune of the Passion continued in the church.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“... Then did they spit in His face, and buffeted Him; +and others smote Him with the palms of their hands, saying +Prophesy unto us, thou Christ, who is he that smote Thee?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>As if all the church were thinking the same, a shudder +went through the crowd: <em>the same people had smitten +Him two thousand years ago</em>.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“... And when He was accused, He answered nothing....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It seemed an awful duty to repeat the cry of the Jews +from the Gospels: “Let Him be crucified!” And the +words followed by which the people of Jerusalem accepted +the responsibility for the sentence:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“His blood be on us and on our children!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was a moment’s silence, as if the people were +following the burden carried by their voices. And then, +as from afar, the song resumed:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“... And led him away to crucify Him....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The organ, like a decrepit old shepherd, gathered the +flock together. The voices rose in unison and clamoured +in such despair as has probably never been heard in this +our land:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“... My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The people chanted it with pale faces, with broken hearts, +and in that moment every one of them was Christ and +Christ’s words were their own.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The sounds had died away, and yet a feeling as of a +wound remained. The church door opened and through +the doorway the bright sunshine floated in. And the +centuries-old hymn of Hungarian Catholicism rang out in +a last appeal. It spread, rose, and mingled with spring, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>and its eastern rhythm and western faith clamoured to the +endless blue sky.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 14th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Nowadays I often feel like one who has lost his way in an +unknown country on a dark night. He dares not move: +he stands in the dark and waits for the sun to rise. But +sunrise never seems to come, his terror becomes insufferable, +and his mind becomes unhinged.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The whole of Hungary is in darkness to-day. Those who +were once together are separated. Each isolated district +bears its tribulation in solitude. What is happening in +Transylvania, in Upper Hungary, down in the South, +beyond the Danube, or in Budapest itself? In the dark +one hears nothing but the awful crash of collapse, one is +ignorant what has fallen down and where the cataclysm +happened. Then all of a sudden news comes in secret +whispers. The whole country is falling. In Transylvania +and in the South the Roumanians and Serbians rule with +the scourge in their hands. In Upper Hungary the Czechs +labour to fill the prisons. They persecute and punish +everything Hungarian. But for that, life must be more +tolerable there than in the Red area, because there people +have the hope of resurrection. The events here, if they +are to continue, can only end in death. In Budapest and +in all that remains of Hungary the miscreants are erecting +gallows. At first they promised integrity, bread, peace +and freedom. Now they are sneering at our territorial +integrity. They give us starvation instead of bread, a +Red army instead of peace. Here and there the disillusioned, +betrayed victims raise their voices. Deception, +as a means of government, can never be anything but +transitory, and can only be followed by the honest truth +or by terrorism. What will become of us? How often +have we asked that question?</p> + +<p class='c009'>I gazed out upon Nature’s calendar. When I left home +it was still winter; it snowed now and then and the bare +branches showed up black against the bleak sky. Then +one day the sickle of the moon appeared, like the windblown +flame of a torch, above the hillock, and green clouds +covered the bushes. The green clouds have turned into +young leaves and beyond the hillock above the steeple +night raises a round red disk in the sky. Many days have +passed. Enough days for the moon to grow to its full size.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span><em>The Night of April 14th–15th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The embers have died in the stove. I watched them for +a long time: now they are collapsing, and it is cold. There +has never been a cold like this, yet I sit here and write, +though there is no reason for it. But after all, I do not +write for others, I do not write to keep a record of my +thoughts, I write only to relieve my feelings.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Charles Kiss came this evening, running the gauntlet of +the police in order to bring me news.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It may be an afterthought, but it seems to me that I +knew he was coming. I believe I felt something impending, +something I had feared for days, something unavoidable. +In the evening the others had discussed the coming Easter +festivities. I did not join in the conversation; I kept out +of it whenever I could, and perhaps it was this that gave +me a lonely feeling. There is such a thing as presentiment.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I am not allowed to stay here.</p> + +<p class='c009'>To-day everybody who is Hungarian is outlawed and +homeless on every inch of Hungarian soil. To their +bloodhounds our ‘rulers’ throw the lives of those who +dare to fight against them. I have fought against them +and my life has been proscribed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>They have selected for the deed a certain Mikulics, a +one-eyed terrorist, nicknamed ‘the Cyclops’ by the others. +I never heard of him before, but it appears that he is the +plenipotentiary chief of the Air Service. Számuelly said +of him that he was so cruel that even he could not stand +up against him. This man has been commissioned to settle +with me. He himself said: “I must do away with her.” +And henceforth my life will depend upon my ability to +avoid him. There is another one also who is after me, and +he too is quite unknown to me. He is the head of the +newly-established Secret Service, and is a bosom friend of +Számuelly. He is called Otto Korvin, though his real +name is Klein. He is a hunchbacked little Jew who used +to be a bank clerk.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The idea of it fills me with terror. A hand seems to be +feeling for me, slowly, steadily, trying to grasp me. I +have had that feeling ever since Charles Kiss told me about +it. Faithful friend! How concerned he was, and how +pale he looked; he could only talk in whispers. When +his carriage stopped under the porch, Lenke Kállay shouted +to him:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you bring good news?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’ll tell you when we are alone.” And when no one +else was within earshot he told us the news he brought. I +<span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>remember clearly that I nodded and wondered at the same +time why I did so. My mother has been examined.... +Eight armed soldiers surrounded our cottage. Meanwhile +detectives examined everybody in the house separately. +It lasted two hours. They were threatening and declared +that it was useless to try to deceive them, they were on my +track and knew full well where I was.</p> + +<p class='c009'>My mother showed the letter I had written to her and +declared it had reached her from the other side of the +Danube. That was all she knew about me. She seemed +cool and composed all the time and she looked so haughtily +at them that suddenly they ceased calling her comrade. +They even took their hats off and talked to her bareheaded. +After they had left, my sister Mary found my mother in +her room lying on the sofa. She was in a state of collapse +and cried bitterly. On her table lay the warrant for my +arrest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I cannot bear the sight of it,” she said. “Put it +somewhere where I cannot see it.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>No tears came to my eyes, and yet I was sobbing inwardly +and unseen. I saw by their faces that they thought I was +quite collected.</p> + +<p class='c009'>My brothers and sisters were questioned too, principally +Vera, who had worked so much with me in the interests +of the Counter-revolution, and Géza. They were called to +the police station. Charles Kiss also was arrested. He +came before a Jewish monster called Juhász, the head of +the investigation department of the political police. The +other officials were just like him. The office was all dirt, +confusion and Jews.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They filled me with disgust and when I found myself +unguarded I escaped.” He laughed like a naughty boy who +had played a prank. And I laughed too, though my heart +was breaking. Then suddenly I thought, what if they +were to arrest my mother in my place? Or take some +other hostage?... The room reeled round me at the +thought.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I must go home and give myself up,” I stammered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>All of them began to argue at this. It would be sheer +madness, they said; nobody would suffer for me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I shall bring disaster on this house too....” I tried +to find words to express my regret. Meanwhile the others +were planning my escape. I only realised this when +T heard that my family wanted me to fly the +country.</p> + +<div id='i_066fp1' class='figleft id004'> +<img src='images/i_066fp1.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>BÉLA JUHASZ <em>alias</em> GOLDSTEIN.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>A CHIEF OF THE SECRET POLICE.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='figright id004'> +<img src='images/i_066fp2.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>JOSEPH PECZKAI.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>ONE OF SZÁMUELLY’S “DEATH TRAIN” COMPANY.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>“Through Balassagyarmat....” I heard Elisabeth +approve the plan. Aladár Huszár was sure to help me +across the river Ipoly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was Lenke Kállay who pointed out that it was essential +that the servants should not know whither I went. I was +to travel to Aszód as if I were going to Budapest, turn back +there and go to Balassagyarmat. I shuddered with disgust: +the station of Aszód with its red flags, the fat political +delegate, the fiddler, the Internationale, came to my mind. +I remembered a seat on the platform and reflected that I +should have to sit there from seven in the morning till five +in the afternoon. The people would be able to look at me +without my being able to hide my face.</p> + +<p class='c009'>As soon as I was alone these details assailed me with +redoubled force. I leant my forehead against the windowpane, +which felt smooth and cold, and soothed me as a cool +hand might have done. I looked at my watch. It had +stopped: I had forgotten to wind it up. A carriage rattled +by under the window; it was taking Charles Kiss to the +station. To-morrow at the same time it would carry me, +and I shall be alone. I had refused to go with him, my +fate must not be shared by others: anyone arrested in my +company would be dragged down with me to the same +disaster. Let him go, if possible, in peace; let him make +his escape, my gratitude will go with him. No one has +ever shown me greater kindness than he.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 15th–16th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>My last day in Berczel. It seems to me as if a mischievous +hand had passed over the pleasant picture and had effaced +it. Here and there a tinge remained. This morning the +sun was shining on the lawn in front of my window and in +its golden rays the dog scampered eagerly. Afternoon +wore quickly on, and the sun shone no longer. The ears +of corn rustled together in the gilt clock on the wall. How +many grains are there still in store for me?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Young George Kállay went for Baron Jeszenszky, whose +advice was certain to be worth having. When he was told +what had happened he grasped the situation at once. He +wrote me a letter of recommendation to the dismissed +magistrate of Aszód and took charge of my papers.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I shall put them up the chimney. They may not find +them there.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Beyond the garden on the crest of the hillocks the train +from Aszód was passing along like a tiny, smoking toy. +This train had been haunting me the whole day. Now it +was gone. For this one day I need not fear the arrival of +the bloodhounds. And if they should come to-morrow +they will find the place empty.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A carriage from the station should be here by now,” +said Lenke. So they had been thinking of the same thing. +The horn of a motor-car resounded on the main road. Mrs. +Kállay looked up from her embroidery: “I had a bad +dream last night. I dreamt that a big motor stopped in +front of the house and that detectives stepped out of it.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The car had passed the garden gate, but the shock it had +given us remained. Now I could think of one thing only; +the slow passage of time and the wish that it would pass +faster. If only I were gone from here and knew that the +people who had befriended me were no longer incurring +danger on my behalf! I made a miserable attempt to say +something to that effect: “Thank you, and please forgive +me.” Henriette Apor gave me her box of matches: there +were only a few left in it, yet it was a precious gift, for there +had been no matches in the house for a long time.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I never thought a human being could be so alone in the +world. Now everybody must be for himself only. I had +<span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>premonitions of death, and thought of those I had seen, +whose deaths I had witnessed. I began to understand +their feelings at the approaching struggle in which none +could render them aid. It had been of no use to hold their +hands, to adjust their pillows, to sit up with them. And +now there was nobody even to hold my hand, to sit up +with me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The rain began to fall in scattered drops, as though a sad +spirit had wept upon the window panes. On that fateful +night of March it had rained thus when I left my home and +the streets resounded with the shout: “Long live the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat!” These had been the +words that brought calamity upon us. Here with the rain +the feeling of outlawry and isolation seized me, and I faced +a dark vindictive world. I shut my eyes, wishing I could +escape from myself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I may have slumbered restlessly, tossing about, for a few +minutes; then I jumped up as if I had been shaken and +began to dress with needless speed by the light of the candle. +It was dark outside when the door of my room opened +quietly. Elisabeth Kállay was standing there. She came +to bid me farewell, and the action steadied me. We shook +hands: “God bless you!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>When the big gate of the castle opened before me, the +piercing cold cut me like a knife, and I shrank back. Night +stood in front of me like a damp black wall, through which +I must pass. For an instant I felt as if someone were +dogging my footsteps. The gate slammed with a bang +behind me and made me feel as if all gates had closed on me +and as if I were excluded from everything; a homeless, +countryless, beggarly wanderer on earth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I penetrated deeper and deeper into the damp blackness, +making my way through the garden towards the stables +where the carriage was waiting for me.... The wheels +splashed in the mud, rain poured, my shoulders and my +skirt round my knees were soaked. Dawn was breaking +when we reached the main road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>From the wayside station a dark, cold little train carried +me through the frosty morning. I may have fallen asleep +for awhile, but I remember the last violent jerk: Aszód! +It was just the same: putrid filth covered the platform. +There, on the side of a waggon, was the inscription written +in human excrement: “Death to the bourgeois!” The +station was if possible even dirtier than before. Notwithstanding +the early hour, a sad and sleepy deputation +with red flags was waiting there. One of them said at the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>exit that there was going to be a recruiting meeting, a +comrade from Budapest was going to make a speech, his +special train was already signalled. This made me hurry. +The parcel of food given me before I started was pulled +from under my arm, but it did not matter. My valise was +already in the cloak-room and I hurried off towards the +town. A red flag was floating on the Reformatory like a +piece of raw flesh. There were flags everywhere, and +strange big posters covered the walls. The lines on them +appeared to represent mad knots of tangled intestines. +When I looked more closely, my eyes made out the outlines +of horrible soldiers, pregnant giant women, skulls, bloodstained +workmen, bare to the waist, glaring at me. “Join +the Red army!” “Alcohol is dead!” “To arms, +Proletarians!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I was so tired that everything frightened me. The bare +trees on the sidewalk stood in a row as if waiting for victims +to be hanged on them. The dais which stood covered with +red under the grey sky in the middle of the market place +looked like a scaffold and the houses seemed to watch it +wickedly, disdainfully. The streets were covered with +mud: the repulsive mess spread all over the place and the +houses alone seemed to keep it within its bed. If one +of them had been removed, it seemed that the mud would +have overflowed the whole country.</p> + +<p class='c009'>People lived in these surroundings, dragged themselves +resignedly along in the black mire, surrounded by the +monstrous posters. Nobody rebelled, they just let themselves +sink and drown. This resignation stretched beyond +the town, and the whole country surrendered to its fate.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A Jew dressed like a townsman except for his cap passed +in a carriage, stopped, and beckoned. Two men of the +working class ran up to him. He pointed towards the +market and gave orders. The men listened respectfully. +Then the man in the cap looked at me, and as his gaze +fell on me I felt the blood rush to my head, for he turned +back as if he knew me. It seemed to me that I too recognised +this weak face, these thick, soft lips, these shapeless +ears. Perhaps it has bowed before me over the counter +of some Budapest bank, this puffy face which now looked +slimy and dark as if it had been shaped out of the mud. +But it passed from my sight.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A number of Red soldiers were loafing in front of a low +house. They wore flat caps ornamented with red ribbons, +and red-bordered blouses after the Russian pattern. This +group impressed me strangely and filled me with anxiety: +<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>they were not Hungarian soldiers, they were enemies. +They were the armed servants of a foreign power, the sole +relics of our disbanded army! The Red army! Hungarian +national guards, Hungarian hussars, were you disbanded +to become like these? This was the first time I had seen +the Red guards of the Soviet.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Behind the soldiers the walls were posted with orders +and regulations. A door was wide open and machine-guns +could be seen pointing from the disordered yard within. +A few steps further a woman was standing on the pavement +talking through an open window. She kept glancing +anxiously behind her and I heard her sigh. Nowadays +only those who look round in fear and sigh can be trusted, +so I went up to her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Can you tell me where M. Sárkány, the magistrate, +lives?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That door there.” The woman looked frightened and +went away quickly. I entered a small house.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No, Comrade Sárkány is not in, he has left town.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The earth seemed to give way under me. What was I +to do? Could they let me in, I asked. I had come from +far and was tired. But it was no good. Then I said I had +a message, and at this I was allowed to enter. It was still +early in the day. I had a long time to wait. Then Mme. +Sárkány came in. While she read Baron Jeszenszky’s +letter, she became more and more excited.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Then.... I see.... That is the reason ... the +Reds have been looking this morning for a lady and a +gentleman.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I thought of Charles Kiss. Was it possible they were +looking for us?</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You cannot stay here,” said Mme. Sárkány. “The +house is watched. Bokányi has come from Budapest and +is going to give an address in the market place. There are +journalists with him. They are going to be quartered here +and they are sure to recognise you.” She turned very pale. +“No, you cannot stay here. The best thing you can do +is to take the next train and travel on to Hatvan.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The instinct of self-preservation rebelled in me so that +I was astonished at the heat with which I replied: “That +would be to run straight into the prison gate. Why does +everybody send me nearer Budapest, when the train is the +most likely place where I could be recognised?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Here you are not in safety for a minute.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If I could get a carriage....” Then a sudden idea +came to me. “I could go to Iklad, to Countess Ráday....”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>Mme. Sárkány nodded and left the room at once. How +long she was away I could not tell, I only know that she +came back once more and told me to get ready as there +would be a carriage for me presently. I was very cold, and +asked for a cup of tea. Then I hesitated before making my +next request. Could I have a few matches? In great +haste she gave me some. “Be quick.... Be quick!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The door was torn open and an old lady stood on the +threshold. Her face was grey and she clasped her head +between her hands.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It is too late. The Reds have taken the carriage!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I went out all the same. Three soldiers stood near a cart +and I pressed money into the hand of one of them. He +looked at it stealthily so that the others should not see. I +implored them to let me have the cart. I did not want to +go far, not half an hour, and I would send it back.... +While they were debating the matter I suddenly jumped +into the cart and the driver whipped up his horses. “To +the station, for my luggage!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The soldiers shouted insults after us but the noise of the +wheels drowned their words. The cart was covered with +liquid manure. There was a hole in one of the bottom +boards and through it I could watch the road running past. +I shuddered; once more I had to cross this awful town.</p> + +<p class='c009'>At the station I snatched my valise. “Be quick! +Drive on!” Then suddenly I caught sight of the mud-faced +man with the cap. The coachman looked back at +me and seemed to understand my trouble; he gave the +horses their heads and the rickety little cart flew over the +sea of mud. The puffy face looked after me, but we turned +off into a side street and the low houses and closed shops +were quickly left behind. Astonished faces peeped out +of the windows: I must have looked rather quaint in my +town dress on a manure cart! Motor-cars passed from +the opposite direction, probably carrying agitators from +Budapest. Nowadays one only sees Jews in motor-cars. +Instinctively I covered my face with my handkerchief. +The road passed under the walls of a fine old castle: its +outlines appeared for an instant against the grey sky from +among the trees of the park. It was the only spot of beauty +in the sea of mud.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The one who lived there committed suicide,” the driver +said, pointing with his whip towards the castle. The +board put across the cart which served me as a seat was +jumping to and fro. I caught hold of the edges of the cart +and leant forward.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>“Who lived there?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It used to be a boarding school. Little ladies were +taught in it.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I asked for more details.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Well, you see,” he said, weighing his words, “when +the new order of things came, a comrade was sent down +here. He was no older than fifteen and he was a Jew, the +beggar was. He used to declaim to the school children in +the market place....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I asked him to go on.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I am ashamed to speak of these things,” the man +grumbled, “but, with your leave, that son of a bitch used +to explain aloud there in the market place how children +were produced. He also said that one need not obey one’s +parents. He also said that it did not matter if girls went +wrong, it was only the priests who pretended that it was +a sin. No more need to worry about bastards, the State +would look after them.” He pushed his hat back on his +head and expectorated violently. “Damn his eyes! No +more God, no more honour! Here in the boarding school +he said the same thing as in the market place. He +encouraged the little misses to make love freely with the +boys. He had pictures to show them how it was done. +The headmistress just wept and wrung her hands. At last +she did for herself.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The cart rattled. Something seemed to shake within me +too. I looked down and saw the road through the hole in +the bottom: the earth receded rapidly under the cart. +When I looked up at last the town was no longer in sight. +I had left the execution ground.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Rain now began to fall anew, but I did not heed it, for a +fresh breeze was blowing over the fields, and those whom I +met, peasants on carts or on foot, were different from those +in town. A village came in view, a house, a garden full +of flowers. The cart entered the yard of Iklad, and a +girl came running towards me from the corridor:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They are not at home! Since they have been taken +to Aszód they have not been allowed to come home.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I was very cold and very tired: “Might I stay here a +little—till the train for Balassagyarmat comes?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Please don’t!” exclaimed the frightened girl. “We +are expecting the Communists every minute. They are +coming to requisition things.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Of course, it does not matter....” And I thought +of the heavy clang with which the gate of Berczel had +closed behind me. All gates were closed as this one now.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>“Let us go,” I said to the coachman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>By this time the girl had recovered her senses. “You +might go to the house of the railway guard, and wait for +the train there. Uncle Nagy, the guard, is a kind man, he’ll +let you.” And she added something about bringing me +some dinner when the Communists were gone.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Under centenarian trees, on the other side of the road, +the guard’s house was hidden beside the roadway. A +fowl-house, a little stack of wood, a garden with quaint +little flower-beds.... A tall elderly man, dressed in the +blouse of the railway guards, came towards me. He +touched his cap and asked me what I wanted. The office +was closed, the train would not arrive till five.... So +he was going to send me away too.... I felt again how +tired I was, wet to the bone, and ravenously hungry. I +spoke slowly, so as to gain time and to be able to stay for +a little longer under a roof, out of the rain, and also to +nurse my hopes a little. But the man did not send me +away. He shrugged his shoulders:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Of course you are welcome to stay here if you like. +But you won’t find it over comfortable.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I laughed from sheer joy, laughed aloud. I could stay, +and it was my host who apologised! Tears came to my +eyes: comfort? He did not realise what royal comfort +he offered me. A corner where I would withdraw out of +sight, a nook whence I should not be driven, a seat which +is not drenched with rain and on which I might rest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>His wife came in too, a kindly little woman, aged before +her time. She invited me into the room and wiped a chair +with her apron, then began splitting wood in the kitchen. +When the fire had burnt up she opened the door so as to +let in the warmth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Warmth! As it slowly thawed me it also thawed my +heart. At first my mind remained inactive, I was just +happy. Then I began slowly to take notice of the things +around me. Under the low roof, above the piled-up bed, +a text was hanging in a gaudy frame. I read it over and +over again during my long wait, and yet I cannot remember +it. Oleographs and family portraits hung on the walls, +the women sitting in stiff poses, the men with long, waxed +moustaches. A fretwork basket stood on the chest of +drawers. Everything shone in a reddish, warm light. A red +piece of cloth served as a curtain over the window. And +as I sat on my hard chair the guard’s hut seemed slowly to +become strangely familiar to me, as did the room with its +cheap ornaments, as if I had been there before. But then +<span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>the house stood in another landscape, far away, on the +Carso, amidst bleak rock, on a wild mountain. Then I +was young, and writing my first novel: <cite>Stonecrop</cite>. That +other house, to which I had given the youth of my creative +power, stood between two tunnels. And it dawned upon +me that perhaps there was no such thing as hazard, that +even little guards’ houses return to you the love you have +once bestowed upon them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Something caught my eye, I had not noticed it before—a +calendar hung on the whitewashed wall and I read in the +dim, reddish light: April 16, 1919. That recalled me to +reality. Carriages passed on the road coming from the +direction of Aszód—stolen carriages, and in them sat +suspicious-looking people, Jews in fur coats, and they all +drove into the courtyard of the castle. I watched them +from behind the red curtains. They entered the house +noisily: was it not all theirs? And the windows of +the castle stared in rigid astonishment out into the +garden, as if they wondered what was happening behind +them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Hours passed by. In the castle yard the Communists +were packing up, taking whatever they fancied. I sat +quietly in my room and looked out through the window. +Sometimes a noise made me draw back, then I returned +to my post of observation. It may have been about noon +when a hand-driven trolley car arrived from Aszód. Voices +issued commands in the small office and steps were heard +all over the house. I held my breath in alarm. At last +they went, and silence ensued. Dinner was ready in the +kitchen: there was a smell of boiled potatoes. I was very +hungry and the good woman offered me some, but there +were so few on the little earthenware dish. “No, thank +you, it is too early.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Later on the girl sent a message from the castle that the +Communists had eaten or carried away everything eatable +from the kitchen and the larder. She could send me no +food, but would I write my name down so that she might +inform the Countess when she came home? I remembered +the <em>alias</em> Elisabeth Kállay had selected for me to hide my +identity when I came to Balassagyarmat: ‘Elisabeth +Földváry’.... I repeated it to myself several times. +It seemed funny that henceforth this should be the name +by which I should be known. The guard’s wife tore the +date from the calendar and told me I could write it down +on that, but I did not do so, and she took no notice. She +came and went, working in the house like an ant, tidied +<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>up her kitchen, then took the red curtain from the window +and began to wash the window panes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The rain had stopped and a cold wind whistled and +howled, driving the clouds before it. In the house the +signal bells hummed all the while. The guard came in, +rolling a grimy little signal flag in his hands, and spoke to +his wife about the Communists. If this went on much +longer they would carry off everything from the castle. He +spoke to me too, and told me that when the people from +Aszód had arrested Count Ráday he had been compelled +to wash the Jews’ cars in the street. “But he gave it +them! He turned up the sleeves of his shirt and ordered +the scoundrels to watch him, saying ‘now you shall learn +how to do this job properly!’” The guard laughed to +himself: the story pleased him immensely: “But then +the men of Iklád got out their scythes, and the next two +villages joined them. They were going to fetch the Count +and the Countess with six horses, because each village insisted +on supplying at least two horses for his carriage....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly the guard went out. I saw his cap in front of +the window and he held the signal flag in his hand. With +a great clatter a clumsy goods train passed over the rails. +Soldiers with red ribbons were escorting it and shouted at +him as they passed. A chalked inscription ornamented +the black waggons: ‘Long live Béla Kun! Long live +the Red army!’</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The vagabonds, they are conveying arms! And as +for the Directory of Aszód, they are a lot of cruel Jew boys. +The people live in terror of them. Even at night the +inhabitants have no rest. During the war the Czech +deserters were kept in cotton wool at the aeroplane factory. +Now they are the greatest Communist heroes. They steal +more than all the others together.” Then he scowled. +“But things will be different soon! It is no good giving +us a lot of their worthless banknotes. They won’t take +us in. We railwaymen will have something to say in the +matter!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The telephone rang in the office: Aszód on the line, my +train was signalled. My lassitude vanished suddenly, but +as I stepped out of the little house I felt as if a veil had been +torn from my face, and the exposure seemed physically +painful.</p> + +<div id='i_076fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_076fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>COUNTRYFOLK GOING TO DRAW RATIONS.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>Slowly, hissing and panting, the train approached. +People were sitting on top of the waggons, people hung +from the steps, and even the buffers had their riders. I +tried to get up but was pushed back. I ran along the +train but not a door would open, for inside the people were +pressed against them. I ran on and on, saying to myself +‘anywhere, anyhow will do.’ I struggled with another +door-handle. The train started. What on earth shall I +do if I lose it? The guard came to my rescue at last, but +boxes and trunks blocked the door. Someone pushed me +forward, someone else pulled. My bag hit me in the back. +And then I could move no more and the train carried me +away.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I had got into an old condemned carriage and an icy wind +blew unhindered through its unglazed windows. People +were crowding against one another on the narrow floor—women, +soldiers, an officer, a dirty fat man. Wedged +between them, I stood on one leg, the only foothold I could +secure, indeed I was practically suspended by the pressure +of their fetid bodies. But as things were I thought myself +lucky. I had to take my ticket on the train, and when the +conductor forced his way to our compartment he asked +me for my trade-union permit. So now they were going +to make me get off again, I thought. I pretended to look +for it in my bag, but the officer who was crushed up against +me spoke to the conductor and shewed him some paper: +“make the ticket out for two.” The conductor did so and +the officer pocketed tickets for himself and for me. I paid +him the fare, he too was going to Balassagyarmat.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly I found myself standing on both feet, and +thus I noticed that the crowd had diminished. At +every small station someone got off and there were no new +passengers. Now one could look through the window into +the corridor of the carriage preceding ours. A young man +in a fur coat sat there smoking; he wore a soft hat and his +face was flushed with the cold. For a time I looked at him +indifferently; then suddenly I began to feel uneasy. I +didn’t want to see him, yet I felt my eyes attracted by +him. My apprehensions steadily increased: I was angry +with myself, it was all imagination! But if this man +should be searching for me?...</p> + +<p class='c009'>We reached the station which serves Berczel: I had +left it twelve hours earlier, in the morning. How tired I +had become since then! The door of the next carriage +opened suddenly and the man in the fur coat jumped on +to the platform and strode towards the stationmaster’s +office. He was searching for me! I was as convinced of +it as if somebody had told me. He was going to Berczel +and he would not find me there! I felt incredibly happy. +He had but to turn his head.... Good-night, comrade! +<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>Good luck! All sorts of mocking words came to my mind +and I felt like making faces at him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Passengers elbowed their way past me and several got +out. The door remained open and the cold streaming in +brought me to my senses. I turned my back to the door +and looked at the path wending its way across the green +squares of fields and meadows. Suddenly I felt as if +something had struck me on the chest: the man in the short +fur coat was standing in the door looking at me! He was +resting his chin in his hand and held his head a little on +one side as if he were trying to remember something. +Every drop of blood left my face. Without thinking, +instinctively, in self-defence, I turned to the opposite +window. But I could not see the landscape, everything +was blurred before my eyes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>How long did it last? I only know that I felt as if +something had vanished behind me. The minutes seemed +to gather into masses and fall into hollow space. I felt +I was falling with them. Good God, how long is this to +last? Let him clutch me by the shoulders, if he likes, let +him arrest me, but let something happen, let the suspense +come to an end! Then I began to take heart: after all, +what does it matter now? At least let the scoundrels see +that I am not afraid. I pulled myself up, as high as I could, +and forced a smile to my lips.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The train started and the shock banged the door to. +Was it possible? For an instant I felt the reckless delight +of salvation sweep through me: I breathed freely: I +scolded and cheered myself mentally. Poor fool, how +could you have such delusions! Then the whole +carriage reeled before my eyes: the man in the +short fur coat was sitting on a box next to me! He was +sitting there with his knees drawn up like a mischievous +imp.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In spite of myself my jaw began to tremble: I was +afraid with a fear I had never known before, and notwithstanding +the cold the sweat rolled down my face. But +still I managed to keep myself erect and presently forced +myself once more to smile. All sorts of possibilities coursed +madly through my head. If I were arrested nobody would +know of my fate, and the one-eyed monster into whose +hands I was to be delivered could dispose of me without +difficulty. My mother did not know that I was travelling, +the Kállays whom I had left, the Huszárs to whom I was +going, would each be ignorant that I was not safely with +the other. One could invoke the Entente Mission on +<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>behalf of prisoners at Budapest, but if I were trapped now, +nobody would seek me until too late....</p> + +<p class='c009'>The man was still sitting on the box. He rolled a cigarette, +blew out the smoke and now and then looked up at me. I +shall never forget his eyes. Some travellers got into the +train at the next station and the corridor again became +crowded. Two men who wore red buttons in their coat +lapels waxed enthusiastic over the revolution: “That +we should have lived to see it!” One could guess that +they were speaking from fear. The man on the box +nodded. How contemptible were these people who were +Hungarians and had sold themselves to the foreigners; +the whole thing was degrading and dirty; my pride revolted +at it. To be arrested by this scum; miserably, without an +attempt to escape; to wait for fate like one paralysed, +unable to move! My passivity suddenly weighed on me +like a great shame. I grasped my bag and forced my way +through the crowd into the next compartment. There +too the passengers stood jammed between the seats. Next +to me was wedged a man whose face I remembered vaguely. +He had a thin, fair moustache and wandering eyes, and +kept making notes in a book, tearing out the pages and +going on writing. However, I soon gave up watching him, +for I noticed that the man in the short fur coat who was +sitting in the corridor got up every now and then and +looked into the compartment as if he were watching me. +I waited for an opportune moment, and when he sat down +on his box and was out of sight of me, I snatched up my +bag and went further along the train. I had no plan, I +only wanted to go on, get away, do something. It might +succeed. I might escape at the next station. I might +jump off the train.</p> + +<p class='c009'>As I was moving away from the fair-haired scribbling +man, he suddenly pushed something between the handle +of my bag and my hand. Then I remembered how curiously +he had looked at me and had then written in his book +and torn the page out. I thought I felt a scrap of paper in +my palm, but I went on quickly from carriage to carriage, +each more crowded than the other, between human bodies, +boxes, trunks, baskets. I was pushed about, handled +roughly, and sworn at. Whenever anybody looked at me +I felt as if my face were being skinned. Why did they all +look at me so familiarly as if they had seen me before? +Why had I not got a face like everybody else? I pushed +on. Suddenly I could go no further, I had come to the +end of the train, to the last carriage. There was an empty +<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>place near a broken window; all the sparks of the engine +were blown into it by the wind, so nobody wanted it. I +withdrew into that corner and covered my face with a +handkerchief; it protected me and hid me. Nobody paid +any attention to me so I opened the little paper in my hand. +A sentence was written on it in irregular halting lines. I +remember every word:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A warrant against you, with your portrait, is circulating +here. Escape. If caught they will do for you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Was it death, or was it just fear I felt then? I carefully +tore the paper into little bits and threw them out of the +window. Everything was in a haze; there were people +in the compartment, I could hear voices, but everything +seemed remote.... I was alone with myself. About an +hour may have passed, perhaps more: I liked to think +that time was flying, I liked my little corner, although the +wind blew through it and cut my face like a knife. My +limbs ached on the hard seat and I was ravenously hungry: +since last night I had had nothing but a cup of tea. Suddenly +everything became dark, and soot-laden smoke filled +the compartment. Before I grasped what it was the chance +had passed. A tunnel.... If I had thought of it earlier I +might have.... Nonsense, I should have broken my neck.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The train stopped: we were on the open track. There +was a deep ditch along the embankment—I might get off +here. The passengers crowded to the windows and someone +shouted from outside: “It’s not likely that the train +will be allowed to enter Balassagyarmat. The Czechs are +shelling the station.” I made myself as small as possible +in my corner. It was nonsense, all nonsense.... Then +there was another station. Red soldiers everywhere. I +saw the man in the short fur coat again; he was running +about the station, then stopped and stared towards the +place where we had pulled up in the open. He shook his +head and seemed to be swearing. Was he looking for me? +At all events he jumped back into the train.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Night was now falling and we had to wait a long time in +the station, for the engine-driver had gone to an inn for +his supper. A passenger said that they had sent for him +but that he had replied: “Let them get up steam +themselves.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was night before we started again, and rain began to +fall. Slowly light began to stream towards us through +the clammy darkness, and people in the compartment got +ready to get out. A voice said “Balassagyarmat.” I +stood near the door, opened it suddenly, threw out my bag +<span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>and jumped. The other doors opened a good deal later, +when I was already running through the exit towards the +town. Nobody asked me for my ticket, or took any notice +of me. I reached a paling, overshadowed by a huge walnut +tree, leant against it, and waited till everybody had passed, +people and carriages. For an instant I caught sight of +the man in the short fur coat going towards the town. +Then the lights of the station went out, and I was alone in +the dark at the foot of the tree.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was over! And yet the terror remained. I still felt +that strange will searching for me in the dark, saw the hand +industriously groping for me, missing me over and over +again. It had not yet found me, but perhaps later on.... +Instinctively I ducked in my hiding-place. The hand +missed me. It had missed me till now, but every time it +seemed to get nearer its goal. The watching motor-car +in front of the doorless house in Stonemason Street; the +Red soldiers in Aszód; the man with the dark puffy face +and the one in the short fur coat.... Every time the +hand had been nearer. One lucky movement and it would +have got me. It had been so yesterday, it might be so +to-morrow, but at any rate it had missed me to-day and I +was still free.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I looked round and my eyes became accustomed to the +dark. Where was I to go? A broad street overshadowed +by trees led from the station to the town. Should I follow +that? I retained a confused memory of the instructions +Elisabeth Kállay had given me. Soldiers came towards +me, then a few people, at last a little boy. I resolved to +confide in the latter. “Will you help me to carry +my bag?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The boy caught hold of it but it was too heavy for him, +so we carried it together. After all, that had not been my +object. What I really wanted was to find the house of +Aladár Huszár. The boy was not quite sure of it, but he +led bravely on through the rain. We left gardens and +small villas behind us and came in sight of a church by +dripping trees and a soaking sandy road. A woman was +standing in one of the doorways: She put us right: “The +end of the town, the last house but one.” New anxieties +now took hold of me: up till the present I had only worried +about finding my way, and now that I had found it, it +occurred to me that they might have left the town. Aladár +Huszár had the reputation of being a counter-revolutionary +and was suspected by the new power. His wife was the +president of the county branch of the Federation of +<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>Hungarian Women, and she had been attacked by the +local Socialist-Communist papers.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The boy passed through an iron gate and we went up a +few steps till we came to a door with glass panes. I was +very nervous. I was going to ask for shelter from people +who themselves were threatened. I felt painfully ashamed +of myself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There is the bell!” the boy said. Yet I still hesitated.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Only those who have stood on a stranger’s threshold, +doubting the quality of their welcome, can appreciate my +feelings.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The boy deposited the bag, asked for his money and ran +away.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The ringing of the bell broke the silence of the house, +and the sudden sound frightened me. I imagined the +uneasiness caused to those within. In these times even a +knock in broad daylight is enough to cause alarm.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Rapid steps approached from the further end of the long +corridor and a frightened maid asked me what I wanted. +“Will you say that Elisabeth Földváry has arrived?” +Doors opened; there was a ray of light, and in its beam a +fine setter ran barking towards me, followed by Aladár +Huszár. I had only once seen him before, but I recognised +him at once; his fair head and his broad shoulders showed +up clearly against the lamp light. For an instant he +looked at me searchingly: “Elisabeth Földváry?...”</p> + +<p class='c009'>By now we were alone, and I whispered my real name to +him. He jerked his head in surprise. “We were told +yesterday that you had escaped to Switzerland.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Help me to get across the Ipoly!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There’s no hurry, we will discuss it; now come inside +quickly.” He picked up my bag and we went into the +house as if we were old friends. We crossed the small hall +and entered a room in which the light was reflected from +the glass doors of high bookcases, and comfortable furniture +stood on oriental carpets. I was met by a remarkably +beautiful young woman. Her forehead was like marble and +her eyebrows met over her big blue eyes shaded by dark +eyelashes. Her face was cold and her features seemed +nearly rigid. I felt anxious: What was she going to say? +She seemed neither astonished nor nervous, though she had +lately been told I had escaped abroad, and she behaved as +if it had been the most natural thing in the world for a +stranger wanted by the police to drop in on them in the +middle of the night. She gave her orders quietly, calmly:</p> + +<div id='i_082fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_082fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>EUGENE HAMBURGER.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>CLERK. COMMISSARY FOR AGRICULTURE.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>“We will make up a bed here in the library; we have no +other room. Red officers are quartered on the first floor. +They wanted to plant Communists in our two spare rooms, +so we put our old coachman there.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I leant wearily against a bookcase: the room was going +round. Then they gave me hot food, and I could detect +in the sympathetic expression of Huszár that hunger, +sleepless nights, cold and suffering had left their marks +upon my face. My dress was hanging on me and my hands +trembled. The children, two little girls and a boy, came +in. They were told I was a relation of theirs. In a few +minutes I watched them being put to bed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Outside, the rain was falling and the world was full of +Red soldiers, detectives, hatred, misery, dirt, fear, humiliation. +In here the little children were praying in their +long white nightgowns and over their bed a tiny red, white, +and green flag was dangling like an emblem of faith. The +electric lights went out: it was eleven o’clock. The house +became quiet. We stayed up for a time round a single +candle. Words were unnecessary between us. We all +felt equally the terrible misfortune of our country: the +sufferings of each of us were due to the same cause.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Many good friends have fled this way,” said Aladár +Huszár.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Will you help me over, too?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>He shook his head. “The river is in flood and the +bridges are guarded. It cannot be managed yet. You +must stay here; it is only a question of days. Colonial +troops have been seen near by and my men tell me that +there are some at one of the bridges. To-day we heard +that British troops had arrived. They say there are thirty +thousand of them. The French are in Arad. They may +come here this very night. Wait for the downfall of the +Soviet.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I was tired, dead tired, but in spite of my exhaustion his +words refreshed me as though they heralded the coming +of dawn. It seemed strange not to be sent away. They +did not want me to go. I should be allowed to rest a little. +I felt extreme gratitude but could find no words in which +to express it.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Balassagyarmat</span>, <em>April 17th</em>.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>I thought my excitements had come to an end, but +ill-fortune has looked me in the face again. It has just +glanced at me, but has not seized me yet. And now, how +long shall I be here? Shall I be driven away, or will this +be the scene of my capture?</p> + +<p class='c009'>I can no longer see the end of my road. I never seem to +know when I shall be able to put a full-stop at the end of +my sentence. It makes no difference. If my diary must +remain a fragment, fragments can bear witness. Every +clod plays its part in a land-slide, and there is some fragment +of the great tragedy in every particle that composes it.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When I woke this morning it took me a long time to +realise where I was. The daylight was reflected from the +glass doors of a bookcase, and I heard the sound of a reedflute. +The primitive melodies of the cow-herd mingled +with the trampling of the cattle. But where was I? +Something gripped my heart and forced the truth from +it. A fugitive, an outlaw! I looked out of the window: +cows were coming down the little street on the outskirts +of the town. Everything was different from my surroundings +of yesterday. The house opposite was indifferently, +ignorantly looking at its reflection in the puddles. Somewhere +in that direction the railway station must lie, and +the road to it crosses the square in front of the town hall. +I had a good idea what this square must be like. A big +market with arcades, an old fountain, the old town hall +with its tower.... Yes, it must be like that.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Good morning!” The children’s clear voices called +me from the next room. Breakfast was ready on a glass-covered +verandah, opening on to the back garden. The old +flower-bed under the sprouting ornamental trees had been +replaced by vegetables, but shrubs remained, and beyond +the fence were trees, shingled roofs, little gardens. Aspen +trees, willows and graceful, slender poplars were reflected +from a soft, brilliant mirror—the Ipoly in flood. On the +other side of the river were the vineyards where the Czechs +were encamped. For two months their guns have been +trained on the town.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I mentioned my notes; Huszár gave me some paper and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>a pencil. Then the front door bell rang. Who could it be? +It was unusual to have visitors at that hour. Gregory, the +faithful old coachman, put his head in.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Two armed Reds are here!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I clasped my hands in terror. Mrs. Huszár turned +white to the lips:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What are we to do if they are after you? The town +is full of detectives.” She went out and when she came +back she was laughing. “I was never so frightened in my +life. They asked me: ‘Does Comrade Huszár live here?’ +Then one of them made an awful face and added: ‘We +have been informed that there is a—er—library in the +house.’ I really thought they had found you. And all +they had discovered was our library!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was a good library; I spent a long time among its +volumes, and found them representative of Hungarian history +and of the development of Socialism. I determined to study.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You’d better write a book,” said Mrs. Huszár. “When +we have got over these times, let people know what we have +gone through.”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 18th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Good Friday. At the feet of Christ’s cross, under the +black sky, on the Red land, Hungary has been crucified +among the nations.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We hoped that an attack on the town would be +delivered this night by the Czechs. It sounds sheer madness, +and yet it was so. It was different last year, when +Károlyi had opened our frontiers and our predatory +neighbours could walk in undisturbed on our unconscious, +shackled towns. Balassagyarmat was the only one that +rose to arms and drove out the intruders.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Hideous change! We are waiting for the Czechs! And +this day all those who are Hungarians in the republic of +the Jewish tyrants are waiting in suspense.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 19th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The night has passed. At dawn only a few stray rifle +bullets whistled over and into the Ipoly, disturbing the +surface of the water for a moment, but the river soon +resumed its smoothness and everything is now as it was +yesterday. There is no change, and our deliverers still +hesitate. But within our shamefully constricted frontiers +the outlines of the picture become clear, and the undermining +<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>of society goes on with devilish speed. The newspapers +which reached us this day publish an incredible +order—the sixty-second within three weeks.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Revolutionary Cabinet considers it its duty to +revise the procedure of such criminal proceedings as +have been instituted before the proclamation of the Soviet, +so as to save from punishment those Proletarians who were +called before the tribunals by the old order in the interest +of capitalism alone, and, on the other hand, to punish +severely, those who have sinned against the working +Proletarians.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>This order is without precedent in the history of human +law. It destroys at a blow the progress of centuries. It +endows the privileged and only recognised class, the +Proletarians, with the monopoly of crime.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Even in the administration of justice, Bolshevism stands +on the basis of class hatred and serves the class war. If +the Proletarian has robbed a member of the middle classes, +he cannot be punished; if he has murdered a bourgeois, +he cannot be condemned, because his actions were simply +acts of self-defence against the tyranny of capitalism.</p> + +<p class='c009'>And after abolishing crime as such, it proceeds to the +destruction of its traces. All records are burnt in stacks, +and the files of criminal proceedings which might involve +those in power to-day are made away with. Béla Kun +embezzled the funds of a workmen’s benevolent society. +The papers of the prosecution have been burnt and the +leader of the Soviet has purged his honour in the ashes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Once the Roman Empire of the West, Byzantium, Friul, +Saxony, all paid tribute to the old Hungary. The profiles +of conquered Emperors, of Cæsars and of Princes, minted +in gold, flowed into the Danubian province of Hungary, +and later on the harvests of peace sent their surplus into +the treasury of the land, the fruits of valour and of work.</p> + +<p class='c009'>To-day the ruling power burgles safes. Protected by +its ordinances, it steals jewels, gold and precious stones, +proclaiming, “No compensation is due for property +delivered to the State.” Everything that can be exchanged +for foreign gold is confiscated. Even stamp collections +which are worth more than two thousand crowns are taken, +the happiness of little schoolboys, the hobby of collectors.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The head of the Directorium of Balassagyarmat returned +yesterday from Budapest. Huszár heard him relating +proudly in the street that he had spoken with Béla Kun +himself. The position of the Soviet Republic has been +considerably strengthened abroad and at home, and the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>economic conditions are excellent. Béla Kun has declared +that he has such a reserve in jewels, pearls, medals and art +treasures that there was no bourgeois Government in the +world that could compete with him. Negotiations are on +foot for the disposal, in Holland, of these treasures. Huszár’s +next statement filled me with shame and anger. Béla Kun +was bargaining with foreign antiquaries for the sale of the +Holy Hungarian Crown!</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is said they offered him 170,000 crowns for it. The +stones are second-rate, the gold is thin, there is just the +historical value left. 170,000 crowns for the past glories +of the Kings of Hungary! That is their value to-day.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Cabinet is still expectant: will anybody bid any +more? And if one day there is a higher bidder, Béla Kun +and Számuelly, Comrade Landler and the others, will open +the iron-bound chest in the Coronation Chapel, lean over +it, finger it, and the Jews will take Europe’s oldest royal +crown<a id='r1'></a><a href='#f1' class='c012'><sup>[1]</sup></a> to the auction room. Will they have time to do +it? I thought of what the president of the Balassagyarmat +Directorate had said. They all talk as if they were to last +for ever. Meanwhile, the other bank of the Ipoly, the hill +with the vineyards, keeps silent.</p> + +<p class='c009'>If things were to remain like this for long! The idea +tortures me incessantly and forces me to think of my +unhappy position. My hosts are hospitable, kind, touchingly +so, but have I the right to accept their generosity? +Aladár Huszár has given up his office, he declines to serve +the Soviet. His wife’s jewels have been seized, they have +no food coupons. What is consumed to-day cannot be +replaced to-morrow. Every gift means a privation for +them. And what if I should be found and arrested in +their house! There are ten years of penal servitude in +store for those who shelter me. I must do something. If +there is no change presently I shall have to go. Have the +waters of the Ipoly receded during the night? Perhaps +the Czechs are not guarding the banks any longer? Perhaps +the bridge is open?</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let us wait,” said Mrs. Huszár. “We confidently expect +an attack to-night, and that would save you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let us go and have a look. Maybe....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We walked slowly along the bank of the river. The air +was clear and fresh and the wind rippled the flooded waters. +A woman came along the road with a hamper over her arm +and greeted us.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>“Do you come from the other bank?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The woman nodded: “We have a little field over there. +But in future, from to-day, the Czechs have refused to let +me pass. They shoot at anyone who approaches the +bridge. They are preparing something.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>As she passed on we looked at each other and then +towards the bridge. That road then existed no longer. +The barbed wire in the middle marks the frontier. Reds +and Czechs stand on either bridgehead. The tree which +had fallen across the river near the gardens, the living bridge +over which fugitives had quite recently crawled across, is +now under water in mid-stream. The Ipoly is like a sea.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The silver stream is flowing over the green velvet of the +inundated fields and meadows. The willows on the banks +draw a veil over the silver. Against the lovely blue background +of the distant hills, the poplars look like rows of +furled flags. All nature seems in ecstasy. Birds sing in +the dazzling sunshine.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A cart rattled behind us full of soldiers, carrying bread +for distribution among the guards in the villages. It +passed us quickly and disappeared at the turning of the +road, but the smell of bread remained in the air.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is the Saturday before Easter. The churches are +watched by the mercenaries of the new power and I must +avoid their eyes. Only the banks of the river and the +main road are free to me. And yet I am in church. Under +the long cupola of the branches, the mild winds of spring +sound like an organ, recalling to me the eternal mysteries +of the Resurrection.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 20th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Events cast their shadows before them, and as they +arrive they enter the shadow.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Our little street on the outskirts of the town was unusually +restless this morning. As the bells recalled the memories +of past Easters to my mind, the neighbouring villagers +were passing under my window in picturesque costumes +on their way to church. I could hear the sound of footsteps, +the rustle of petticoats, even a threat in the loud +voices of the young men. A few of them wore red and +white flowers with green leaves stuck in their hats.</p> + +<p class='c009'>On the other side of the street, soldiers were leaning out +of the window of the Reds’ guard-room. A few were loafing +about in the street. They looked suspiciously at the +peasants and as soon as these had passed they talked +among themselves excitedly.</p> + +<div id='i_088fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_088fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>ON THE BANKS OF THE IPOLY.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>One soldier rang our front-door bell and insisted on being +given a suit of clothes, as he was going to a wedding. +Gentlefolks had plenty to give him. To give more weight +to his claim he began to boast his prowess: “The attack +is expected at Uszok. We are going to wipe out the Czechs +and unite with the Russians, who have already crossed the +Carpathians.” He took what he had exacted under his +arm and hurried off.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When Aladár Huszár came home he spoke more +cautiously than usual.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There is much ado among the comrades. On the 16th +the Roumanians attacked between the Szamos and the +Maros. The Red International Regiment fled at the first +shot. How the Russian and Viennese Jews ran! They +stormed the trains in their panic, and left the poor Széklers +to their fate, even before the Roumanians had developed +their attack.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We looked at each other: we had never imagined it +like this. Even when our sufferings seemed most unbearable +we would have wished it otherwise. Where are the +British and the French troops?</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The members of the local Directorate suppress the +facts,” said Huszár, after a long silence. “At any rate it +looks suspicious that they should again talk so much about +the World-Revolution. The World-Revolution is always +to the front when their own affairs are on the decline. +Their newspapers are full of it; Italy and France are +seething. Soviet rule has become more powerful in Munich. +The proclamation of the Soviet in Vienna is only a question +of hours.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>How much of this is true? How much lies? Aladár +Huszár began to roll cigarettes. He offered me one: they +always offer, always give, and I am for ever asking and +thanking. A match? I should have liked to ask for one, +but could not say the word, so I just held the cigarette in +my hand. Mrs. Huszár nodded to her husband: “Give +her a light....” He jumped up and went to the writing table +and brought back a small cigarette lighter in his +palm. “Here is a little Easter present for you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>His wife let her sewing fall into her lap and looked at me. +“Well done,” she said, “I hate seeing you obliged to ask for +every trifle, when you yourself have given up everything.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>At that moment I saw behind the lovely cold face the +warm heart it endeavoured to hide.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Huszár took his hat. “I will go to the railway station +for a newspaper.” He seemed restless.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>“What has happened?” asked his wife.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He hesitated for a moment. “The Directorate has +received a secret order by telephone. The Cabinet has +decided that hostages are to be taken.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A cloud seemed to pass over the brightness outside, and +I felt suddenly cold. This news was the most terrible we +had yet heard. Hostages! The foreign race is going to +guarantee its life with Hungarian lives!</p> + +<p class='c009'>A very little time seemed to have passed before the door +flew open and Aladár Huszár stood there, his eyes shining +and his face drawn with excitement.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They are done for!” He was so excited that he +laughed spasmodically, while his eyes were full of tears of +emotion. “Look here!” He waved the newspaper in +front of us: “The Revolution is in danger!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In turn we snatched the newspaper out of each other’s +hands. The General Staff of the Workers’ and Soldiers’ +Council had met on the 19th at the Opera House. It was +Kunfi who addressed the crowd:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Entente is forging a ring of iron round Soviet +Hungary.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We looked at each other. So they will not let us perish +after all! Human mercy comes to the rescue at last!</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Just listen! Béla Kun himself admits that they are +done for: ‘According to reports the Roumanians have +taken Szatmár-Németi. The inhabitants at once abolished +the Soviet Republic, hoisted white flags and raised cheers +for the King. Private property was re-established. The +Roumanians are advancing on Nagy-Várad. In Debreczen, +however, the workmen managed to suppress the Counter-revolution. +Everybody must go to the front. If +necessary, we are ready to die for the Dictatorship of +the Proletariat!’”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We have learned to read between the lines of ‘The Red +Newspaper.’ They are afraid, and in their fear they +threaten furiously. The electrician War Minister threatens +the working classes: “Anyone committing acts of indiscipline +will be dealt with as if he were a Counter-revolutionary.” +As for the bourgeoisie, Pogány shook +his fist at it during the stage meeting at the Opera.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Comrades, we must inform the bourgeoisie that from +this day we consider it our hostage. (Violent applause.) +Let the bourgeois take notice that they will get no respite +from any advance the Entente’s army may make, because +every step which brings the Serbian and Roumanian armies +nearer shall be made a bitter trial to the bourgeois amongst +<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>us. (Stormy applause.) Let not the bourgeoisie rejoice, +let it not stick white flags out of its windows, for we shall +paint them red in their life-blood!” (Raving applause +lasting for several minutes.)</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then Számuelly mounted the tribune: “The +Proletarian country is in danger!” he exclaimed. “Death +to all the enemies of the Proletariat! Death to the +bourgeois! Although no blood has yet been shed in +defence of the Republic, the blood of the Proletarians may +yet flow, but then bourgeois blood will flow too.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>And the audience, the foreign crowd of the Workers’ +Council, clapped furiously as the Jew, Számuelly, prophesied +the shedding of the blood of the Hungarian Proletariat +and the Hungarian bourgeoisie, stirred up against each +other. Labour, driven to the slaughter, is to vent its fury +and destroy the intellectuals. Magyardom is to crush +Magyardom’s brain with its own hand.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Madness! They sentence both their slaves and their +enemies. Will they last long enough to accomplish the +destruction of the nation?</p> + +<p class='c009'>The general assembly on Saturday before Easter resolved +that every Proletarian must rise to arms in the defence of +the Dictatorship.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One is oppressed by a sense of calamity. The Roumanians +in Nagy-Várad! But on the other hand, the horrible +Dictatorship is falling. Humanity has pity on us. Even +if the Roumanians make encroachments now, peace will +restore our territory to us.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There were steps in the street. A man stopped on the +kerb and looked up at our window. I remembered that +I had seen him on the same spot yesterday. Mrs. Huszár +pressed her husband’s arm. Then the street lamps were +lit, and we watched from the dark room. The sinister +shape was still standing at the corner.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 21st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The town remained quiet and the house was wrapped in +silence. I could hear nothing but the throbbing of my +pulse. Was that man still standing at the corner?</p> + +<p class='c009'>After midnight the roar of a single gun disturbed the +night. I waited, but the ominous silence returned. Such +must be the silence in a lunatic asylum at night.... The +lamps burn low in the corridors, and now and then steps +pass between the cells. The watchman makes his round.... +Out there the Red patrols pass under the window. +Dawn begins to break: salvation has failed again. And +<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>yet the hours are flying for us. If the powers of the +Entente delay, the Dictatorship will make us pay for +their attempts. Let them hurry, lest they be too late. +The Dictators are proclaiming their threat that blood will +flow. They are covering the walls with posters: “To +arms!” “Advance, Red soldiers!” “Rise in defence +of the Proletariat!” “The Revolution is in danger!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The fleeing Reds have been reformed near Debreczen +and Nyiregyháza. A number of battalions and batteries +have been removed from this western theatre. Trains are +running at unusual hours: the Directorate is nervous. +The petty tyrants proclaim the victories of the Red army, +the reckless courage of the Proletarian heroes. Booty, +innumerable prisoners! The newspapers write in the +same strain. From the capital come telephone messages +and telegrams in cypher. Meanwhile the Czechs are +shouting from the other bank: “Hey, Reds, there is a Red +Easter in store for you!” It is said that many soldiers +deserted this night from the town: certainly there seem +to be fewer about than usual. They are disillusioned now; +when they enlisted, they were told: “Down with war! +Henceforth a soldier’s life will be exempt from danger. +Red soldiers will have good pay and they can do whatever +they like.” And now, all of a sudden, revolutionary +court martials are established. Béla Kun abolishes the +Soldiers’ Councils and the ‘confidential’ system, and +behold, the soldiers have to go to war!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Towards evening we went to the bank of the river. Tiny +armed figures were visible on the other shore, and single +soldiers passed us in haste; they had already removed +the red from their caps and a few wore bonnets of the old +pattern. A cold wind was blowing, driving back the +waters in silvery ripples, and shaking the aspen trees; a +shudder passed over the reeds. Another soldier came +along from the town. When he caught sight of us he left +the road and made quickly for the fields.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He’s deserting!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The small figures with bayonets on the other bank were +gradually absorbed by the darkness. A tree in blossom +alone stood out white against the leaden grey sky. Our +souls knew hope again. If only the frosty wind does not +kill the early spring!</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 22nd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>No news has reached us: the telegraph wires are silent: +people have even stopped whispering in the street. The +<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>soldiers are leaning indolently out of the guard-room +windows, and the Czech guns are silent.</p> + +<p class='c009'>No news! Yet suddenly an awful reminder of the times +we live in reached my ear. A child was singing in the +street. I could not see it, but could hear that it was +coming nearer and nearer, so I began to listen. The little +songster was just crossing the end of the narrow street +and for an instant the break in the houses gave his voice +free access to us. “My father ... my mother ...” +It was a small boy and he was balancing himself on the +kerbstone as he repeated the refrain. Then I caught the +words:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My father, my mother, you may——for all I care....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The song went on, to the stupid tune of a Budapest +music-hall ditty. I have heard many disgusting things +told of the new schools established by the Bolsheviks, but +I think this was the most disgusting—and the most +disastrous. The degradation of the Hungarian schools +was not the achievement of a day: it was started unobserved +before the war by our Freemasons’ educational +policy and by Freemason mayors of the capital. Then +Károlyi came and prepared the way for Bolshevism in the +education of Hungary’s younger generation. The mass +appointment of Jewish masonic professors and teachers; +the Bolshevik reform of school books; the destruction of +the souls of the children; the degradation of parental +authority; the systematic destruction of moral and +patriotic principles; the revelation of sexual matters; all +these were the work of Károlyi’s Government. The Soviet +Government, when it came, had only to change a few men +and names, and the whole machine was ready to their +hand, to work exclusively, and to their entire satisfaction, +in the interest of revolution.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One shudders at the thought of those who have the +education of Hungary’s childhood and youth in their +hands. They all belong to the foreign race. The +Commissaries for Education: Kunfi, the morphomaniac; +Lukács a degenerate; Pogány, who is openly accused of +murder; and Számuelly, the murderer in Russia of captive +Hungarian officers. The dictator of the students, or so-called +‘young-workers,’ is an assassin, the same Lékai-Leiter +who had attempted to kill Tisza on the steps of +the House of Parliament the day before the outbreak of +the Revolution. Murderers and men devoid of moral +sense, how should they consider schools as anything but +<span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>the means of propaganda, as devilish laboratories which +may serve to poison young guiltless minds? Normal +education is a process of civilization: Bolshevik education +is demoralisation.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the dormitories of girls’ boarding schools young +Jewish masters are made to sleep, so as to accustom the +little girls to the presence of men. Jewish medical students +accompany little girls to the mixed bathing places that +they may kill all modesty with ridicule. Sexual education +grows apace. The purpose of nursery schools has been +changed: the teachers have been informed confidentially +that the kindergarten must be used to estrange the children +from their mothers and supplant the family. All toys +are declared common property in order that the children +may forget the crime of private ownership. And while +our rulers are forcing the present generation of youths into +the Red army, they decree that playing with lead soldiers +must be forbidden to the coming generation, lest one day +the slaves dream of liberation.</p> + +<p class='c009'>An order has been issued that the old reading and history +books must be given up: they are being replaced by new +history books, written by people who do not even know +our language. The workshop of destruction is producing +new school books, for the Commissary for Education has +given instructions that in future all school books must +preach the gospel of class war. Hungarian literature is +no longer to be taught; henceforth nothing but ‘universal +literature’ is to be taught in Hungarian schools. Such +scraps of our history as are allowed to be taught are falsified +and systematically besmirched: “John Hunyady was a +mountebank, Matthias Corvinus a charlatan, Denis +Pázmándy a scoundrel.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is not difficult to understand the purpose of the little +boy’s blasphemous song: let the children despise their +fathers and mothers so that even at home parents may fail +in their efforts to repair the destruction wrought in the +schools.</p> + +<p class='c009'>For fifty years a devilish fiend has been slowly robbing +the Hungarian people of its soul. Now that it has attained +power it is destroying that soul with feverish haste, lest +they should recover their soul when they regain their +consciousness.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 25th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Black and white shapes are circling in the sky: the storks +have come back, birds of so many legends and stories. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>They left us in the autumn, stayed away for many months, +and yet they have found their way back to their own ragged +nests on the trees along the banks of the Ipoly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I looked at them as they descended, calm and peaceful. +They did not attempt to take possession of a strange nest, +of another bird’s home. Mysterious, inviolable laws lead +them to their own nests, regardless of the fact that in our +country, at the foot of their trees, a man may no longer +claim his own home. ‘Every house becomes common +property,’ and he who dares to oppose this order is tried +by a Revolutionary Tribunal.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Someone had gone out of the room and left the door open. +I could see a man in the corridor and heard him say that +he had just come on foot, now and then getting a lift on a +cart. He brought a letter for Aladár Huszár from his +mother at Budapest. I could not help envying Huszár—for +<em>me</em> there is never a letter, nor any news.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Huszár showed me his letter: it read as though his +mother were taking leave of him on her death bed. They +are starving in the capital and are living under a perpetual +threat. If three people stop to talk to each other in the +street they are promptly driven apart by the former +boisterous advocates of the right of free assembly. Nobody +is allowed in the streets after ten o’clock at night; even +family gatherings at home are prohibited, and after eleven +o’clock all lights have to be extinguished in the houses. +People are spied on in their own homes by the ‘confidential +men’ who are quartered on them, and anybody who dares +to move a hand is denounced. Poor Mrs. Huszár complained +bitterly in her letter that a man-servant whom she +had dismissed for theft had since been quartered on her +with his wife. They are her guardians. Another old lady +was compelled to find quarters for prostitutes, who received +Red soldiers at night. And these people have to be fed. +They get drunk, dirty the furniture and cover the floor with +filth. There are no servants: she herself has to clean up +after them, to save the place from pollution. Meanwhile +the storks return to their last year’s nest. Nature disregards +man-made ordinances and continues her eternal +laws.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Instinctively I looked at the newspaper. News: the +advance of the Roumanians has been stopped. Lower down +were three nominations: the Revolutionary Cabinet has +appointed the distinguished typewriter salesman, Böhm,<a id='r2'></a><a href='#f2' class='c012'><sup>[2]</sup></a> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>Commander-in-Chief on the Eastern front. The Chief of +Staff of this ridiculous and humiliating Commander is to +be the Austrian comrade Aurelius Stromfeld, the very man +who sent a note to Károlyi informing him that the final +victory of the Russian Soviet armies and the World-Revolution +were inevitable. What new misfortune is this +gifted but misguided megalomaniac preparing for us? The +third nomination was that of Számuelly to be the President +of the Tribunal of Summary Jurisdiction established on +the Eastern front. He is to be the absolute judge of all +Counter-revolutionary movements behind the front. In +his order issued from General Headquarters he stated his +intentions clearly: “I do not ask the bourgeoisie for +anything, but I should like it to engrave my words on its +memory: whoever raises his hand against the power of the +Proletariat signs his own sentence of death. As for the +execution of the sentence, it will be our business to attend +to that.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Who is this man who has the power to speak like that? +Whence does he come, he who from this day onwards can +dispose of our lives without further appeal?</p> + +<p class='c009'>He appeared in the dark beginnings of the Revolution, +at the side of Béla Kun. They crossed the Russian frontier +together. Both brought with them the instructions and +the gold of Trotsky.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I remember him: it was last winter, and at that time +Visegrad street was the well-known ‘secret’ nest of the +Communists. Two figures were coming towards me from +the corner, from the direction of ‘The Red Newspaper’s’ +editorial offices: one was Maria Goszthonyi, who under +the name of Maria Csorba filled important functions in the +Soviet and roused the Communist rabble by her reckless +speeches; the other was a young man who, although he +had no hump yet bore on his face that curious expression +common to hunchbacks. I learned later on that this man +was Tibor Számuelly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>His grandfather came from Galicia in his gabardine with +a bundle on his back. Tibor Számuelly came young to +Nagy-Várad, and without possessing any special gift for +writing and endowed with a superficial education only, +he became a journalist. I may say here that my information +concerning him has been obtained from people who +knew him personally at that time. In the cafés he used +to seek out quiet corners and sit if possible alone at a table. +He practically never removed his black gloves—he always +wore black clothes and a black tie, and his long straight +black hair was combed back from his forehead. His +clean-shaven consumptive-looking face was furrowed with +blue-black shadows.</p> + +<div id='i_096fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_096fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>TIBOR SZÁMUELLY.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>Presently this son of a Polish Jew became a Bohemian +eccentric, and wore clothes after the English fashion; +but the change was only skin-deep, his soul was filled with +the ardour of the crowded Synagogue. It remembered +the dim lights of the eves of the old faith’s Sabbaths, the +seven lighted candles, the lust for vengeance of the despised. +He mixed little with Christians, and as for the Christian +women of bad fame with whom he came into contact, it +was only to humiliate them (so he said) that he sought +their company. He spoke with hatred of everything that +was Hungarian, though he disguised his own characteristic +name under a Hungarian form. At the beginning of the +war he was writing short unimportant articles for a newspaper +in Fiume. Then he joined the staff of the <cite>Catholic +Hungarian Courier</cite>.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He was called up for military service when war broke +out. For a time he cleverly managed to postpone joining +his regiment and then for a while he shirked in various +orderly-rooms behind the front. Later on he surrendered +to the Russians, and when the Revolution broke out there +a sudden change took place in the demeanour of this Jew +boy, who till then had been rude and overbearing with +his subordinates and cringing to his superiors. He quickly +rose above the others. Soon he was seen recruiting for +the Red army among the Hungarian prisoners of war. He +used threats and every conceivable pressure. The Jewish +Czars restored his freedom, and in astonishing proof of +racial solidarity, the insignificant little Jew of Nyiregyháza +became a commander in the Russo-Jewish army of the +Soviet. And then, at last, it seems, he gave the rein to +his long-nursed hatred: he ordered the slaughter of +ninety-two Hungarian officers, prisoners of war.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Last year, in November, he came ‘home,’ and soon after +met Károlyi at Béla Kun’s quarters. Henceforth the two +met often, and it was under Károlyi’s protection that he +proclaimed at Communist meetings: “Death to the +Bourgeois!” On the eve of March 22nd he was already +Assistant Commissary for War: now he has become +President of the Revolutionary Tribunals.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Before he left Budapest for General Headquarters he was +sitting one afternoon in the window of Budapest’s smartest +confectioner’s and was looking out on the square. Several +people who were close by heard him say: “I am going to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>build a guillotine on this square. So many bourgeois must +be killed that the tumbrils will have to drive through pools +of their blood.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Somebody who had been to Budapest told me that +Számuelly was surrounded by terrorist guards, that his +special train was provided with machine-guns, and that an +executioner always travelled with him. In the Journalist’s +Club, the revolutionary ‘Otthon,’ the once obscure reporter, +has become the most important personage among the +journalist representatives of his race. One of the most +prominent among them, Alexander Bródy, is said to have +embraced him at a champagne supper and to have hailed +him as “Our prophet!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Yes, that is what he is, their prophet!... Now that +I think of him, the memory of his dark hyena-like features +becomes more and more distinct. He grins appreciatively +at his new power. I can see his black sleek head and his +hand beckoning death. Gallows are erected wherever he +goes. And the gallows, like black Hebrew characters, +remain in the landscape when his special train has passed +on to some other rebellious district. It is in these black +characters that this foreigner is inscribing his name upon +our history. Tibor Számuelly has been brought up in +the secret rites of hatred and belongs to an ultra-orthodox +sect of oriental Jews which is stricter in the observance of +its ceremonies than any other. The sect of <em>Chesidem</em> +resembles the Hebrews of the Old Testament, grave, +prejudiced and dark. It shuns the light of the sun. Its +adherents admit of no other truth than that which is +contained in the <em>Thora</em>, and that only because it is there. +This sect interprets the covenant strictly and to the letter; +‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’ is the foundation +of its creed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Számuelly’s degenerate soul has been formed and shaped +by these rites and teachings. Thus he has become the +most characteristic type of this sect whose ruling spirits +for many years have lived and increased stealthily in our +midst. Hatred has been given free rein, the type has +thrown off its mask, and the thirst for vengeance, stored +up for innumerable years, is about to be quenched. In +the person of Számuelly the Revolutionary Cabinet has +found an executioner for the Hungarian people who is +blood of its blood, soul of its soul.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 24th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>As it was getting dark last night a man crept into the yard. +He looked round carefully: the street was empty: +suddenly he ran up the back stairs.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Alarming news had been spreading over the town during +the day: bands of terrorists are going about arresting +people. The Cabinet is issuing open threats, becoming +reckless in its fear of overthrow. Strict orders are being +sent to the provincial towns. The Directorate of +Balassagyarmat has been dismissed, having been accused +of weakness and of favouring the gentlefolk. New men +are coming forward, a young fellow scarcely twenty years +old is to be the Dictator of the proud county. Another +of the same type is to command the garrison. Jews have +gone, but still Jews are coming. They have orders to +take hostages in the county, so that should the Czechs +attack these could be thrown to the fury of the mob. +Something is necessary to occupy the rabble whilst the +Directorate is making its escape.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Lights in the windows disappeared earlier than usual +this evening, and the steps of the patrols resounded through +empty, overawed streets.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Aladár Huszár is the friend of a people who are of no +importance to-day. The man who stole in by the back +door brought a warning: he must escape, they are going +to arrest him to-night. So Huszár left his home and went +into the dark streets.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The cold penetrated everywhere, even through the walls. +We were sitting in fur coats. The candle had burnt to the +end, and there was no firewood in the house.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly we heard the noise of rifle-butts banging +furiously upon the door.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mrs. Huszár looked at me: “Is it for him, or is it for you?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We put out the candle and opened the window a little. +Soldiers were standing outside. “Is anything the matter?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No,” came the answer; then a face emerged from the +obscurity: “We’re only making preparations.” The face +looked scared. “We’re looking for the comrade +commanders.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They’ve gone out.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>There was a good deal of swearing. Then: “The +good-for-nothing scoundrels!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I wondered if the officers had deserted too!</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 25th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>To-day has been like a nightmare. Bayonets have been +glinting in front of our windows. About noon soldiers +poured through the main street. They climbed fully +armed into commandeered carts, and drove furiously +towards Örhalom. The Czechs have opened their attack! +At nightfall the clatter of arms was heard in the direction +of the prison. Doors slammed and dogs howled in the +dark: the Communists were taking their hostages....</p> + +<p class='c009'>The telepathy of common disaster enables us to guess +each other’s thoughts; we say nothing, but we are thinking +in common; never has there been such sympathy among +suffering humanity. On the Saturday before Easter, only +a few days ago, Aladár Huszár remarked: “I am so sorry +for you. It must be terrible to have to leave one’s own +home, not knowing whither to go and not being sure of +a safe lodging for the night.” To-day I thought precisely +the same thing concerning him. He has gone, with his +faithful friend George Pongrácz. To-morrow they will +come here to fetch him and will search the house. We +shall all be questioned. And if they recognize me.... +Well, so be it!</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 26th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>It is impossible to sleep these nights, and the lumbering +steps of patrols passing in the icy darkness alone mark the +progress of time.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Early this morning a Red soldier called and inquired +after Aladár Huszár. “He’s got to report at once.” +Then another came and questioned the servants. Mrs. +Huszár was unperturbed. They told her that if her husband +did not turn up they would arrest her in his place, so she +proceeded to pack a small bag, just as I had done not long +before. About noon detectives came and held a consultation +in the ante-room. Then they went through the house +systematically, and as they proceeded I fled before them, +from room to room. When I could go no further I hid +under the staircase, feeling rather like an animal caught +in a trap. Would they find me? What good had my +efforts been? Again I felt the invisible hand groping +around me....</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>They went, but others soon came. Across the road, at +the corner, stood a sentry, his face turned towards the +house. In the afternoon posters appeared on the walls—red +paper with huge black letters: “He who receives a +visitor in his house will be summoned before the +Revolutionary Tribunal. Any stranger found within the +town after twenty-four hours will be expelled.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Life has fresh troubles in store for me every day. I am +resigned to my fate: but ten years’ hard labour are in +store for those who have taken me in!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mrs. George Pongrácz came to us, her husband has had +to fly for his life. They have only recently been married. +Poor girl, she is left quite alone. We tried to devise some +plan to escape from this place. Mrs. Pongrácz said at +last: “In a village not far from here there’s a dear old +lady whom I know very well; nobody would look for you +there.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We decided on it hurriedly. Mrs. Pongrácz wrote a +letter to her friend, Mrs. Michael Beniczky, at Szügy, and +told her that Elisabeth Földváry, a poor relation of the +Huszárs, with a weak heart(!) begged her hospitality for +a few days as she was afraid of the Czech guns. Then +she left, and we made hasty preparations. Mrs. Huszár +hid her husband’s arms and clothes and then we collected +all the letters and papers in the house that might have been +dangerous and made a fire of them in the nursery. Huszár’s +desperate counter-revolutionary writings went up in +flames—letters, handbills, appeals of the Women’s +Federation—a sad <em>auto da fé</em>: months of hard work, hope +and enthusiasm were committed to the flames. However, +the children enjoyed it and danced round the unaccustomed +blaze; even we ourselves drew nearer and were glad of +the warmth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We were called up again during the night: a cart stopped +in front of the house, and the steps of soldiers resounded. +Those who will live after us will never be able to understand +the terror and anxiety which were conjured up by a few +steps in the night, a cart stopping in front of the house.... +“They are coming...!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mrs. Huszár went to the door. They were soldiers—two +Red officers come to commandeer night quarters. +They marched in and took possession of a room upstairs, +and for a time we could hear them moving about overhead.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Are the Czechs going to attack? But the great silence +of expectation continues undisturbed under the frigid sky.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span><em>April 27th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The riverside churches were ringing their bells for Mass, +and the town had turned its face in their direction. Our +street was empty, except for the Red soldier on sentry +duty at the corner. Mrs. Huszár went with me to the +door, and when the Red sentry looked towards the town +I slipped quietly out. His back was turned to me and I +escaped his notice. I carried a tiny parcel under my arm, +containing just a few things. How little suffices for our +bare needs! Mrs. Pongrácz followed me, and we went +quickly across the main street.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I had not been in this direction since the evening when +I arrived here, and my imagination had replaced the +topography of the town on the banks of the Ipoly by quite +a different place. It had placed an ancient town hall with +a venerable tower on the market place, where none actually +existed. It had placed around it old-fashioned houses +with arcades where in reality were tiny shops crowded +together and an old fountain in the middle of the square. +I looked round, but reality left no impression on me and +the picture of my imagination remained.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Whenever people came towards us I experienced a +feeling of terror; I raised my handkerchief and pretended +to blow my nose.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If there are many more people coming,” I said, +laughing even in my distress, “I’m likely to get a sore +nose.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Red soldiers were standing at the railway crossing, and +they asked us where we were going.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We are only going to Szügy, near by, to spend the day.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>There came another few yards of street with suburban +houses, and suddenly we found ourselves on the main road +among endless open fields basking in the sunshine. There +was a sharp wind blowing, but spring hovered over the +woods of the neighbouring hills. The wayside flowers +stood in the grass like long-waisted, wide-petticoated little +peasant girls. It was like a feast-day, a Sunday of a +hundred bright colours. Suddenly I felt an inexpressible +desire for freedom. For weeks I had been hiding among +friends, stealthily, making myself as small as possible, +like one endeavouring to make his way through a thorny +thicket. Now at last I had reached the open and the sun +was shining on my face. I laughed with sheer joy, and +the wind mimicked my mirth as it swept softly over the +land.</p> + +<p class='c009'>As if the main road were a church parade, carriage +<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>followed carriage in long procession, fat young Jews in +service uniform with the Soviet cap lolling within them. +Fine thoroughbreds pranced beside them, stolen horses +with grooms in stolen liveries. A smart turn-out +approached rapidly, the harness and trappings ornamented +with the silver arms of a count. The coachmen wore a +Hungarian livery. Lolling back on the cushions was a +vulgar-looking man, and beside him a shapeless but smartly +dressed female was making herself comfortable.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That is the Dictator of the county and his wife,” +whispered Mrs. Pongrácz; “I recognise Count Mailath’s +mackintosh. The dress his wife is wearing belonged to +the Countess, she wore it when her husband was installed +Lord Lieutenant. These people have taken possession of +the castle of Gárdony and have had all the furniture they +want sent from it to their own house. The ‘comrade’ is +said to be vastly annoyed because coats of arms and crests +‘disfigure’ the cigarette-cases he acquired there.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I turned my face towards the fields; the reflection of +the sun glittered in a circle round the spokes of the wheels +and dust rose in long clouds beneath them. When they +had passed and the dust had settled I looked anxiously +behind me. Presently peasants on foot overtook us; it +is only honest people who walk nowadays. One bare-footed +old peasant carried his boots dangling from his +crook over his back. Poor deluded millions! Do they +still believe that everything belongs to the Proletarians? +Do they still believe it when the carriages of their former +rulers throw the dust into their eyes as their new masters +ride by in them? When will the peasantry of this +credulous country crush those who have dared to trick it?</p> + +<p class='c009'>I caught sight of the spire of a church beyond the turning +of the road, and shingled roofs hiding among the trees. +There stood the fine old County Hall, with its double roof +dating from the period of Maria Theresa—a red flag floating +over it. And plastered all over the walls of the cottages +were the joyful posters: “Long live the Dictatorship of +the Proletariat.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We left the main road. A red handkerchief waved from +a pole on top of a peasant’s cottage: the Directorate had +resided there. Then we crossed an abandoned cemetery, +a tall crucifix standing out darkly above the high grass +that covered the tombstones. But the sun was shining +and the wind blew freshly. We came to a neglected old +garden; within the open gate of wrought-iron Red Guards +were loafing; happy or unhappy, whoever liked could go +<span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>in and out. A large number of munition cases were stacked +in the wood shed and on the terrace of the old manor-house. +I looked at the inscriptions: <em>Explosive.</em> <em>No. 15 ecrasite shell.</em></p> + +<p class='c009'>“There is enough here to blow up a town with.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mrs. Pongrácz nodded. “In the next field there’s a +Red Battery. The Czechs in the vineyard are shelling it.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Beyond, above the shingled roof of the manor-house, +two morose old firs rose towards heaven, their lowest +branches touching the young grass. The house with its +pillars reminded me of the old garden in Algyest which was +my childhood’s delight. But here the soldiers had trampled +down the grass of the lawn, and the heavy munition +waggons had cut deep ruts in the road. Near the gate +where the soldiers were, crumpled paper and broken bottles +were lying about. But behind the house, on the other +side, the garden was practically untouched, and amidst +the young awakening of Spring it was beautiful in its wild +tangle of growth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A door opened and an old lady came towards us. She +had scarcely looked at me when she said: “You did well, +child, to come to me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>She had scarcely looked at me! This was Hungary +indeed—the old, hospitable Hungary which to-day is +forbidden by the immigrants!... “Anyone receiving +a visitor in his house will be summoned before the +Revolutionary Tribunal....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The overgrown garden peeped in through the grated +window; the trees were covered with moss, and old stone +seats lined the path. Here was peace. The path was +over-run with grass and my feet left no mark on it. I can +stop here, even I to whom rest has been so long denied. +No search will be made for me here, and I shall be able to +sleep at night. There will be no knockings at my window, +my dreams will not be haunted by the sound of cartwheels, +the ringing of bells, the tramping of feet....</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Szügy, <em>April 28th</em>.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The sun shone into the room; its rays rested on the old +furniture and travelled on with soundless steps. Mrs. +Beniczky, who was sitting at the writing table, turned now +and then towards me and spoke in a low voice, cautiously, +for listening ears are everywhere. She inquired about my +family, for she had known the Földvárys in other days. +My answers became more and more confused. Later on +she began to talk of the Counter-revolution and mentioned +<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>my name, my real name, spoke of me, of my real self. The blood +rushed to my face: she must have thought I had not heard +her, for she repeated her question: “Do you know what happened +to Cécile Tormay? My daughter met her last winter.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They say she has escaped to Switzerland....” How +ashamed of myself I felt! I had stolen into this house +under a false name, with false credentials. I had asked +my hostess for shelter, though I knew it meant danger to +her. I hated myself, and it was on the tip of my tongue +to tell her the truth. Oh, why could she not see that I +was deceiving her, she who received me with the words: +“You have done well, child, to come to me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We were three at dinner: a visitor had come from +Balassagyarmat to see Mrs. Beniczky. We talked of +books, and the guest, who had no more notion of my +identity than our hostess, mentioned <cite>The Old House</cite>.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What has happened to Cécile Tormay? I am told +there is a warrant out against her.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was fortunate that I was sitting with my back to the +light. Again I stuttered something about Switzerland. +As if speaking to herself, Mrs. Beniczky said: “But why +did she not come here? I would have hidden her so that +nobody could have found her.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>What a burden of self-reproach these words lifted from +my conscience; they told me that it was not entirely by +favour of an assumed name, but to some extent for my +own sake, that I was received here.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 29th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>This morning the garden beyond the two tall firs was +deliciously quiet: the trees and shrubs seem to exclude +everything that makes life vile and terrible.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Later in the day one of the maids overheard some soldiers +talking near the pump. Somewhere in the neighbourhood +a priest has been arrested and they are going to execute +him because a red, white and green flag has been found in +his possession. To the Revolutionary Tribunal with him +who treasures a Hungarian flag! The ‘Cabinet’ has +ordered that every flag, with the exception of red or black +ones, must be given up. Poor Hungarian flag! Between +the black and yellow of the Austrian and the red of the +Bolsheviks, fate has granted it scarcely an interlude in +which to float freely over a free people in a free country. +Henceforth the national flag is proscribed in the land of +the Hungarian nation.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>The soldiers went on to talk of other things. One +whispered: “Have you heard that Comrade Számuelly +is hanging people in Hajdúszoboszló?...”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Reality has penetrated the garden with all its hideousness. +Trees and shrubs can keep it out no longer. Death to +everything that is Hungarian! In the county of the noble +Hajdú, the Jewish Dictatorship, in flight before the +Roumanians, is hanging people—Hungarians. From +General Headquarters Comrade Böhm is driving our people +to the slaughter-house. It is said that the pavements of +the capital are drenched with rivers of blood. At night +there are frequent splashes in the Danube between Buda +and Pest. People disappear and never return. The gaols +are crowded. Early risers find pools of blood on the chain +bridge, with a crushed hat beside them. Who has been +murdered? Who are the murderers? There is no answer, +but the blood and the news spread.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>April 30th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The blossoming plum-trees stood like brides in the grass: +whenever the breeze rose their white veils fluttered. Time +was marked only by the shadow of a slender tree which +swept like a giant clock-hand over the lawn and +disappeared. Evening fell.</p> + +<p class='c009'>On the main road a soldier on horseback came slowly +into sight. He wore the gay hussar’s cap of olden times +and his dolman swung on his shoulder with the paces of +his horse. He looked as if he had stepped out of a picture-book +of the past into a strange world of new soldiers with +Soviet caps. A Hungarian hussar, a bugler! Remote +from the present as his appearance was, the sound of his +bugle seemed even more to belong to the past, and the +cool evening resounded with the ancient call—a call composed +by Haydn, a solemn call: ‘To prayer.’ The music +spread and the forbidden call echoed through the village.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In front of the gate the hands of the Red soldiers went +instinctively to their caps. But they stopped halfway, +for all prayer is forbidden. On the other side of the road +the political delegate to this front, the little Jew Katz, +was walking about in patent leather boots. Suddenly he +recognised the tune of the bugle call, and his face became +distorted with rage. He ran angrily towards the bugler. +The soldiers looked down as though to avoid the Syrian +eye of the Revolutionary Tribunal.</p> + +<div id='i_106fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_106fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>GEORGE LUKÁCS <em>alias</em> LÖVINGER.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR FOOD.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>For some time after silence had been restored and the +dust had settled down I stood there, waiting. Nowadays +one is always waiting. How many things have failed to +come! The ultimatum of the Entente, the French army +from Marseilles, British relief troops, the opposition +Government in Fiume, counter-revolutions, regiments of +officers attacking from beyond the frontiers, relieving +Szekler battalions.... And yet it was good to hope: +it helped one to live. But these are things of the past. +Now it is only the Rumanians who are coming, and +Számuelly is having people hanged....</p> + +<p class='c009'>The night was long and restless. I put out the candle +for economy’s sake and for hours lay motionless in the +dark. Wherever my thoughts strayed they encountered +filth and blood.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then suddenly, out there in the spring night, a nightingale +began to sing. I groped my way through the dark room +and opened the window. You little artist, the only artist +who may practise his art freely in this sad country to-day! +What was it I read in the newspaper this morning? +“Order ... National Council for Intellectual Production.... +The publication of intellectual products is exclusively +in the hands of the National Council....” Art is the +vehicle which conveys to us the eternal mystery of the +universe. Art is faith wrought into the visible. Art is +an aristocracy. Art has precursors, and woe to him who +attempts to limit its expanse with shackles. He kills +thought, he strikes the image of God as it were in the eye.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Those who have adopted the precepts of Karl Marx +speak to-day of ‘party art,’ ‘mass art,’ and ‘co-operatives +of spiritual production.’ What perversely wicked fools are +these people whose leader claims to be an author and yet +kills literature in Hungary! George Lukacs-Lowinger, the +hydrocephalic little Jewish philosopher, son of a millionaire +banker, who became a Proletarian apostle through the +influence of his Bolshevik wife. As Deputy Educational +Commissary of the Soviet he had the book and music shops +closed down, and after having thus stopped all literary +life and effort, he invented ‘the literary register’! He +discovered that talent had to be classified, and that each +class had to be shut up in a separate drawer, like the goods +in a grocer’s shop. He therefore decreed that writers were +to be divided into three classes, and that the question as +to which class a writer belonged was to be decided by a +special Directorate. The authors are to receive monthly +salaries according to the class to which they are allotted, +and for this salary they have to write. They have no +<span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>other source of income, but the fixed salary is paid to them +whatever they produce, so long as it is in accordance with +the interests of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat and +Class War. Needless to say, the Communist poets all +belong to the highest class.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 1st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Early this morning the sounds of a Gypsy band came +from the village, playing the Internationale; thus I realised +that this was May Day.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Strict orders have been issued that the village is to be +draped in red. A red flag must be hoisted on the town hall, and +red ribbons are to float from the windows of the cottages.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Gypsy band came up to the house and played on +the terrace, and the soldiers sang. Mrs. Beniczky and I +withdrew to the bottom of the garden. Everything has +been commandeered by the Reds: a roast is preparing for +them in the kitchen, and other dishes were in process of +making. To-night there is going to be a ball. “Two +balls,” said the chambermaid, “because we Proletarians +refuse to dance with the peasant girls.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Once upon a time May Day was the day of youth, the +day of festive excursions for little sempstresses, students, +apprentices and children. Then it became the day of +manifestations, and, later, of threats. The new saviours +of the world promised the millenium for this day. On a +blood-soaked land the blood-maddened masses are streaming +towards the final battle which is to bring them an +utterly unattainable victory. Red flags unfurled in a +storm of blood are floating under a sky painted red by +incendiary fires.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The first of May has been selected by the Communists +for the birthday of the world-revolution. Lenin’s messages +are being scattered broadcast. Moscow has sent its +propaganda gold. And the Dictators of the Proletariat +are offering their slaves the scent of blood, so that this +May shall be their victory.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In Budapest preparations for this festival have been +going on for weeks. They hoped to celebrate it with a +victory for the Red arms, but for victory they have had +to substitute shams. The further the Red army has been +forced to retire in the East, the louder they proclaim their +Red May.</p> + +<p class='c009'><i><span lang="la">Panem et circenses!</span></i> There is no bread, the capital +faints for lack of food, so let there be a circus for the people. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>The last rags are falling from the backs of the destitute +millions, so let the town be garbed in red. Entire houses +are covered with it; bridge-heads, terraces, walls; even +the electric trams have been painted blood-red. The +Revolutionary Cabinet has exchanged thirty millions’ +worth of cattle in Vienna for the red decorations of starving +Budapest. The programme of the festivities is so long +that the newspapers have no space to report the defeats +on the Eastern front.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There are meetings and processions everywhere; everybody +has to join in; everybody has to decorate his house; +otherwise.... May, Spring, glorious feast of freedom, he +who dares to remain indifferent to these will be summoned +before a Revolutionary Tribunal.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The entire capital has turned red, and on the red background +gigantic white plaster statues have been set. On +the drill ground a red-covered coffin, two stories high and +forty-five yards long, has been erected to the memory of +Martinovics, to the leader of the peasant rising, Dózsa, to +Charles Liebknecht of Spartacist fame, and to Rosa +Luxemburg.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The entrance of the tunnel under the castle hill in Buda +is draped in red, and plaster statues of Soviet soldiers with +terrifying faces and with rifles raised ready to strike are +standing beside it. The naked red giant, hammer in hand, +of ‘The People’s Voice’ is displayed at the street corner: +“Death to the bourgeois!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The memorial of our millenary is also covered with red. +Over the statue of Arpád, the conqueror, which has been +covered with planks, a plaster statue of Marx has been +erected. In front of the House of Parliament, like a +blood-covered giant bladder, is a red globe. Andrássy’s +statue has been covered by a red Greek temple, and there +again, ten yards high, are the heads of Marx, Lenin, +Liebknecht, Engels and Rosa Luxemburg. Plaster, plaster, +red cloth (made of paper), red columns, red flag-staffs and +flags, wreaths, five-pointed Soviet stars. A sickening red +disguise over the deadly pallor of the Hungarian capital.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A red rag rouses a thirst for blood in a frenzied bull. +What is it they want, there, on the banks of the Danube? +What is it all for? Is it a sudden madness, or is it +the accomplishment of the frightful prophecy of the +Apocalypse?</p> + +<p class='c009'>I took up my Bible. The prophecy and its realisation +stood out in red letters before my eyes. But a few days +later in the prophecy there comes one on a white horse, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>dressed in white linen. And the white one vanquishes the +red.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 2nd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>News has just reached us: the Red army has retired +before the Rumanians and has crossed the Tisza. The +Serbians have occupied Hódmezövásárhely. The Czechs +have occupied Miskolcz and are attacking in two sectors. +The population is helping them and there is no resistance; +the Reds are in flight. What a terrible position is ours: +the invaders fill us with horror, and yet we await them +eagerly: we look to assassins to save us from our hangman. +And while we bite our lips in helpless anguish our sufferings +are unheeded by humanity, which is concerned only with +the fact that the Soviet Republic protects foreigners. The +Republic of course has decreed that its agents must behave +with the greatest courtesy to foreigners, and it has +established an ‘Office for the protection of Aliens.’ Is +there not a single foreigner who thinks of asking his own +people for help for us, who did not intern them during the +war and are now persecuted slaves in our own country?</p> + +<p class='c009'>In past centuries the Rumanians and Serbs fled to us +for asylum against their own tyrants, and to us also came +the wandering Jew. But now they are all working together +to wipe us from the face of the earth. Yet we shared with +them everything we had, and they readily received our +protection. It is said that only a misguided fraction of +the Jews is active in the destruction of Hungary. If +that be so, why do not the Jews who represent Jewry in +London, in New York, and at the Paris Peace Conference +disown and brand their tyrant co-religionists in Hungary? +Why do they not repudiate all community with them? +Why do they not protest against the assaults committed +by men of their race?</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<p class='c009'>A storm is coming, and its breath bends the trees of the +garden. The branches of the old firs rise and fall over +the lawn like slime-covered oars on a turbulent lake. The +leaves of the aspen are thrust apart by the wind as if it +were blowing aside the hair from a face walking against +the storm. The willow bends as if it were gathering +flowers in the grass. The guns thunder near Örhalom. +The wind is rising, and already it is roaring like furious +giant hounds barking at the setting sun.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The soldiers say that the Czechs are going to attack +to-night.</p> + +<div id='i_110fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_110fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>THE RED MAY DAY IN BUDAPEST.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 3rd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>A wild night, like a witches’ Sabbath. The nightingale +did not sing, the only sound was the roar of the guns. The +shells are still stacked on the other side of the wall of my +room, out there on the terrace, and if in the dark a shell +were to strike here, not one stone of the village would be +left on another. But there is so much misery nowadays +that no one troubles about such things.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Again the attack did not come off, and during the whole +night the garden was wringing its green hands. I was +awakened early by excited voices, all talking of the hopeless +situation of the Proletarian army. The Rumanians have +occupied the bridge-heads at Szolnok and are marching +on Budapest. Béla Kun has fallen.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The rumours spread through the villages, and the peasant +members of the small Directorates, recruited by force, +are saying with pallid lips: “I cannot be blamed, I have +only done what I was told. No harm can come to me, I +never wanted it.” The Communists of Szügy have +suddenly become very polite: the Red soldiers actually +saluted us. “What is going to happen?” I asked one +of them, and as I did so a drunken voice shouted in the +yard: “Down with the Dictatorship of the Proletariat!” +The political delegates to the front have vanished, and +disorderly, ugly indiscipline has taken hold of the men. +Sergeant Isidor Grosz shouted his orders in the village +street in vain, no one paid the least attention to him. One +of the soldiers shouted at him: “Shut up! You left +your battery, didn’t you, comrade, when the Czechs were +shelling us?” I remembered the story of this Isidor +Grosz. He went to see his fiancée, having written out a +pass for himself and forged his commander’s signature to +it. When he turned up again his commander brought +him before a court martial. Then the 32nd regiment of +heavy artillery began to grumble, and Isidor Grosz ran +straight to Béla Kun to complain. The discipline in the +Red army is as loose as this everywhere, which explains +the feeble resistance it is making. Meanwhile Comrade +<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>Böhm, the Commander-in-Chief, declares that Proletarian +self-respect is everywhere victorious.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The door opened; Mrs. Beniczky looked round and +then said in a whisper:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Counter-revolution has broken out in +Balassagyarmat. People are shouting in the street: “We +never were Communists!” Our people have seized a +telegram: in it the Soviet Cabinet has disclosed the +situation. It has fallen.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Steps came along the terrace. We looked round in +alarm. It was Mrs. Aladár Huszár.</p> + +<p class='c009'>What had happened in Balassagyarmat? And her +husband? She made a sad gesture, then said that I must +go with her. The Czechs were attacking and Balassagyarmat +was preparing to receive them. They only want +the railway line. Szügy is not going to be occupied, so +that if I remained here I should still be in the Soviet +Republic. We should have to hurry.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“So they have not fallen after all? And what about +the Counter-revolution?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>She told us hastily that a meeting had been held at the +square in front of the county hall. Captain Bajatz, who +last winter had driven the Czechs out of the town, announced +from the balcony that the situation was hopeless. “It is +a military impossibility to hold the town.” An officer +then exclaimed: “Down with the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat!” Whereupon Comrade Sugár, the political +delegate, elbowed his way to the front on the balcony and +incited the people against the bourgeoisie and the officers. +“They must be extirpated! Spare neither women nor +children! It is they who have brought the Czechs down +on us!” The attitude of the crowd changed suddenly: +fists were raised and bayonets pointed towards the +bourgeoisie. Blood flowed. Captain Bajatz fled: he was +last seen riding towards Kóvár, and as he reached the +bridge the Reds opened fire on him. That was the +gratitude of Balassagyarmat for his having saved it once. +However, he spurred his horse and with two other officers +rode over to the Czech lines. Since then the other bank +of the Ipoly has livened up. And in the streets of the +town the Proletarians are clamouring for our death and +shout that they are going to kill the hostages if the Czechs +enter. “The whole town is in an uproar, and the railway +barriers are guarded. Let us go!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I was loth to go, and Mrs. Beniczky looked affected too. +She said nothing, but she must have wondered that I +<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>should leave her now, when it was fear of a Czech +bombardment that had driven me here.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I must explain.... It was not because of the—of +the bombardment that I came here.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I knew that much, Elisabeth; it was not fear that +brought you here. But I did not question you, I just +enjoyed having you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The assumed name suddenly became unbearable.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Dear Mrs. Beniczky, I am not the person you think.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>She stepped back and looked at me in surprise. “But +who are you then?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Her eyes sparkled when I told her. “Goodness me! +But then....” She kissed me and her face showed clearly +that she was anything but displeased. “Mind you come +back if things turn out otherwise than you expect.” And +she looked after us as long as her eyes could follow.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Most of the soldiers had removed the red ribbon from +their caps and had replaced it by a white flower. By +nightfall whole troops of them were going off. A bandylegged, +unkempt young Jew was hurrying towards Mohora. +“There goes Béla Kun’s soldier!” the Reds shouted. +They laughed and one of them spat in the dust.</p> + +<p class='c009'>As we approached the town the country became more +and more deserted. We could hear the sound of rifles in +the distance. The poplars along the Ipoly were bent as +though the weight of the leaden sky pressed them down. +Everything bowed to the wind, the dust raced along, and +petals were swept in showers from the fruit trees. When +we had reached the streets two soldiers, pale as death, +came running past us. They glared at us suspiciously, +with frightened eyes. Others followed them, carrying +rifles and haversacks. They shouted excitedly at us:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Into the houses. Nobody must remain in the streets.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Another group came running along, dragging a little +fair-haired lieutenant with them. They were holding his +hands, and pulling him along so that he should not escape. +They even implored him: they needed him. Opposite +some railings they knelt down, the raised stocks of their +rifles pressed against dead-white cheeks.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Czechs are here!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We reached the house and banged the door behind us. +Machine-guns rattled and a gun roared, making the windows +shake. Opposite, under the palings, soldiers bent low and +ran feverishly towards the barracks at the end of the town.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There they are, near the wood. They have crossed +the Ipoly!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>No human being was now visible in the streets. The +rattle of the machine-guns continued, and the guns fired +more rapidly, the shells whining through the air above our +heads and bursting in the vineyards towards Szügy. A +cloud rose wherever they struck the earth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The church spire of Kóvár has been hit, it’s disappeared +altogether.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>On the main road some cows were rushing along in a +wild stampede, the heavy coat of the cow-herd swinging +right and left as he ran. Everything was dashing for shelter.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The street became darker and quieter, and the rifles +alone broke the silence of the night. The electric lights +were out, the current had failed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Hours passed, then heavy fists were heard banging at +some door. Armed men clattered past our window and +went on towards the prison. The unsuccessful Counter-revolution +had disclosed the honest people. Another door +banged in the next street: they were taking hostages. +And in every part of Hungary doors are banging like +that to-night....</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Balassagyarmat, <em>May 4th</em>.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>We are still ascending our blood-covered Calvary; later +on its stations may show up clearly. There, at that corner, +did they put the cross on our shoulders, there did they +smite our faces, there did they spit into our eyes, there +did we collapse under the cross, and nobody came to help +us to bear it. We had to rise and drag it further.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Yesterday we thought we had escaped. Yesterday the +news came that the Cabinet had fallen and that the Red +armies were everywhere on the run. To-day they have +shunted the ill-success of their arms and the people’s fury +on to the bourgeoisie. The game of the Károlyi revolution +is being repeated. Instead of pogroms, let there be +massacres of Christians. They spoke of it at the market place: +Számuelly is coming to restore order. The lives +of the fallen Red soldiers must be revenged.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mobilisation!... The newspaper seems to be composed +entirely of exclamation marks. ‘To the factory workers!’ +‘Order!’ ‘Appeal!’ ‘Decree!’</p> + +<p class='c009'>Comrade Pogány has sounded a tocsin of alarm: “The +news from the front is bad. Our defeat at the front means +the return of the Dictatorship of the Bourgeoisie, our +victory means the conservation of the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat. Everything depends on organised labour. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>To-day the position is this: the revolutionary Proletariat +of Budapest can no longer trust the front, on the contrary, +it rests with the Proletariat of Budapest to save the front +by its revolutionary impetus. The Dictatorship has +reached its crisis....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Only after this confession did the newspaper give a +belated account of the May festivities of the capital. The +town in scarlet: hundreds of thousands in the streets: +an exodus to the woods: illuminations, fireworks.... And +the poor people who expected to be fed on the festive +occasion staggered back like madmen to the great incertitude, +hungry, and their eyes sore with the scarlet glare.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The deadly colour of the red madness was still on the +walls of the houses when at 2 p.m. the trembling Cabinet +met in the great room of the Town Hall. Meanwhile rain +had begun to fall, and the thirty millions’ worth of red +paper-cloth was soaked; red streamed down the houses, +the walls, the plaster statues, the pavement. Everything +was painted red. It is said that the town looked like a +huge blood-covered slaughter-house. And then the news +spread that the Dictatorship had fallen.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The newspapers reported the details of the emergency +meeting of the Workers’ Council. Béla Kun shouted to +the audience that “The masses of the Red army are +fleeing before the hireling armies of Imperialism. Looking +now,” he said with raised voice, “at Soviet Hungary, I +remember a story by Gorki. Gorki went to Paris in search +of the spirit of Revolution, seeking its aid for the +struggling revolution of the Russian Proletariat. He +searched for the ancient Revolution, crowned with the +good Phrygian cap, he searched and inquired, and at last +was led to a hotel where he found a courtesan, a woman +fallen more or less to the level of a street prostitute, and +he asked her not to give herself to the Czar, but to help +the Revolution. But the woman the Revolution had +turned into a courtesan gave herself none the less to the +Czar; so Gorki ends with these words: ‘I wanted to +spit my bloody, purulent saliva into her face.’”</p> + +<p class='c009'>That is the kind of thing Béla Kun remembers when he +looks at ‘this Soviet Hungary’ and he dares to say it to a +race to whom Louis Kossuth once said: “I prostrate +myself before the greatness of the Nation.” Kossuth +prostrated himself while Béla Kun thinks of expectorating.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I read the report to the end: nobody seems to have +risen to choke the words in his throat. In his awful +Ghetto-lingo Béla Kun went on:</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>“... It is not the Rumanians, it is our own troops who +are a danger to Budapest. We had to disarm the units +which returned from the northern part of the Tisza, so as +to save at least their weapons for the Proletariat. The +morale of the troops is such that Budapest is helplessly +at the mercy of a Rumanian attack. The question arises, +comrades, shall we give up Budapest, or shall we fight +for Budapest? I have always told my comrades that I +know neither morality nor immorality. I know of only +two things; those that are useful to Proletarianism and +those which endanger Proletarianism. And I declare +that it is dishonourable to tell the bourgeois the truth if +this truth is to be hurtful to the Proletariat. But, comrades, +I will not deceive the Proletariat. I will tell you +that the workers’ battalions are wanting in the fighting +spirit which would entitle us to think of the salvation of +Budapest....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Thus does this man speak of his own character, the man +who in his absolute power admits that: “We were a +small group, in opposition to the majority of working men, +when we started the fight for the Dictatorship.” And +he reveals the terrible secret of his success: Károlyi’s +high treason. “I feel somehow that if the Dictatorship +were to perish now, it would perish only because it gained +a bloodless victory. It was too cheap, it was given us +for nothing....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In fact, it cost nothing except Judas’ money and perhaps +the existence of Hungary. For now Béla Kun has +renounced the whole of Hungary and is ready to satisfy +any territorial demands the Czechs, Rumanians and Serbs +may raise, on condition that his power is left to him, and +“Budapest, where the protest against capitalism can make +a stand.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>His is no longer a human thirst for power: it is an +insatiable animal greed, which allows the limbs of its prey +to be torn off as long as it can devour the heart. After +having bartered away the land which the nation has held +for a thousand years in exchange for a single town, he has +telegraphed to our hungry neighbours, offering them the +ancient soil of the nation. And all he has to say to his +comrades about this unexampled deed is this: “It was +not for our pleasure that we sent those telegrams to the +surrounding bourgeois states....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A stranger soul has never used stranger language in +Hungary.</p> + +<div id='i_116fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_116fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>BÉLA KÚN GIVES AN ADDRESS IN KASSA.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>While Béla Kun was declaiming: “I am not in despair ... I do not want to make you despair, comrades ... +you will never hear despondent words from my lips.... +I shall never give it up.... I say we won’t be downhearted ... bad times, but not hopeless....” news was +brought to the assembly: the position in the field is not +hopeless! The attitude of the meeting altered at once. +The orator became truculent once more.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If possible we must defend the Dictatorship before +Budapest, through the Bakony, to Wiener Neustadt.... +We must not resign our power!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Workers’ Council then adopted a resolution—that +it is the duty of organised labour “to defend to the last +drop of blood the achievements of the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>How this defence is to be conducted was revealed by a +comrade called Surek:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Honoured Workers’ Council.... The bourgeoisie is +grinning and rubbing its hands everywhere. We must +freeze this grin on its face! To-morrow we must go to the +factories and our first duty will be to exterminate the +bourgeoisie effectively, in the strictest sense of the word. +We must keep our pledge that when the Entente comes +here it shall find nothing but mountains of bourgeois +corpses and a determined Proletariat. Enough bourgeois +must not be left alive to form a Government.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In deference to foreign countries this speech was not +reported in the papers; but political agitators are spreading +the words of Comrade Surek.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Now and then a bowed female form passes the window, +her face set towards the prison, carrying food for some +hostage. The observation post of the Reds has been +established on the prison roof, just above the hostages. +Let the Czechs shell it! Soldiers stop the women, inspect +their baskets and take whatever they fancy. Then they +say, as a parting greeting: “That is the last dinner you +need bring! If the Czechs enter, we shall hang the swine.”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 5th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The bombardment has ceased and the town is creeping +out of its holes. But people pass each other stealthily, +without exchanging words, as if they dared no longer talk. +And above the county hall the wind is toying with the red +flag. A blood-red shawl is floating in the spring breeze: +Szolnok has been retaken.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the afternoon Gregory, the Huszárs’ coachman, came +<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>running horror-stricken from the town: the Reds have +declared that instead of Aladár Huszár they are going to +arrest his wife.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was about ten o’clock when there was a knock at +the door.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let me go,” I said to my friend. Are they coming +for her, or has her husband come back, or are they searching +for me? The candle guttered in the wind, and at the garden +gate three men with fixed bayonets emerged from the dark. +They pushed me aside without saying a word and marched +up the stairs into the room. I ran and got in front of them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What do you want?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>They strode towards me menacingly and suddenly I +found myself surrounded. They looked round suspiciously, +and the leader said roughly: “Why is there a light in +this house?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I gave some explanation. One of the soldiers, a long, +angry-faced man, leant over me threateningly:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“This is no time to have lights burning. Just you look +out! If we catch you again we shall hang you on that +lamp-post there, at the corner.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>When they went I felt as if a throttling hand had released +my throat.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 6th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>I have been thinking of my mother all morning. This is +her name day, and I cannot be with her. Fate is +continually pushing back the hands of the clock that will +strike the hour of our reunion.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The town is beflagged with red flags. What has +happened? Szolnok? Or is it some other victory?</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Powers of the Entente have ordered the Rumanians +back, and now they are standing waiting beyond the Tisza. +Meanwhile we perish here.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Számuelly has no time to come here, luckily: he is +restoring order in the towns which put out white flags on +the arrival of the Rumanians. Six Hungarians were hanged +on the 3rd of May. Mrs. Huszár received the news, one of +the victims being a relation of hers, Béla Batik, an only +son the war left to his mother. Számuelly sat in judgment +over him. “Off you go to the gallows!” said he, and he +himself put the halter round his neck. Then he lit a +cigarette and clapped Batik on the shoulder saying: “It +will be all right, my hangman has the knack of it. Listen, +you dog! I grant you the time it takes me to smoke this +<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>cigarette. If you will tell me meanwhile the names of +your accomplices I will let you off.” He then sat down +on a chair and smoked while the other stood under the +gallows with the rope round his neck. The cigarette was +finished. “Long live the White army and Hungary!” +Batik shouted, and Számuelly released the trap with his +own hand.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Bloodstains multiply everywhere. We now know the +names of at least two of the victims whose blood has been +spilt on the chain bridge. They were Alexander Hollán and +his father. They had worked hard all their lives and they +were slaughtered by those who called themselves the +leaders of the ‘workers.’</p> + +<p class='c009'>It happened on the 27th of April. All over Budapest +it was forbidden for anybody to be in the streets after +10 p.m. The window blinds had to be drawn and if a +light was visible in a window the ‘Terror Boys’ fired at it. +Armed lorries were continually rushing about in the dark +streets. The town listened with bated breath: hostages +were being taken. Motors were racing up the castle hill: +it was a hunt for human victims. When these had been +collected a car crossed over to Pest and stopped on the +bridge. The two Holláns were hustled out on to the +lower quay. Probably it was there that their captors +intended to do the deed, but for some unknown reason +they ordered their victims back again into the car. They +started off but stopped again at the pillar and obliged the +tortured men to get off. The motor-car waited near by +and those in it heard a violent altercation going on in the +dark. Shots were then fired and there followed two +splashes in the Danube.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Nobody has seen the two Holláns since. The story of +the happenings was told by Karátson, a Secretary of State +and one of their fellow prisoners. Then, one does not know +how, the news filtered out and is being whispered to-day +behind the closed doors and windows of Budapest. Many +know it, only poor Alexander Hollán’s wife is in ignorance. +The Communists declare that her husband is in gaol, and +at noon her little grey shadow waits day after day amongst +the other women at the prison gate. She brings food and +linen to her husband and sends messages, and thanks the +terrorists at the gate for transmitting them. Meanwhile +the Danube carries her dead gently towards the sea.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The prisons are crowded with hostages awaiting their +fate. Death perpetually hovers over them, for they are +threatened daily with execution and daily one or another +<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>of them is led off to the prison yard. They blindfold him +and fire over his head—for fun. The hangmen of to-day +greatly enjoy gloating over their victims’ fear. Yet to +produce terror is the delight of degraded souls. Hearsay +reports hundreds who are the innocent inhabitants of +prisons, but names cannot be ascertained. Yet we know +there are Archduke Joseph Francis, Bishop Count John +Mikes, Alexander Wekerle, the former Prime Minister, the +president and the vice-president of the Hungarian Academy +of Sciences, several former Ministers, court dignitaries and +members of parliament, generals, lord lieutenants, landlords, +and many others, among them the aged Count Aurel +Dessewffy, Lord Chief Justice, who was dragged by Red +soldiers from the side of his wife’s deathbed to be cast into +prison. There is the élite of the Hungarian nation, with +many others whose names have not reached me. Many +unknown people, students, women, farmers, manufacturers, +even some workmen. They are all hostages—prisoners +in their own country—pawns for the lives of Béla Kun, +Számuelly, Pogány, Landler and other comrades.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 7th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Now and then comes the sound of distant gunfire. Whence +does the wind bring it? The Reds have beaten the Czechs +back all along the Ipoly. A new poster has been stuck +on the wall of the house opposite, it is an appeal to the +inhabitants of Balassagyarmat by Comrades Riechmann, +the political delegate, and Singer:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Comrades! We have vowed on our ideals that if any +among you who want to restore the old order raise their +sacrilegious hands against us, we shall strike them down +with our iron fists and smite them like a hammer smites +the anvil. What do they want? To bring back the old +criminal order? Do not attempt the impossible, because +henceforth the slightest attempt will mean paying with +your lives, and we will deal with you as with ordinary +assassins who are a danger to human life. Behold your +heroes, sitting in gaol and waiting for the sentence of +justice for their vile, incredible treasons.... What does +the country mean to the bourgeois? You have seen how +it created happiness and comfort for them, while our share +was misery.... And we declare to the bourgeoisie of +the whole world that we will not give up our town and our +country, because <em>now they are ours, it was we who defended +them for fifty-two months</em>.... Long live the World-Revolution! +Long live Béla Kun!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>Comrades Singer and Riechmann! They cannot even +write the Hungarian language, and yet they dare to claim +not only our country but its defence during the war which +they successfully shirked for fifty-two months. Let them +behold from their graves, those who have fallen on distant +battlefields, those whose feet were frozen in paper boots, +those whose wives hungered and shivered in the queue! +Among my relations fourteen followed the call. All of +them were young. Eight of them will never return. Do +they behold these things from their graves?</p> + +<p class='c009'>At the end of October the disbanded soldiers came back +from the world-war clamouring for pogroms. In November +they were already demanding the blood of their own kin. +The air was full of secret promptings: ‘Everything shall +be yours!’ Later on there came the shout: ‘Plunder +the gentle folk!’ Those who first whispered saved thus +their fortunes and their lives. And the people chose as +its leaders the owners of the gin-shops and declared the +landlords their foes. And Comrades Singer and Riechmann +declare to-day that our country is their country and no +longer ours. The leadership of the nation which was once +Széchényi’s, Kossuth’s, Deák’s and Tisza’s, is now theirs.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 8th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Béla Kun has asked the Rumanians for an armistice. +His offer expresses deadly fear. If he can retain the rest +of mutilated Hungary in his grip he will renounce any +territory, is ready for any sacrifice.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Madarescu, the commander of the Rumanian troops in +Transylvania, answered three days later. In his conditions +he never mentions the Soviet but always speaks of Hungary. +He insists on the disarmament of all Hungarian forces. He +requires that the Hungarian Command shall acquiesce in +the execution of the ultimate conditions whatever they +may be. He requires the delivery of all arms, guns, +ammunition, means of transport, equipment and provisions. +He demands all railway material and armoured trains, and +orders the return of all prisoners of war, hostages and +civilian population carried off by the retiring army. This +reparation is to be done without any obligation of +reciprocity on Rumania’s behalf. That is how Hungary +is spoken to to-day! And the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat, which has helped the advance of the Rumanians +from the Maros and Szamos to the Tisza, may count this +<span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>humiliating tone among its achievements. It is we alone +feel the pain. When on the 1st of May the Rumanians +crossed the Tisza, Béla Kun prepared for flight. The +families of the People’s Commissaries were packing up. +Big sums were smuggled out of the country. Then the +Rumanians were stopped by the Entente, so Béla Kun +gained time. He organised the workers’ battalions and +to-day he answers Madarescu’s armistice proposals by +mobilisation. So we continue in agony.</p> + +<p class='c009'>New orders have been posted up in the streets of +Budapest:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“To save the Proletarian Revolution we order the general +mobilisation of the Proletariat. Budapest will from this +date be under martial law. We appeal to the Proletariat +to do its duty to the last.</p> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>The Revolutionary Cabinet.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>And the hated and persecuted middle classes are ordered +to pay the blood tax for the salvation of their executioners: +“Every officer of the reserve who is under forty-five years +of age must report for active service. Those who refuse +to obey this order....” If the middle classes do not +obey, they are threatened with the Revolutionary Tribunal; +the Proletarians, however, if they enlist, “will receive +in addition to their pay the usual wages of +workmen.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>No, it is not yet over, indeed it is beginning once more.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In Budapest the comrade Commissaries and their wives +are reviewing the troops, and the electrician Commander-in-Chief +is starting in the royal train from his Headquarters +to inspect the troops in the provinces.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Galician Neros are now quite at home in their bloody +and fantastic rôle. Their chronicle, ‘The People’s Voice’ +which until lately has spent all its energies in undermining +authority and in attacking militarism, now reports in +rapture: “Comrade Böhm inspected the troops and +expressed his complete satisfaction at their appearance. +After the review the Commander-in-Chief travelled with +his whole staff to the front, where he inspected the advance +line and received the reports of his generals. Comrade +Böhm has expressed his confidence....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is an old familiar text, only the name of Comrade +Böhm has been substituted for that of the Archduke. +1914 ... 1919!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Here in this place it is not very easy to hold a review, +for the greater part of the garrison has evaporated. The +place of Captain Bajatz has been filled by a local butcher’s +assistant who commands the army from a coffee house. +Comrade Riechmann is the chief of the general staff.</p> + +<div id='i_122fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_122fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>EUGENE SZANTO <em>alias</em> SCHREIBER.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR WAR.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>Towards evening the news spread that the Czechs are +going to surround Balassagyarmat to-night. A nightingale +was singing in the moonlit garden, and voices rose in the +garden next door:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If the Czechs do not come to-night it will be the end +of the hostages. The soldiers have been shouting all day +under the prison walls ‘You are going to die, you swine!’”</p> + +<p class='c009'>At that moment a cannon roared in the vineyards.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Bless your sweet little throat,” exclaimed the voice of +an old woman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Don’t bless it so loud or you will find yourself in prison.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“But the nightingale!” stammered the old woman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Of course,” someone laughed; “I thought you referred +to the Czech gun.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Wild firing came from the Ipoly, and bullets whistled +right and left. We ran towards the house. Near the shed +a bullet passed so close to me that I felt the wind of it: +it passed over my head and struck the wall like a mad +wasp. The shutters of the houses were closed rapidly, +they give one at any rate a feeling of shelter. Bullets +continued to spatter on the walls. Every now and then +we rushed out, looked round in the moonlight, and then +rushed back again. All the while the wasps are buzzing +round the house.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 9th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>On the sunny side of the street, tired, ill-looking, +prematurely aged people came slowly from the direction +of the prison. The hostages have been released. The +order came from Budapest:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Soviet takes hostages when danger is imminent. +As the Soviet is at present in no immediate danger, we +order their provisional release.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The wife of a railwayman came into the yard with eyes +red with weeping. The soldiers had deserted their post, +so Comrade Riechmann and the butcher’s commander +ordered the railwaymen out. They at least love their +country, and last winter they opposed the Czechs. Now +they have driven them back again, having made forty +prisoners. But thirty-eight railwaymen are missing, and +Comrade Böhm is going to credit internationalism with +this victory won by Hungarian nationalism.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A carriage rattled down the street. Nowadays whenever +<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>a carriage stops anywhere all the windows and walls of +the neighbourhood are on the alert. We noticed that +everybody was looking in our direction.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Gregory the coachman put his head through the door:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Here they are!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Detectives. I hid my notes in the sofa cushions and +fled before them from room to room. They requisitioned +uniforms and field-glasses. They also inspected the library +and told us that the piano was public property. Even +sewing machines are taken by the Government, and it +makes no difference if the owner is a tailor. Thus are +they killing home industries. They took all the tobacco +they could find, nor did opera-glasses escape; “The army +needs them. We give no receipt. These things no longer +belong to you, nothing belongs to you.” And they took +them. As they left they questioned the maid in the +corridor:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And where may your master be?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I heard the girl reply mockingly, “In town!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Don’t play the fool!” the detective shouted, “we +know he has run away. We are searching the whole +county for him.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Again the girl chaffed them. “What an idea! How +can he have run away? They are pulling your leg. He +comes home every night.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Well I never,” said the man to his companion, and +they whispered among themselves. The maid thought +herself very clever and laughed contentedly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When they had left, Gregory the coachman came in.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They said they will come back and watch for him +every night.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mrs. Huszár advised me to go back to Szügy till this +zeal blew over.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the afternoon the sky became clouded. The fusilade +died down. The stuffy heat preceding a storm weighed +heavily on us. In town they were burying some soldiers, +unfortunate victims of the Red war. The passers-by +stopped on the kerb and stared at the funeral, while the +procession passed slowly under red flags. A red cross was +borne in front of it, then came the coffins, draped in red, +followed by two vulgar-looking girls, in red dresses, carrying +wreaths of red flowers tied with red ribbons. Under the +grey sky, on the grey road, death, dressed in red, proceeded +towards the cemetery. And among the green fields, in +verdant peace, the garden of Szügy was waiting for me.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Szügy, <em>May 11th</em>.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Since I left Szügy the almond trees have blossomed; so +beauty came to meet me, and my heart lost some of its +wildness and I felt less lonely and sad.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When I reached the bottom of the neglected garden I +saw that someone was sitting on the stone seat leaning his +elbows on the table and staring towards the sun. For an +instant I was taken aback: who was this man? Then +I remembered: he must be one of the officers quartered +on us. Abject distress was depicted on his downcast face.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was despair that drove many patriotic officers through +hunger and poverty into the Red army, and among the +humiliated they are the worst; trampled, threatened, +insulted, hungry, shivering and watched; the helpless +prey of a typewriter-agent commander-in-chief, of the +delegates to the front, of scum.</p> + +<p class='c009'>So the pathless garden has appealed to another +unfortunate. He too would like to escape, but cannot; +he too would like to hope, and there is nothing to hope for. +What is in store for us? Every attempt we have made +has broken down, our hopes from abroad, our hopes from +our own efforts. The Red press is howling for blood. +“Death to the bandits of the Counter-revolution!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The greater part of Hungary’s aristocracy fled abroad +in March: the Hungarian peasantry keeps obstinately +silent on its isolated farms, in its sequestered villages. So +there are none left for a counter-revolution but those who +for a thousand years have borne the weight of our destinies. +Once they were the electors of kings, when they were +known as the gentry, later as the educated classes, and +to-day as the middle classes. They have always been to +the fore when death or toil was demanded of them, and +always in the background when royal favours and grants +were distributed; but never have they been mediocre in +fibre. This class will be for ever the trunk of the oak, +the power that supports the tree and stands up against +the blows of the axe, yet does not receive the rays of the +sun. Now the axe has fallen. Men were wanted who +dared to die, and in Budapest the first attempt at a +<span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>counter-revolution flared up. But somebody betrayed it, +and those caught were sentenced to life-long imprisonment +and their leaders executed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then came the news that the ‘Cabinet’ had sent to +the Hungarian Legation in Vienna one hundred and forty +million crowns to finance a revolution; whereupon Hajób, +the Secretary of the Legation, and the patriotic Hungarian +employees stormed the Communist Legation. The money +fell into the hands of the counter-revolutionaries.</p> + +<p class='c009'>‘The Red Newspaper’ foamed as it reported the matter. +Our hopes rose. It was said that over twenty thousand +Hungarians, able to bear arms, were in Vienna, and in our +imagination the right bank of the Danube was already +aflame. People whispered: “the Hungarians of Vienna +have started, it is only a question of days and they will +knock over the Dictatorship.” Then one night about +fifty officers crossed the frontier—and were disarmed by +the Austrian frontier guards.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Still there was hope. The ideals of the Budapest +conspiracy survived its martyrs. The thread was not +dropped. Brave men began once more to organise. It +was decided that the aeroplane which was to give the +signal for the rising was to fly over Budapest on the 4th +of May at three o’clock in the morning. On the eve of +the event a few officers, confident of victory, appeared in +a restaurant with white roses and with restored decorations +and insignia of rank, and made the gypsy band play the +national anthem. This stupid demonstration naturally +aroused the attention of spies, and the same night Colonel +Dormándy, Captain Horváth and several brave officers +and officials were arrested.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When I reached the house a letter was waiting for me +from Mrs. Huszár. A clergyman of the reformed church +is going to-morrow to his parents who live on the other +bank of the river, and he will take me with him. One +has only to ford the river and one is safe.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 12th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>I had a curious dream last night. I dreamt the moon was +shining on the manor-house. I had to escape, and was +implored to hurry. Somebody hastily pressed a bundle +tied up in a handkerchief and a staff into my hand. Then +I found myself on the main road along the river, alone in +the silvery light of the moon. The water was visible +between the trees and sparkled brightly. Then I noticed +<span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>that the bundle in my hand became heavier and heavier. +I looked at it and found that it was all covered with blood; +blood was streaming out of it and running down my staff +till it covered the road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Later I told Mrs. Beniczky my dream. “Don’t go,” +said she; “a better opportunity will come.” So I stayed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the afternoon the commander of the artillery in the +village came to take leave. The Czechs are retiring all +along the line, the Reds in pursuit. The Rumanians also +have lost the initiative. In Germany the awful conditions +of peace have provoked an outburst of Spartacism. The +Germans are making an alliance with the Russians. France +does not care; she requires her troops for troubles at home. +The domination (such as it was) of the Entente in Hungary +has come to an end. The gunner looked down in despair: +“The Soviet is going to rule the world,” said he.</p> + +<p class='c009'>If this is true I shall not escape; I shall go back to my +mother and report myself. One gets tired of being a +fugitive.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was a knock at the door and in came Mrs. Huszár. +She too was pale and spoke in whispers:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Bad news. It is all over, and the town is full of +detectives. You mustn’t stay any longer; you must +leave here immediately.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And your husband? Supposing it’s true that things +are going to continue like this for years?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’ve just heard from him,” said Mrs. Huszár, “he’s +hiding in the woods. He’s having a bad time of it too, but +then he is a man.” She had no thought for herself, only +for others. “There’s no need for you to stay with us.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>So we agreed that I should be informed as soon as the +clergyman returned and get ready to start.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The moon was filtering through the trees and in the +blue light on the lawn the white fluffy dandelion clocks +swayed like tiny Chinese lanterns on the ends of miniature +poles. The breeze swept across the grass and extinguished +the lanterns. The fluff floated in the moonlight: the +image of our torn hopes.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 13th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>This morning a soldier I had not seen before came in +through the garden gate, bringing the officer’s dinner in a +canteen. He put down the canteen on the steps of the +terrace and went into the kitchen. The men have ordered +<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>roast veal for their own dinner. When he came back he +saw that a dog was licking the officer’s food.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What does it matter?” said he; “dogs can feed out +of the same trencher.”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 14th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The last frost was shimmering on the grass, and machine-guns +were clattering away as if needles of steel were sewing +a shroud in the air.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A cloud rose on the main road, as if raised by a whirlwind: +a carriage came racing along at a mad gallop. A young +man was driving, giving the horses their head, and as he +leant forward I saw that he had a gentlemanly appearance. +That was all I could see through the dust; the carriage +passed in a flash.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Shots were fired at it. “Stop him!” howled a hoarse, +thick voice from a cottage.</p> + +<p class='c009'>They are going to arrest him; already a mounted +trooper is galloping after him. But his horse shied at the +shooting, rose on its hind legs, and then swerved with his +rider into the fields. Meanwhile the carriage had disappeared, +and my heart followed it. The fate of the driver +is mine, his escape is my escape. I do not know who he +was. I could not even see his face clearly, but he is +‘wanted,’ so we are friends. It is only thieves and malefactors +who are not hounded in Hungary to-day. They +are free, they judge, rule, and speak in the name of the +country. Those who are hunted are my brethren.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 16th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The garden has never attained such supreme beauty; +it seems to open in the morning as for an embrace. Its +silence was interrupted this morning, however, by a sound +like a giant blue-bottle humming in the distance. It flew +fast, came nearer and nearer, its hum became a roar. A +motor-car was racing along, a grey, luxurious field car, like +the one the King used to have. I looked out between +the shrubs. The car stopped near the path, and the driver +in his leather coat leant forward, adjusting something +near the steering wheel. There were three passengers in +the car, the one on the right, lolling back among the +cushions, a fat, high-shouldered, short-necked, broad Jew, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>whose very attitude was unpleasant. Under his flat Soviet +cap greasy black hair curled over his neck. His clean-shaven +face reminded one of a music-hall artist.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The car started and disappeared in a cloud of dust. I +shrank back with disgust. Why had that face come here? +Where had I seen it before? I shuddered. It was as +though a soft slimy toad had suddenly appeared on the +surface of a clear sylvan pool. The garden closed over +the vision and the flowering lilacs effaced its impression. +In the evening I was told that the man in the princely +motor, with his suite, was Joseph Pogány.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I suppose I ought to be amused. Here am I, outlawed, +sentenced to death, and sleuth-hounds have been let loose +upon my tracks. The chauffeur is probably our housekeeper’s +fiancé, the same who was set to spy on our home. +And these people who have been searching for me for +weeks were standing just now a few paces from me; they, +openly, free, while I was hiding in the bushes. May the +same fortune attend their search for others.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 17th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Yesterday a newspaper was thrown from the train. The +old middle-class newspapers have stopped publication even +in their new Communist disguise. Following the Russian +example there are now only official papers; ‘The People’s +Voice,’ ‘The Red Newspaper,’ ‘The Red Soldier,’ ‘The +Young Proletarian’; <cite>Világ</cite>, the old newspaper of the +Freemasons, has remained, though it disguises its identity +under the name of <cite>The Torch</cite> and serves as official mouthpiece +of the Commissary for Education; and there is the +old capitalistic <cite>Pester Lloyd</cite> used by the revolutionary +Cabinet as its semi-official, German mouthpiece.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The newspaper went from house to house through the +village and at last reached us. It proclaims in gigantic +type: “Victories of the Proletarian army. Lenin +congratulates Béla Kun by wireless on his victories.” So +Lenin is speaking once more!</p> + +<p class='c009'>The sun is shining and yet the horizon appears dark and +sad. Is it really possible that they should triumph in the +end? Suddenly I laughed: Comrade Landler has published +an article in ‘The People’s Voice,’ telling the story +of how he visited a workmen’s battalion with Béla Kun +and Pogány. To quote him verbatim: “When they saw +us they cheered. Then a curious thing happened—our +<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>comrades asked for our autographs. We were obliged to +give our autographs, not to one, not to ten, but to half +a battalion. He who cannot interpret this incident must +be afflicted with blindness. An army which is on such a +high level of culture that its men, a few miles behind the +front, ask for nothing but autographs, <em>an army like that +cannot fail to be victorious</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The paper was still in my hand when I came to a little +plot of land below the garden known by the name of ‘the +parson’s green.’ It used to be glebe land but Mrs. Beniczky +has rented it for many years. She has just been informed +by the Directorate that this is to be her last year of tenancy. +However, they are graciously allowing her corn to grow +there. John Kispál, the gardener, a member of the +Directorate, was hoeing in it, and behind him a small girl +was sowing corn in the furrows. When Master Kispál +perceived the newspaper in my hand, he leant on his hoe +and sucked at his pipe so violently that he drew his cheeks +in. Then he sent the girl for tobacco and looked round +cautiously. That is the way people have nowadays when +they want to speak openly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Tell me, Miss,” said he, “what is going to happen?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“How should I know?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Well, the gentle folks always know more than we do; +they get it out of their brains. Brains can’t be taught.” +He gave a long pull at his pipe. “Nowadays they put a +man up against the wall if he says what he thinks. Mistress +Bakalár has been carried off in chains, because she could +not keep her mouth shut. She said that the Reds were +greater enemies than the enemy. It was no help to her +that she was a first-class Proletarian, rifle-butts played +havoc with her head.” The gardener looked down pensively. +“Even that is not the worst of it. What’s worse +is that they are forsaking the country. How can any +Hungarian do such a thing?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Those in power to-day are not Hungarian.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What? You don’t mean to say that Béla Kun is +not a Hungarian?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Why, his real name is Cohen!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Kispál’s mouth opened wide. “If that is so, the gentle +folk have treated us very unfairly. Why did they allow +such a thing? Believe me, if he had come here under his +true name the people would have had none of him.”</p> + +<div id='i_130fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_130fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>BÉLA KÚN (1) AND TIBOR SZÁMUELLY (2) IN THE MAY DAY PROCESSION.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>When I reached the house the soldiers were making a +great noise in the kitchen. They told the maid that an +army order had arrived: the 32nd Artillery would have +to leave this place. A small battery would come in its +place with a hundred and fifty men. But they were not +quite sure about obeying this order yet: Sergeant Isidor +Grosz has a sweetheart near by, and Katz, the political +delegate, does not want a change either. So they have +sent to Budapest to ask Béla Kun to change the gunners. +They will stay on with the 8 c.m. guns, and if they do not +get their way they are going to blow up all the ammunition.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Comrade Pogány was in a temper when he left here. In +the morning when he rushed into the commander’s office +he shouted and did not say “good morning” to anybody. +He asked an officer:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“How many recruits, and what stuff are they made of?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Eighty men, poor fellows, mostly flat-footed.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Why did they join up?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“For pay, clothes and boots,” the officer answered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Not for the ideals of the Proletariat?” Pogány insisted.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I can’t tell. The matter was never mentioned.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The People’s Commissary turned his back on him +furiously and ordered the officers to parade in front of +the men; then he asked the latter: “Are you satisfied +with the comrade officers?” After that, though the Red +press describes his indomitable courage at the head of +storming troops and gushes over his self-sacrificing heroism, +he retired to a safe distance behind the front.</p> + +<p class='c009'>And the gunners are going to remain another day because +they want to have a dance as a send-off. The men say +that Isidor Grosz has come to an arrangement with Béla +Kun—he came back with his pockets bulging with money, +so now he does not mind leaving. It is to be hoped that +none of the others will take the thing amiss: there is a +lot of ammunition in the woodshed and on the terrace. +The gate stands open, and there is nobody to guard it. +Even children steal in and break the boxes open, stealing +the cartridge cases and the cordite to make fireworks with.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The maid went to the dance to-night. There was a +Gypsy band. The soldiers danced and “the Proletarian +army, as a sign of its great, self-respecting discipline,” +emptied several barrels of wine.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 19th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The Red press is shrieking with sarcasm, mixed with +hatred: “The parody of a Government in Arad!” What +is it, an opposition Government? Surely not a Hungarian +<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>Government? But it is. It was formed in Arad on the +5th of May, two weeks ago, and we, living in the same +country, have received the news only to-day! That is +how The Terror deals with our news. At last...! I +read the manifesto of Arad over and over again. “The +real leaders of the nation being now in prison or banished, +we assume the leadership provisionally.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A Hungarian voice, after a long silence. It does not +boast, it has none of the conceit of the distributors of +autographs, it is manly and modest like the man who is +at the head of this provisional Government, though for +an instant his name repelled me. Károlyi! Awful +memories are connected with that name, and an irremovable +curse. After Michael Károlyi comes another Károlyi; +but Count Julius Károlyi’s personality stands high above +the name, as if in expiation of the crimes which another +bearer of it has committed. The Foreign Secretary, +Baron Bornemissza, has been for years the leader of the +Hungarians whom fate has cast among the Rumanians. +The Minister of War is not a typewriter-agent or a second-rate +journalist, but a real soldier. And all the names are +of this stamp but one: Varjassy has been Károlyi’s and +Jászi’s man. But that matters little now, and the more +‘The People’s Voice’ fulminates, the greater is my joy. +“Who are these nobodies?” the Communist paper asks. +“Hungarians!” replies the air, replies life, replies morning +and night. And hope made golden promises.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Dense masses of soldiers came from the village this +afternoon, and the gunners of the 32nd came to harvest +in our garden. They are leaving this evening and flowers +are required for the train. So they made a dead set at +everything that blossomed in this quiet realm of green. +Branches cracked, the garden moaned. Within an hour +the dreamy little shrubs were changed into scarecrows, +the grass was purple with the blossom of lilac. Branches +were twisted and cut down to stumps, wounded plants were +stripped of twigs and leaves. They have trampled Spring +to death. I raged inwardly; let them have the flowers, +but why this mad destruction? I went into the house: +I could not bear the sight of it.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 20th–21st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>After the tepid rain in the night the sun has come out +from among the clouds, and the ill-treated shrubs look less +<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>hopeless, laden as they are with glittering drops. The rain +has made the grass raise its head and some forgotten lilacs +have opened their blossoms.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Ever since break of day the air has been humming above +our heads. Steel moles are mining the clouded sky. They +are invisible till they fall with a terrific crash and raise +mole-hills on the ground.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Reds have retaken Miskolcz from the Czechs. Eleven +counter-revolutionaries have been arrested in Budapest. +In the ‘Frankel Leo’ barracks a memorial tablet has been +unveiled to the French Communist leader of that name +who was born in Old Buda.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In other countries there is peace, there is a future. They +awake daily without fear, their dreams are not nightmares; +they have doors they can close, cupboards that are not +searched, a hearth which is not shared by uncivilised, +spiteful strangers. There one may sing and laugh. One +may even speak openly, happily. They have music, +pictures, and books, and no one comes to take them from +them. Man is allowed to create, their minds produce +songs and sculptures and pictures, scholars pursue their +studies, and women have not forgotten to smile. And in +the stifling fetid atmosphere of ugliness, humiliation, +reckless brutality, restraint, slavery, and hatred, I am +homesick for an hour’s beauty. Just for an hour to have +things as they used to be!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mrs. Beniczky had a visitor to-day, an elderly lady who +lived in the village. I escaped quietly to my room, and +although the visitor spoke in whispers, now and then she +forgot herself and then her voice reached me. Suddenly +she became aware that she was raising her voice and pulled +herself up.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I understand that a poor relation of the Huszárs is +staying with you, where is she?” she asked anxiously. +“In the next room? Goodness, then I ought to....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Don’t worry,” said Mrs. Beniczky, laughing quietly, +“she is hard of hearing.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Since I have been in hiding goodness knows how many +things I have been. First an escaped teacher, then a +nurse, then a poor relation; now I am deaf. Yet under +false names, under all sorts of disguises, almost invariably +I have met with kindness. Of course some people +naturally tried to impress me with their own importance, +and I shall be for ever grateful to them, for they have +taught me what it feels like to have to put up with other +people’s conceit. There was a ‘comrade’ officer of the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>Reds who used to make me feel fearfully small—I was +only a ‘poor relation.’ He scarcely ever took any notice +of me, and when I said anything he looked ostentatiously +bored. O poor relations, unwanted superfluities, you have +been my teachers, once I was one of you, and when these +times are over never shall I forget that I am of your kin.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When the visitor left I sat before the fire and read +Petöfi’s poems to my hostess. Slowly the day closed in +and when the light failed we sat talking quietly in the dusk.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It was lucky that I did not let you go with the parson,” +said Mrs. Beniczky; “God has preserved you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The news had reached us in the afternoon. Although I +had refused to go with him, the Reverend Sebastian Kovács +had started off to see his parents, but while he was fording +the river both the Czechs and the Reds had fired on him +from the banks. He threw himself into the water—a +woman who saw the whole thing recognised him and came +to tell us. That was the last that was heard of him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If you had been there, if they had arrested you, or.... +Do you remember your dream the previous night?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I shuddered: once more I saw the white moonlit road +and the little bloody bundle of my dream. Again I felt +the groping hand around me. For two months it has +reached out for me, missed me, come closer, missed me +again.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There was no reason why you should go,” said Mrs. +Beniczky, “this is a sequestered place, and you are as safe +here as if your mother were watching over you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then, all of a sudden, I saw my mother again. She +was not visible, yet I could see the poise of her head, her +blue eyes, and the wonderful smile on that delicate, narrow +face.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Petöfi’s book was lying open on my knee: “Mother, our +dreams do never lie....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>And in the dark the smile was still present.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 22nd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Last night two officers staying in the house came into the +dining-room bringing maps which they spread on the table. +Their faces were the picture of despair. Their position +has daily become more insufferable and orders from General +Headquarters have now reached the political agents at +the front that all officers are to be watched by ‘reliable +individuals’—the said reliable individuals being Jews in +<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>every case. This routine was begun yesterday, and two +soldiers with fixed bayonets are posted in front of every +officer’s quarters. They take it in turn to follow their +officer wherever he goes, they eat at his table, they sleep +in his room. This is in strict accordance with the Russian +plan, only Trotsky favours Chinese soldiers for the job.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Voices sounded at the door and the officers snatched +up their maps. A soldier with his bayonet fixed stood in +the doorway. The shade of the hanging lamp cast the +light low on the table, so that the soldier’s face remained in +the dark; only his repulsive, protruding eyes shone as +they passed inquisitively round the room. Then he +shouted to the officers: “Come along, comrades!” So +we were left alone once more, and only the roar of guns +broke the silence of the night.</p> + +<p class='c009'>At dawn the little village became a swarming camp. +A.S.C. carts covered with tarpaulins came clattering from +the direction of Balassagyarmat. The banks of the Ipoly +are being evacuated and the soldiers are hastily packing. +Camp kitchens and mounted troops clatter along the main +road. Dust, clouds of dust. Buglers sounding the ‘fall-in’ +and nobody paying the slightest attention.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mrs. Beniczky and I held a council this morning. If +the Czechs are really going to occupy Balassagyarmat, +nobody would think of looking for me there. What shall +I do? Finally we decided that I could go, and we took +leave of each other; but it was with a heavy heart I left +the old house and the garden behind me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>John Kispál, the gardener, a member of the Directorate, +proposed to help me reach the town. As we came to the +barrier at Szügy an armed soldier barred our road and +pointed his bayonet at me. “Where are you going? +Have you got a pass? No? Then back you go!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Steady, man, steady!” said John Kispál with an air +of importance. “Don’t you see she is with me? I am +a member of the Directorate, and don’t you forget it, my +boy!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The soldier looked at me. “Why are you going into +the town? What have you got in that parcel?” Then +he growled: “Well, you can go to hell if you like, so far +as I am concerned.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>John Kispál stepped out proudly and his face showed +clearly the satisfaction he felt at being such an influential +man that even Red soldiers got out of his way. I couldn’t +help chuckling: in Soviet Hungary a member of the +Directorate uses his influence to help me to escape and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>carries my bundle on his back. Meanwhile the warrant +for my arrest lies on my writing table at home.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s going on here?” John Kispál asked two +passing farmers. The men shrugged their shoulders +contemptuously: “The Directorate of Balassagyarmat is +on the run,” said one of them. “They are afraid of +sharing the fate of their colleagues in Fülek.” He made +a circle round his neck with his finger and looked upwards.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We had been walking for some time when the gardener +suddenly turned to me:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I should like to ask you, Miss, what you think about +it all? Shall I come to any harm when things come right? +That is always on my mind, because I don’t think a man +ought to assume that things will always remain as they are. +They may, but they may change too. It is wise to arrange +matters so that whether things remain as they are or +whether they change one may always be nice and snug.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Guns thundered from the vineyards and a shell shrieked +across the Ipoly and fell near the road, raising a cloud up +to the sky. Not a single carriage was visible on the road +now: the motors of the delegates-to-the-front, the members +of the Directorate and the ‘reliable individuals’ have all +been swept from the landscape by the wind raised by a +single shell. In the distance behind us they were tearing +along at a wild gallop, off the road whenever possible. I +began to feel safe. There is less danger in shells than in +Bolsheviks.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Bugle calls could still be heard in the direction of the +town, and my pulses began to throb. What if the barriers +on the other side were to close and I should have to stay +on in my Red prison!</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I haven’t any papers,” the gardener said; “you’ll +have to go on alone. Go straight through the High Street.” +He was pale and obviously afraid. So presently I found +myself alone. I jumped over the rails: people were +running towards the houses so nobody took any notice of +me, and I reached the Huszárs’ house in safety. Mrs. +Huszár and the children welcomed me with open arms.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A soldier was following me down the street, stopping at +every corner to sound the alarm. I noticed that his bugle +was ornamented with a huge red tassel which the rising +wind blew against his mouth. And as I looked back in +the twilight it seemed to me that the bugler was calling +blood.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 23rd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>I had hurried in vain. The Directorate has come back, +so I have to remain in my Red prison. The battle last +night caused many casualties, and the towns near the front +are bewailing their dead. Everything that is Hungarian +sorrows. The wheel of Fate is turning in blood, slowly, +terribly. It is turned by the Powers, but it is our blood.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Noon came, then afternoon, again the enchanting hour +of sunset on the banks of the Ipoly. The sun stands on +the hills above the bank and pulls at the golden net which +he cast over the valley in the morning. Like a fisherman +he pulls the light, glittering net over the fields and crops. +The net glides on, fast, without a sound. Now and then +its gold is arrested for an instant by a shrub, by the verdure +of a poplar, by the aspen of the river banks. Then the net +glides on, and the trees, the crops, the water, the meadows, +grow dark. The net has reached the horizon. For an +instant, like a golden line, it lingers on the blue crest of the +hills, then suddenly it dips into the west on the other side +and is gone.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I love this light: it has touched the steeples of our +churches, the thresholds of our cottages, from one end to +the other of our country. For a thousand years it has +come to us with dawn, over Transylvania, over the +Carpathians, the Great Plain, over the waters of the Tisza +and the Danube, over the fields of Banat, over the Carso, +over the blue, salt bay of Fiume, over all our ancient, +humiliated counties, over Buda and Pest, over Pressburg +and Trencsén. All that has been torn asunder is united +again in its net. But the catch of the great fisher is scanty +now: he carries naught but another Hungarian day, a +day of anguish, of blood, and of tears.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Only occasional rifle shots sounded round the house now; +the town was going to rest. The electric light went out +early to-night, so Mrs. Huszár and I sat facing each other +by candle-light.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Shells screeched through the air above the roof. What +is happening to our country? For days we have had no +newspapers. Tribunals of Terror sit at night. Racing +motors spread death and Béla Kun speaks of plans for +tens of years.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>The clock on the wall has stopped; goodness knows +how long we have been sitting like this. Better to do +something than sit and think, so I fetched my patience +cards. Tiny cards, the coloured toys of an old world. +Crowned kings, ermine cloaked, powdered little queens, +haughty young knights, they all look as if in their vanity +they were leaning over a mirror to see their reflection. +When I left home my mother packed these cards in my +bag, and they have become my only luxury. Whenever +I look at them they tell me something gently, in whispers, +of my home. Soothers of worries, prophets, fortune-tellers! +We laid the cards slowly out on the table, collected +them, started anew. How thin my hands have +grown....</p> + +<p class='c009'>Over the roof, high up, another shell whines. Then a +splintering crash. Now the other side answers....</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Reds....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That one came from the Czechs.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Silence.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There’s another Red.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We spoke mechanically, for by now we had got to know +the voices of the guns. Meanwhile the little queens and +kings on the table came and went by the light of the candle.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Czechs....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Three weeks! For three weeks it has been like this. +Yesterday, to-day, to-morrow—it is always the same. +There are no longer nights and days: there is nothing but +monotonous, continuous explosions.</p> + +<p class='c009'>What if it is to be always like this? What if this is to +continue for ever! The very air seemed to shudder. +From the opposite side of the table a pair of wide-open, +fixed eyes stared at me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Czechs....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Machine-guns were rattling somewhere near the Ipoly, +and the dogs barked. Another bullet struck the wall.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Reds....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Again the windows shook with the detonation. At the +end of the room the door opened by itself, making room +for hopeless despair, which entered and sat down to keep +us company.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 24th–25th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>If after the bloody battles of the war the victorious generals +had occupied our country their conquest would have put +<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>an end to the slaughter. But Hungary was occupied +without fighting by twenty-four Jews. The state of war +has become permanent, the slaughter continues, and—worst +of all misfortunes—for months there have been +continuous executions. Sentence of death is everywhere. +Some take a long time to realise it, but it is there none the +less.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Dreadful news reaches us from Budapest: the city is +starving; and in answer to this, Béla Kun declared at a +meeting of the Workers’ Council: “There are enough +supplies to prevent the Proletariat of Budapest from going +hungry.” He forbore to speak of the inhabitants of the +city, only of the privileged Proletarians, which for him +means the Jewish intellectuals and, possibly, those who +profess to be Red Proletarians. They will not go hungry. +If Hungarians do ... Béla Kun shrugs his shoulders.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The cruel ingenuity of the People’s Commissaries is +inexhaustible. Whatever they do not dare to do themselves +is done by the Workers’ and Soldiers’ Council, and +as a silent means for wholesale executions food tickets have +been introduced. The inhabitants are divided into classes, +one class receives bread, the other is denied it. Those who +receive red tickets—the workmen performing manual +labour, Red soldiers and all the Red élite—will still be able +to eat their fill. The recipients of blue tickets—officials, +teachers, widows, pensioners—may continue hungry. Those +who receive no food tickets will have to die of starvation. +Thus it is possible to carry out executions merely by the +use of coloured scraps of paper.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<em>The classification of the head of the household will apply +to all those members of the family who live with him.</em>” This +order reveals the intended extermination of a class: the +children of the Hungarian educated classes are to be +exterminated with their parents. The Dictatorship of the +Proletariat, which carries its class war into everything, +even into its administration of justice, its ‘First Reader’ +and the nursery schools, uses daily bread as a weapon of +war. Never has cruelty been displayed with such cynicism. +Not only does the Dictatorship of the Proletariat make +a distinction between adults, but it extends its favouritism +to the children. It distributes food with discrimination, +the children of the ruling class enjoying a preference. Let +the miserable little ones who had the misfortune to be born +in the grey, modest homes of officials or other intellectuals +instead of having seen the light of the world as offspring +of labourers or Red soldiers, let those poor little children +<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>starve and perish. Since Herod nothing so wantonly cruel +has been known in human history.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 26th–29th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>For two months the blood-reeking news has been coming. +At first we shook our heads incredulously. Rubbish! +Visions of a distracted mind. Terror inspires mad tales. +Then the news died down, and now, all of a sudden, it has +returned with proofs and names.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was at the beginning of April that I heard that a +sailor in Budapest was recruiting a band of terrorists +among freed convicts and Russian Jews. Next we heard +that these people had occupied the palaces of Counts +Batthyány and Hunyady. On the first of May they hung +out a huge sign over the palaces: <span class='sc'>The Lenin Boys</span>, and +ever since then they have been known by that name. +The Lenin Boys, armed to the teeth, clad in leather coats, +appear at night in the streets of Budapest or in those +provincial towns where the miserable population dares +to show signs of dissatisfaction. The other day they +carried off the organisers of the Counter-revolution, Colonel +Dormándy and Victor Horváth, who are said to have been +tortured atrociously. They were tied up in the cellars +of the Batthyány palace, burning cigars were stuffed into +their mouths, water was forced in enormous quantities +down their throats, and nails were driven under their +finger-nails. Whether they still live no one knows; there +are others too. Last week we heard that a counter-revolution +had been attempted at Makó and that the +former President of the House of Commons, Louis Naváy, +had been killed. We could not believe it: all his life he +had been an advanced Liberal who had fought for universal +suffrage, and he was a gentle scholar and philanthropist; +moreover after the Revolution began he retired from all +public affairs.</p> + +<div id='i_140fp1' class='figleft id004'> +<img src='images/i_140fp1.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>1. EUGENE VARGA <em>alias</em> WEISSFELD.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='figright id004'> +<img src='images/i_140fp3.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>3. DR. HELEN PECZKAI.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='figleft id004'> +<img src='images/i_140fp2.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>2. ALEXANDER NYÁRI.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='figright id004'> +<img src='images/i_140fp4.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>4. JOSEPH GAJDOS.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> + <div class='nf-center'> + <div>(<em>For an account of these Terrorists, see the</em> <span class='sc'>Appendix</span>.)</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>But the news persisted: the terrorists had gone down +to Makó to take hostages and amongst others they had +arrested Louis Naváy, his nephew Iván and the mayor of +the town, and had taken them by rail to Budapest. When +the train stopped at the station the terrorists shouted into +the compartment where the prisoners were: “Let the +Counts and Barons step forward!” Nobody moved, then +a man who as an orphan had been brought up by the +kindness of the Návays shouted: “This one’s a Right +Honourable and that one’s an Honourable, take these.” +The Lenin Boys dragged them from the train and forced +them to dig their graves at the bottom of the embankment. +There was no time for a tribunal, so they fired at them +without any preliminaries, stabbed them repeatedly with +their bayonets, and crammed them into the half-dug graves. +One of them was not quite dead when they were buried, +and his poor protruding hand waved feebly for a time. +The picture of it haunted me for many nights. It was +impossible! Incredible! But the news was repeated and +proved to be true. Other news followed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A young ensign named Nicholas Dobsa, eighteen years +old, suddenly disappeared in Budapest. He was asked +by the Terror Boys for his identity papers, and he laughed. +He said nothing, just laughed. Poor boy, he disappeared +behind the door of the Batthyány palace never to reappear. +Others disappeared too, and more pools of blood were +found in secluded places. Many other violent deaths were +reported, though rumour could not give the names.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Meanwhile Számuelly’s special train is on the move all +the time, and wherever it stops there are executions. It +started at Szoboszló, a long distance from here, and the +news came to us by an eye witness, Antony Szatmáry, a +railway man. It happened on the 23rd of April, when the +Red front was at Debreczen. During the morning a hussar +suddenly stepped out of the ranks and shouted: “Let us +run, the Rumanians are coming!” So the International +Battalion started off at once. The remnants of the army +fled on the last train to Szoboszló, and my informant, +Szatmáry, was pressed in to act as stoker. An armoured +train, advancing cautiously, met them, and a black-haired, +red-nosed young man leant out of the window: “What +news, comrade?” “We are the last to leave,” the stoker answered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The young man was Számuelly, and when he stopped at +Szoboszló he was mad with rage. He ordered the station +master to be flogged, as well as some workmen, and when his +train reached the signal-box and saw that a white flag had +been hoisted on the church spire he ordered the train back +and ran into the town with his terrorists, accompanied by +a fair-haired, blue-eyed woman on horseback. He arrested +three men at random, Körner a mill-owner, Joseph Tokay +a police officer, and Ladislaus Fekete the mayor, and had +them hanged on trees in front of a chemist’s shop. “Be +quick!” he said, and cleaned his nails while the execution +was being carried out. Then he boarded his train again +<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>and went on. In Kaba he had the curate, the notary and +the magistrate hurriedly tortured, and moved on again, +because the Rumanians were coming. Thence he went +to Szolnok, where he took hostages and had them hanged. +One hundred and fifty were executed. They were all +Hungarians—and Christians....</p> + +<p class='c009'>Steps approached the house and Mrs. Huszár exclaimed +in alarm: “The parson!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Reformed minister, Sebastian Kovács, looked +frightfully thin in his black coat. His face was ashen and +fresh furrows played round his mouth. He spoke pantingly, +as if he had been running hard, and turned to me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“God protected you that you did not come with me. +When I reached the Ipoly both Reds and Czechs came +rushing towards me. I had no choice, so ran into the +river and threw myself into the water, which was simply +swept around me by bullets. The Reds fired volleys after +me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>That was the history of the journey I should have had to +share.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You would undoubtedly have been shot or arrested,” +the minister went on. “The Czechs wanted to intern me, +and the Reds were hunting for me. For three days I hid +among the crops before I dared to come home. I hear +that a Czech shell struck the church; we had arms hidden +under the roof.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Bullets were again whistling in the street. The minister +shuddered and looked anxiously round, then he smiled, +embarrassed: “Since then my nerves won’t stand it. I +had rather too much of it.” He sat down almost in a +state of collapse, and although he was a young man he +looked very old.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>May 30th–31st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The banks of the river were unusually silent this evening. +Just as it was getting dark the soldiers rolled a hogshead +into the museum garden—the museum serves as a barracks. +We heard one of them saying under our window that there +was going to be a distribution of rum. What does that +mean?</p> + +<p class='c009'>The patrol passed. Then the strains of a Gypsy band +filtered through the night. Silence followed. It must have +been about two in the morning when a voice mingled with +my dreams. I woke, but could not at once grasp its +meaning.</p> + +<div id='i_142fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_142fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>“SZÁMUELLY ... TOOK HOSTAGES AND HAD THEM HANGED.”</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>“Attack....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Reds!...”</p> + +<p class='c009'>That was not what we had hoped for! For an instant +my heart stopped beating. Doors were carefully opened +and closed. The little girl came into the room and sleepily +dragged her pillow behind her, like a white ant carrying a +load too heavy for it. She lay down on the couch and fell +asleep.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Wild firing was going on, so we opened the window. +Suddenly the rifle shots seemed to come much nearer. +The dawn was full of explosions and the deadly arpeggios +of the machine-guns ran into one another, their staccato +notes running in endless sequence up and down the banks +of the Ipoly. Someone was playing the dance of death in +the grey light. Shells passed so rapidly over the roof that +it was impossible to tell which side fired them, and stray +bullets thudded against the walls of the houses. Not a +soul was visible. The house shook and every sound echoed +through it as it does when one is under the arch of a +bridge.</p> + +<p class='c009'>This went on for several hours: the vague grey objects +regained their outlines, and things assumed their natural +colours. The golden sun shone on green trees and on the +brown tiles of the roofs. The artillery went on firing, but +the rattle of the machine-guns seemed to get further and +further away. The fight was now beyond the Ipoly, somewhere +among the vineyards. It was not the other bank +that had come to break down our prison, it was our prison +that had spread to the other side.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A young boy doubled up on a bicycle passed under our +window. “The Reds have crossed the river!” he shouted. +“The Czechs are running along the whole line.” People +began to appear from the houses and a peasant girl stepped +aimlessly into the middle of the street. The vineyards +became silent; the Red guns alone went on firing and +there was no answer from the other side. But it was not +the silence of the living; it was the silence of death. Under +the tension the dam which kept the Red waves in bound +has broken, and the wave has spread and flowed over little +hamlets, villages, and castles, hitherto untouched. God help +the people on the other bank, for they are all Hungarians +and their share is suffering and death. The victory remains +with Trotsky’s agents. The long road of homelessness has +<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>become longer in front of me, stretching into the unknown, +even beyond the frontiers.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Presently the guns on our bank stopped firing too and +on the main road little figures, bent under heavy loads, +could be seen approaching. When they got nearer I saw +that they were soldiers—the victorious Reds returning +from the villages on the other bank among the vineyards, +laden heavily with loot. They had captured the entire +camp of the fleeing Czechs and brought bundles of rice, +matches, tobacco, sacks of dried prunes, barrels of rum, +wine and honey. A Jewish front delegate had even +obtained a carriage, which he had loaded high with plunder, +and the soldiers roared with laughter as he drove down +the street. Let Béla Kun run after the Czechs himself +if he wants to! They were very merry and some of them +very unsteady on their feet.</p> + +<p class='c009'>About noon, however, their merriment was unexpectedly +interrupted. Firing broke out suddenly and machine-guns +rattled in the vineyards. A soldier without his cap and +his face white with fright rushed towards the Museum +garden. “The Czechs have come back!” he shouted, and +his voice rang down the street. “They’re in the vineyards +again and have captured our people!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Czechs had, in fact, returned to the vineyards and +caught sixty Reds pilfering there. The buglers sounded +the alarm in vain: the Red army was busy cooking rice +and drinking rum. Some Proletarian women, who had had +no share in the booty, stood there, arms akimbo, and +scolded the soldiers: “Of course when there’s a distribution +of meat or of milk you’re always in the front row. Then +you shout that you are Reds and steal the milk from the +kiddies’ mouths. But when it is a question of driving +away the Czechs you run home with what you have stolen. +You let them take the hill.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Most of the soldiers were drunk, in fact they had got +tipsy before the attack began, for while they were falling +in Gypsies played to them and rum was distributed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mental degradation by means of alcohol was one of +the weapons of the bourgeois,” shouts the Red press. +“Alcohol is the Proletariat’s greatest foe,” is posted by +the Communists on all the walls. Yet the Dictatorship of +the Proletariat makes the class-conscious Red army drunk +whenever it wants to drive it to face unnecessary death.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span><em>May 31st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>What hast thou done, Michael Károlyi?</p> + +<p class='c009'>When morning came the Czechs had stealthily, quietly +evaporated from the hills, fleeing before a miserable handful +of Reds. They are the same Czechs who five months ago +descended from the mountains of Zólyom and took undisputed +possession of Pressburg and Kassa, impregnable +Komárom, a third of our country. How they would have +run if they had had to face the hussars of Limanova and +the territorials of Gorlice! But Károlyi’s minister of war +did not want to see any soldiers, the same Linder who +recently, at a review, exclaimed to comrades Böhm, +Pogány and Landler in front of their armed servants: +“You see we had to break up the old army to create this.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Two towns and all the heights above them have been +taken by the Reds, who have captured machine-guns and +two heavy guns. The Czechs were surprised in their sleep +and fled half-naked, all the prisoners being taken in their +night clothes. Peasants’ carts laden with Czech uniforms +and boots rattled over the bridges all night. I could not +sleep: I thought of the people on the other bank of the +Ipoly, whom I do not know and yet for whom I fear. When +they wake they will find the train of the plunderers which +brings the awful Red epidemic of tyranny and terrorist +tribunals. And when it comes back it will carry away +hostages....</p> + +<p class='c009'>The clock struck. Half-past one.... A long train +whistle; buffers knocking together; coupling-chains +clanging in the dark. Fetters and skeleton keys....</p> + +<p class='c009'>May the Lord have mercy on us all!</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 1st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>A drum is being beaten in the village and the sound echoes +from street to street. The Revolutionary Cabinet has +decreed general conscription, and a small minority of alien +race disposes of the nation’s blood by simple decree. I +shuddered. Henceforth they are going to force everybody +to take up arms for them against himself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>An aeroplane flew over us. “An Italian machine,” said +someone in front of the house. The airman was reconnoitring +the Ipoly valley—eyes from another world looking +down on us, indifferently, without sympathy. To him we +appear only as black spots, swarming ants. Does he know +that the ants are suffering, that the ant-hill has been kicked +<span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>to pieces and that strange vermin have invaded it? He +flew on—a dragonfly passing across the prisoner’s window.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The catafalque of the fallen Red soldiers has been erected +in front of the county hall; red flowers, a red cross. (Why +the cross?) Red shrouds showed under the lids of the red +coffins. Only the little son of Stefanovic was not among +them—the only child of a counter-revolutionary railway +man. He was the best pupil of his school, a fervent little +patriot, but was called up and had to go. He was wounded +under the vineyards and implored the soldiers in vain to +take him back to Balassagyarmat. They had no time—they +were carrying rice. So the boy dragged himself to a +field of oats and when the Czechs came back they found +him and clubbed him to death with the butts of their rifles—“the +little red vermin.” His parents brought the +corpse back, and the Directorate sent them a red coffin. +“That is enough,” said his father, “he shall never be +buried with such tomfoolery.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Among the dead Reds there are many little Stefanovics. +Passers-by stop reverently at their graves, for they hated +the Directorship of the Proletariat and loved their country.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Two soldiers came into the yard, two sad-faced boys, +and asked for red flowers and red ribbons for their comrades. +Out there, unmarked graves; in here, propaganda funerals.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In front of the county hall Comrade Singer pronounced +the valedictory discourse:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We take leave of you with the promise that we will +fight with merciless hatred against the bourgeoisie, and, +should we perish, the very blades of grass will continue +the fight, animated by our hatred.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the cemetery the minister spoke:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My brethren in the Lord, standing at these open +graves, let your last word be that of love....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In these two speeches Christ and those who had crucified +him met.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 2nd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Sometimes the candle flares up before it goes out. So +with the news to-day. In this morning’s paper we read: +“Szeged is in the hands of the counter-revolutionaries. +The opposition Government has removed from Arad to +Szeged and is in communication with the Hungarian +counter-revolutionaries of Vienna. Western Hungary is +organising and in Szeged Hungarian White Guards are +being formed under French protection....”</p> + +<div id='i_146fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_146fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>ALEXANDER SZABADOS <em>alias</em> SINGER.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR FOOD.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>It is actually in the Red papers! Have the Entente +Powers stopped the Rumanians on the banks of the Tisza +to give us a chance of saving ourselves by our own efforts? +That would at least be human justice. A nation, deadly +humiliated, could thus regain its self-respect. If only this +were the case! Then we could bless our two months’ +sufferings. Not Rumanians but Hungarians would retake +Budapest from the Red tyrant.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I noticed this morning that the soles of my boots were +worn through. What a shock! What shall I do if they +give way? We had frozen, black potatoes for supper and +when we rose from the table Mrs. Huszár told a story about +some bread and butter. The little girl began to cry: she +was hungry after her supper and wanted some bread and +butter.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Torn boots, black potatoes, what do they matter? +There are Hungarian soldiers in Szeged!</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 3rd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>I’ve got a fever of some kind and it frightens me—it would +be terrible to be ill at such a time and in a strange house. +I must try to keep going, but oh! how I long to go to bed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A man came in from the village this morning and reported +that when the Reds made their advance on Friday morning +the houses of all Jews were at once surrounded by Jewish +Red soldiers with fixed bayonets—to prevent them from +being looted. This was corroborated by one of the owners +of the protected houses himself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Thus even after the abolition of private property the +Dictatorship officially protects all Jews’ belongings. +Beyond the Ipoly Red soldiers have plundered Sztregova, +the ancient castle where Imre Madách wrote <cite>The Tragedy +of Man</cite>; but the Jewish Red soldiers protected the house +of Fischer, the land agent of Leszeny....</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 7th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>I’ve had to give in: I can hardly distinguish things and +am unable to move.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Baron Alexander Jeszensky came to see me, bringing +messages from Bercel. Charles Kiss is with the Kállays +and is coming to fetch me in a couple of days. He has +made all preparations for my escape to Vienna.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 8th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The Reds have retaken Kassa from the Czechs. Poor +City. It received the victors with red, white and green +flags, thinking they were Hungarians. Orders promptly +came that the flags were to be removed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Two days ago someone knocked at our window late at +night. Anxiety spread through the house; men’s voices +were audible from the corridor. Aladár Huszár had come +home! He looked like an apparition, a man of the woods, +for his dress was torn, his shirt was in shreds, and his +<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>beard and hair had grown inordinately long. For six +weeks he had been hiding with his friend George Pongrácz +in the wild hills of Börzsöny.</p> + +<p class='c009'>They, too, were expecting the fall of the Dictatorship +and were waiting for the intervention of the Entente. Then +came the offensive of the Reds. As the battle was progressing +northwards they concluded that the Reds were winning +and that there was no escape; and as they could not ask +for asylum from the Czechs, whom they had formerly +helped to drive out, what was the good of waiting any +longer?</p> + +<p class='c009'>“So we came home,” said Huszár, and despair was in +his eyes. “We shall give ourselves up to the Directorate +and stand our trial.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Directorate had ordered proceedings to be taken +against them, but miraculously had failed to arrest them.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<p class='c009'>The doctor came to see me this morning—I’ve got +rheumatic fever, and in the afternoon the children brought +me some forget-me-nots from the river. Dusk came, then +darkness. When I woke up a candle was burning in the +room and Charles Kiss was sitting at my bedside. He +brought me news of my mother, after all this time; she +is alive and well, but fretting about me as she has not +heard from me for weeks. She was questioned many +times by the Red agents and they forced her to swear that +as soon as she knew where I was she would report to them. +Once a detective said to her: “How must you have +brought up your daughter for her to behave like this?” +“I brought her up as a Hungarian,” my mother replied +simply. Whereupon the detective hung his head and then +said, as if ashamed: “I, too, am Hungarian,” and he +kissed my mother’s hand. Since then there have been no +more inquiry agents to see her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then Charles Kiss talked about himself. Most of the +time he has been hiding in Western Hungary, where the +whole region is in a ferment, counter-revolutions breaking +out here and there. But as soon as ever there is news of +one Számuelly makes a sudden appearance. In Devecser +he had the counter-revolutionaries hanged round the +church; with the exception of a young teacher they were +all peasants. He forced the women to look on. In +Nagygencs he had a farmer hanged in front of his children. +The farmer did not die at once and when he was in his +<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>coffin he sat up. The wife and children ran to him sobbing. +But the Terror Boys know no pity: they finished him off +in his coffin.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Charles Kiss is going to escape to Vienna. To do this +he has to go through Budapest—a long way round. I +watched his face anxiously, afraid he might say that I +should have to take the same road, but to my relief he +said nothing. I raised my arm to shake hands with him +when he went, and had to clench my teeth to restrain a +cry of pain. Then I lay for hours motionless, and all +through the night made preparations. In the morning +I was as tired as if I had wandered along endless roads.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 11th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The newspapers are howling victory—the delivery of +Kassa. The Internationale is played and the Red Guard +of Honour (?) cheers as Garbai and Béla Kun pass before it.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Far away I seem to hear wild Kuruc songs ... and see +the Kuruc horsemen waving their caps to their prince<a id='r3'></a><a href='#f3' class='c012'><sup>[3]</sup></a>.... +Our lovely town, longing for deliverance from Czech +captivity. What a different home-coming you must have +expected!</p> + +<p class='c009'>And this is how (according to the reporters) Béla Kun +held forth:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Dear comrades! Now, comrades, the Dictatorship of +the Proletariat is a fine thing, is it not? You have scarcely +tasted it, but you will soon see what a beautiful, good and +reasonable thing the Dictatorship of the Proletariat is, +from the workers’ point of view. The Proletarian who +labours, who was oppressed, cannot understand how anyone +can want anything else but the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat. It is so simple. We do not mind what +language a labouring brother Proletarian speaks, we have +but one enemy—the bourgeoisie, whatever language it +may speak....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Above the words of Béla Kun and the other ‘comrades’ +I seem to hear a thundering voice rising from the depths +of the Cathedral crypt:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<em>Why did you bring me home? I listened in peace to +the murmur of the sea....</em>”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span><em>June 12th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>It has been rumoured for days and now it turns out to be +true: Clemenceau is negotiating with Béla Kun in the +name of the Peace Conference. His Note came by wireless +from Paris to Budapest “to the Hungarian Government.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>This Note, which declares to the Hungarian Government +that it has just been decided to summon its delegates, calls +upon it to stop its attack against Czecho-Slovakia, otherwise +the Governments of the Allied and Associated Powers +will take the firmest measures to force Hungary to do so. +The Note reminds Béla Kun of the <em>gratitude</em> which he owes +to the Allied Powers because: “<em>on two occasions they have +stopped the advance of the Rumanian armies which had +crossed the frontiers fixed by the armistice, and had prevented +them from advancing on Budapest, and had stopped the +Serbian and French armies on the southern front of +Hungary</em>.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Clemenceau, the President of the Peace Conference, is +ready to sit down at a table with Béla Kun. His blind +hatred is ready for anything so long as it leads to the +poisoning of the open wound in the side of poor Hungary, +fallen in a gallant fight. And we, poor fools, expected +human charity from the victors, who by this very document +certify that for months they have been responsible for the +prolongation of Bolshevik misrule in Hungary!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Béla Kun, the Communist of 1919, thus answered +M. Clemenceau, the Communist of 1871:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Monsieur Clemenceau, President of the Peace Conference. +Paris.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Hungarian Soviet Government has observed with +pleasure the intention of the Allied and Associated Powers +to convoke Hungary to the Paris Peace Conference. The +Hungarian Soviet Republic has no hostile intention towards +any people in the world, it desires to live in friendship and +peace with all of them, all the more as it does not insist +on territorial integrity.” Then he goes on sarcastically: +“We are delighted to hear that the Allied Powers have +ordered the Czecho-Slovak republic, the kingdoms of +Rumania and Yugo Slavia to stop their attacks, but we +are forced to emphasise the fact that the States in question +have paid no heed to the orders of the Allies.” Finally +he offers the help of the Red army “to enforce the orders +of the Allies.”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span><em>June 13th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>We only heard of it to-day, although it happened at the +beginning of the month: the Directorates of Szombathely +and Celldömölk had attempted to use the military to enforce +the enlistment of railwaymen of military age in the Red +army. They, however, decided to stop work and overthrow +the Dictatorship of the Proletariat by a strike. All honest +railwaymen joined the rising one after the other, and on +the 2nd of June all trains between the Austrian frontier +and the Danube stopped. The train of Számuelly with +its Lenin Boys alone was running. As Budapest had +refused to join in, the railwaymen did not succeed in +stopping the traffic throughout the country, and after a +struggle of six days they returned to work. The trains +started from gallows-trees and with them the halting +circulation of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat was +restored. Another hope gone. Then followed the fulfilment +of Béla Kun’s promise: “I shall hang a few +railwaymen in every station and then order will be restored. +I have done the trick before in Russia.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>But meanwhile the smouldering fuse had again blazed +up and counter-revolution broke out in Sopron. Other +towns followed, but it did not last long, for in a few hours +the Reds came in from all sides. In Csorna the Terrorists +of Györ collected the counter-revolutionaries and crammed +one hundred and fifty into a small cell, then closed the iron +shutters to suffocate them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then Számuelly arrived in the town. In front of him +armed guards ran shouting: “Into the houses!” and +those who did not manage to get out of the way in time +were shot. When Számuelly with his Lenin Boys actually +entered the town the streets had been cleared, so the black +hyena in his armoured car raced amidst a deathly silence +to sit in judgment.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A table was placed in the open, and the prisoners were +led before Számuelly one after another. He examined +nobody and only asked who was possessed of property. +Then he ordered some to the left and some to the right. +No witnesses were called: Számuelly alone represented +the tribunal. “To death!” he shouted to those on the +left, and eighty started for the square in front of the church.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One of the men sentenced, a journeyman bootmaker, +collapsed on the way and was left there. The others were +beaten with rifle-butts and spat upon by their hangmen. +The eye-glasses of Lieut. Takács were thrust into his eyes +until the eyeball was forced out of its socket, and while +<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>he walked on they even tore his handkerchief away so that +his eyeball hung on his cheek. They boxed the ears of +Gyula Akics, a mill-owner, while he stood under the gallows, +and then Stephen Tárcsay, Louis Laffer, Gyula Németh +and Francis Glaser were hanged. No doctor was present +at the execution. Before the corpses were cold the Lenin +Boys stripped them and made the other prisoners bury +them. Számuelly watched the execution and made jokes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Next day he went to Kapuvár and entered the place +with a band of a hundred and fifty Terrorists armed with +machine-guns and hand grenades. All he asked the +prisoners was their name. “Hang them!” he cried. The +mayor, the police sergeant and three others were led in +front of the Catholic Church. He reprieved one of them +on the way, because he was told he was the president of +the Jewish congregation. In this place, too, the prisoners +were beaten on their way to execution. The rope broke +when police sergeant Pintér was hanged. His two little +children ran up and implored mercy, but Számuelly would +not relent. He then imposed a fine of millions on the +town, and all the cattle he could lay hands on were driven +away. Then he went on, without remorse, calmly, in his +princely special train.</p> + +<p class='c009'>This death train passes through Hungary day and +night, and wherever it stops men are hanged on the trees +and blood is spilt on the pavements. Along its track +people often find naked and mutilated corpses. In the +Pullman car Számuelly sits in judgment. I heard this +from a reliable man, who had gone over with the Socialist +party to the Communists to save his own skin. He had +to report to Számuelly in Szolnok, and it was then that he +saw the train.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Számuelly lives permanently in this train, and even in +Budapest he sleeps in it, being surrounded by thirty +selected Terrorist guards. His special executioner travels +with him. The train consists of two parlour cars, two first-class +carriages in which the Terrorists travel, and two +third-class carriages for the victims. The executions take +place in these, and the floors of the cars are covered with +blood-stains. The corpses are thrown out of the windows, +while Számuelly sits in his Pullman car surrounded by +tapestry walls, bevelled mirrors, and fragile gilt Louis XVI. +furniture covered with pink brocade, and seated before +his delicate, feminine writing table, he disposes of people’s +lives.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Through every action of practical Marxism, through all +<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>its ordinances and institutions, even through the communication +of its news, there grins cruelty—the repulsive, +morbid cruelty of sensuality.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The brave kill, the cowards torture. The Hungarian +people can be wild, ruthless, coarse and even vindictive, +but through all its history it has never been cruel. It is +not a sensual race. It expresses sensuality neither in its +ancestral religion, nor in the conception of its gods of +pagan times, nor in its legends, stories, folk-songs, humour +or art. The cruelty of the Bolsheviks, on the other hand, +is imbued with the sensuality of pathological aberration. +Its origin is neither Slav nor Turanian, but of another race +living in our midst. The history of the Hebrews, the +Covenant, the Talmud and the Jewish literature of the +various languages of the world, everything that originates +with Jews, is overflowingly sensual. Cruelty finds its +fantasy and energy in sensuality. The bloody invasion +of the Turks, the merciless oppression of the Austrians, +were incomparably milder than the cruelty of the +Bolsheviks.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Szâmuelly’s train races on without a stop, past trembling +little guards’ houses, through torpid, insignificant stations, +through plains and over hills. It rushes through the +country from end to end, to forge, with the cruelty of the +conquering race, permanent shackles round our ruined +country. No other sound is heard throughout the land; +just the shriek of a train.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 14th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The town was smothered in a stifling white heat. Under +the window the little street basked lifelessly in the sun. +As far as I could see from my pillow nothing was happening. +Our fate was as stifling and as motionless as the street.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The first national congress of Soviets is meeting to-day +in Budapest. On the previous two days the Communist +party held meetings in the Hungarian House of Parliament. +I began to read the report: “There was a red shine in +the eyes....” Then I stopped: a grimy old wall in +Budapest came to my mind, a glaring red poster sticking +to it.... And under a blue sky a giant labourer was +furiously painting the House of Parliament red with a +brush that dripped....</p> + +<div id='i_154fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_154fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>THE EXECUTIONERS OF SZÁMUELLY’S “DEATH TRAIN.” (Hanged 29 Dec., 1919.)</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>I continued to read the account of the Communists’ +general meeting. The reporter, with the traditional rapture +for everything that is new, gushed over the aspect of the +altered assembly room in the House of Parliament. The +old frescoes have disappeared, and instead of the sacred +crown above the chairman’s seat, “a fierce-looking labourer +with a Phrygian cap is contemplating the place, with the +Soviet’s five-pointed star above his heart. On the wall +there are no longer pictures of ‘historical celebrities,’ nor +of ‘glorious battles,’—new strokes of the brush have +transformed them into symbolical, grandiose decorations.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>How they hurry to cover and efface everything that was +ours! Yet even while they are painting their ordinances +with our blood, every successive beat of the country’s +heart is louder and louder, more and more threatening. +“What have you done with our country? With our +language, our honour, the purity of our children, the +memory of our greatness? The throbbing of the +Hungarian blood bodes ill, but they hear it not, though +the anger of a deeply insulted nation is boiling up around +them. They will not hear, they plunder and murder as +before and hold meetings in the stolen house of our stolen +country. Their newspaper chroniclers record with satisfied +racial self-consciousness the arrival of the delegates: +“They entered without the slightest embarrassment, +without emotion, without fuss.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The strength and misfortune of the Jewish race are that +it is surprised by nothing and does not believe in the aims +which it professes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I thought of the great hall where once the noble figure +of Stephen Tisza dominated so many storms, and I thought +also of those who could never have invaded the place had +they not passed over his dead body. They do not know +it, but they are going to their ordeal, for even as they +speak the blood begins to ooze out of the country’s open +wound.<a id='r4'></a><a href='#f4' class='c012'><sup>[4]</sup></a></p> + +<p class='c009'>“As they passed before the red draperies their faces +showed up against the red background.” Many of the +People’s Commissaries have escaped from gaols and lunatic +asylums: is the background of these faces a fitting place +for the Hungarian labourer, painted above the presidential +stand with a Phrygian cap and a Soviet star? If this +labourer could articulate, his cry would sound the knell of +this ‘assembly.’ I have spoken with many real Hungarian +labourers during the last few weeks, on shaky, springless +<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>carts, near railway embankments, in the fields, near the +hills, on the main roads, and how many of them have +cursed those who deliberate this day over our ruins. But +they were not there in the great hall among the speakers. +It was Béla Kohn, Richard Schwarz, and William Böhm +who spoke. The committee is composed of: Moritz +Heller, Rabinovits, Vera Singer, William Lefkovits, Elias +Brandstein, and Arpád Schwarz.</p> + +<p class='c009'>What did they discuss during the two days? Did they +raise the question whether it was fitting to shed blood in +order to accomplish their universal brotherhood or whether +they should attain their aim by starvation? Did they +mention that round the green table in Paris foreign hands +are squeezing our thousand years old frontier, while others +are standing by eager to tear off such parts as have not yet +been distributed?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Not they! The Dictators discussed a proposed change +of name of their party and debated the expediency of +tightening or relaxing the pressure of the Dictatorship. +In this the hand of Lenin appears, for a few days ago the +Russian tyrants sent a message to their Budapest branch +that henceforth it must call itself ‘the United Communist +party of Hungary.’ Many members obeyed, but the more +cunning ones advocated the advantages of the ‘Socialist’ +sign. They look ahead and hope that should Communism +collapse somehow in Hungary it might be possible to save +the Jewish domination by returning to the old conditions. +That is the only thing that matters to them; everything +else is of secondary importance—the school books, the +gallows, the prisons, the keys of the safe deposits, the +fresh soldiers’ graves, the new casualties, the recent +mutilations. Henceforth it will be unnecessary to +characterise the Dictatorship and its tyrants; their +deliberations have disclosed their nature.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The power of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat is now +in the hands of an active minority,” said Béla Kun. In +giving the list of the delegates’ names ‘The Red Newspaper’ +and ‘The People’s Voice’ show what this active minority +is. Practically every member of it belongs to the foreign +race. In his programme, Béla Kun clamours for the +application of merciless violence. “The quotation of +pacificism has suffered a slump, and the quotation, not of +the imperialistic war but of the revolutionary class war, +is soaring.... The army is nothing but the armed +Proletariat. It is a class army ... this does not mean +that we intend to limit our recruiting to the industrial +<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>Proletariat of the towns. It would be rank folly to expose +to the risk of death none but the <em>élite</em> of the Proletariat. +The self-conscious Proletarians must be distributed among +the Proletarians who possess self-consciousness in a lesser +degree. We must be sparing with the class-conscious +Proletarians.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>This is meant for the educated classes, the manufacturers +and agriculturists. Never have words contained more +calculated iniquity. The Israelites have redeemed their +blood with that of the Canaanites. Let him bear the +cross who is about to be crucified on it.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Béla Kun continued to outline his programme. He had +but a few words for the land question: “That my +programme does not say much about it is quite natural. +It is a question concerning which we are still groping in +the dark. I admit that.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>They will talk about it later, when the peasant has paid +the blood tax. Till that is done, let him live in the illusion +that his land is his own and is not appropriated by the +Co-operatives of Production belonging to the Government.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Dictatorship must apply stricter measures!” +Pogány exclaimed. He spoke of the Counter-revolution +in West Hungary. “There is only one road open for us: +Forward, to the left!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Comrade Horváth, of whom it is common knowledge +that he has stolen his clothes from Count Joseph Károlyi’s +castle, declared that the prestige of the Dictatorship ought +to be improved and expressed himself disparagingly of the +Soviet delegates: “I declare and am ready to prove that +in Székesfehérvár one evening there were sixty political +delegates in the coffee-house whose Polish-Jewish origin +was unmistakably written on their faces.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Vágó-Weiss, a People’s Delegate, interrupted: “How +dare you talk like that?” and Számuelly banged his desk +with his fist. How hurt they are if we touch anything +belonging to them; but if we express pain when they +destroy our God and our country they hang us.</p> + +<p class='c009'>All references to gallows, all threatening and bloodthirsty +speeches were suppressed by the newspapers, out +of consideration for foreign countries. The meeting was +concluded by a speech by Béla Kun in which Hungary’s +Dictator furnished some further characteristic details +about himself and his order.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“First of all I want to deal with Comrade Schwarz’s +interruption,” the Commissary for Foreign Affairs said, and +then proceeded to answer the comrade who had proposed: +<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>“if our party’s old programme contained the abolition of +capital punishment, its present programme ought to contain +it too.” In his answer Béla Kun made some humorous +remarks concerning capital punishment and said that the +old Socialist programme had claimed the right for everyone +to install and operate small stills (loud laughter). Richard +Schwarz interrupted: “I was not joking!” Béla Kun +continued: “I know full well that Comrade Schwarz was +not joking, for he is not a humorous man (laughter), and +yet there was some unconscious humour in his proposal +(hear, hear). When a programme like ours is under +consideration ... a programme which forms the foundation +of the Dictatorship ... it is unseemly to discuss +such trifles. This settles, as far as I am concerned, the +proposal made by Comrade Schwarz, and I propose its +rejection. (Signs of approval.)”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Finally, to complete his self-characterisation, he expressed +his ideas on intellectual production:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It is in the nature of things that the Dictatorship is +not over-favourable for the development of personal +liberties, it is not propitious to the assertion of individuality; +but if our intellectual life has declined, bear in mind that +it is not <em>our</em> intellectual life but the remnant of the +bourgeoisie’s organisation of physical tyranny which it +was pleased to call literature.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>(Shades of Goethe, Arany, Shelley, Andersen, Flaubert, +Dostoyevski, masters of your art, know you all that you +are naught but that part of ‘the bourgeois organisation +of physical tyranny which is called literature.’)</p> + +<p class='c009'>The window near my bed is open. The birds twitter +and I can hear the concert of frogs by the Ipoly. A dog +barks. Birds, frogs and dogs all speak their own language: +why do not the Budapest Communists debate in Hebrew?</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 16th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The Soviet assembled yesterday in Budapest and meetings +were held from morning till night. The national delegates +of our county’s Soviet attended. The Red newspapers +this morning are bursting with pride, with ecstasy over the +opening festivities.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The labouring people of Hungary have gone to +Budapest to lay the foundations of a new Constitution +which will create a new atmosphere and bring happiness +in its wake.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>As a matter of fact the labourers of Balassagyarmat are +indifferent and miserable. Nobody bothers about the +Soviets. They have no part in it. The whole thing is +strange and distant to them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The will of the millions,” say the newspapers. And +there it meets, this curious assembly, elected by orders +of the People’s Commissaries, by the privileged fraction +of the population, with lists prepared in advance, under +the supervision of soldiers with fixed bayonets.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A theatre was the scene of the opening ceremony. The +First National Assembly of Hungarian Soviets met in a +suburban theatre in the neighbourhood of the old clothes’ +market. “Red walls and wreaths, arranged by inspiring, +artistic hands,” the Red chronicler reports. “Silence +dominates the audience of thousands, the crowded boxes, +when the curtain is raised.” On the stage there is a red +tribune ornamented with artificial red flowers and a long +table where the People’s Commissaries assemble. “A +historical, grandiose gathering,” says the reporter of ‘The +People’s Voice.’ “The stage is inundated with a flood +of light. The strains of the Internationale rise. Everyone +feels that this is the beginning of the second thousand of +Hungary’s historical years.” (A pity it’s begun on the +stage, though.) “You are burying to-day this country’s +thousand years old Constitution,” said Alexander Garbai, +the President of the Council, in his opening speech. But +a People’s Constitution grows from its soil, like the crops, +and no executioners can kill the soil. To-day the soil is +suffering in silence: it is the apotheosis of Béla Kun. “The +Congress rose for him and applauded him madly for several +minutes.” His will is done. He imposes the ‘Constitution’ +he likes, and the Soviet joins the Third International. Its +leader then produced a message from Red Russia’s leader: +“Every Proletarian will fight like a tiger; we shall win or +die!” The factory workers swore fidelity: “We will +be the pillars of the Soviet Republic.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Steps came along the quiet street and somebody said +“good day”: it was Mrs. Huszár speaking through the +window. The local schoolmaster was outside and wanted +to borrow a copy of Marx’s works. He has to give a lecture +on the Communist Declaration. He doesn’t want to, but +what is he to do? He will get two hundred crowns for it, +and if he disobeys he will be dismissed; besides, he has +so many children....</p> + +<p class='c009'>I remembered a tale of the country where the hunchbacks +lived. Once upon a time there was a country which was +<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>inhabited exclusively by hunchbacks. If by any chance +anyone with a straight back happened to enter the country +he was at once put to death. Everything went on all right +till one day it pleased God to give an exceptional year for +wine. Hills and vales resounded with the music of the +grape harvest, and it so happened that many people got +drunk on the new wine. In the land of hunchbacks the +ground was shaking with dancing and the air was filled +with songs. Then it happened that a drunken young +fellow snatched the hump from his back and waved it with +joyful shouts above his head. Others imitated him—all +had regained their courage. So they shook their false +humps from their backs and finally it turned out that +there was only one genuine hunchback in the whole of the +hunchbacks’ country.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The steps receded from the window: the teacher went +off with Marx’s writings under his arm.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Wait till the grape harvest, land of Hunchbacks!</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 19th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>This is Corpus Christi but I know it only by the distant +sound of the bells. Now the procession is passing with +doffed hats, gravely, silently, under the church banners. +The villagers have come to town, there is a sea of people +and the organ sounds in the distance. In a cloud of incense +the Host is floating down the church, out under the open +sky, and it glitters in the sun. As it passes the people +kneel. Christ walks among His people. He walks everywhere +in the country and they dare not interfere with him. +Only when the procession had returned to church did little +Jew boys rush up and throw thousands of handbills among +the people. One of them flew to me through the window.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Proletarians of the world, unite! Read this and pass +it on! The Revolution cannot indulge in sentimentality +and must not know pity. <em>Gallows or bullets!</em> It will be +wise for the bourgeois and hooligans not to try to attack +the Revolution, because at the first attempt iron fists will +stifle their souls in them with unrelenting deadliness. The +Revolution is prepared for everything, all means will be +employed by her to preserve her glorious purity as +an eternal purity. Woe to those who attack her +treacherously!”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span><em>June 20th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>In Budapest, too, the victors made preparations for Corpus +Christi day.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It happened in Buda, in front of St. Matthias’ church during +the procession. I have it from an eye witness. Round +the banners thousands of children were thronging, among +crowds of their elders. A motor-car came racing down +Tárnok Street, a Commissary’s car, the son of a political +delegate sitting in it. His sweetheart, a waitress, stood in +front of a shop and waved her hand to him. The young +Jew wanted to show off his power, so he shouted to the +chauffeur: “Run them down!” The car made straight +for the procession, which fled in panic. When the car +reached the Host the Jew boy spat on It. The crowd +raised a shout and would have lynched the blasphemous +wretch if Red soldiers had not rescued him, dragging him +under a doorway. The crowd attacked the door, but +before the Terror Boys could arrive the soldiers themselves +had settled the aggressors with their bayonets.</p> + +<p class='c009'>And at the same time a similar incident took place at +the bottom of the castle hill near St. Christina’s church. +A Jew drove through the multitude and before he could be +prevented spat on the Host. In this case the crowd fell +on him and beat him to death. Later on shots were fired +into the church. News of this kind comes from all quarters.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 21st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>I like to listen to the children when they talk about the +banks of the Ipoly. The dragonflies have made their +appearance over the slow, warm water. The golden maple +has withered in the garden. The crops are hot between the +furrows. I like to hear that summer has come. The +terrible time is passing.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the name of the Entente, Clemenceau has sent a new +ultimatum to the Soviet.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Hungarian army fighting on Czecho-Slovak +territory must be withdrawn at once behind the frontiers +fixed for Hungary.... The Rumanian troops will be +withdrawn at once as soon as Hungarian troops withdraw +from Czecho-Slovakia.... If within four days after the +14th of June the Government does not comply with this +demand, the Allies will take punitive measures.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>On the other hand the powers of the Entente declare “in +the name of peace and justice” that the frontiers to be +fixed in a subsequent message will “permanently separate +Hungary from Czecho-Slovakia and Rumania and that +these Powers will be obliged to withdraw behind the fixed +<em>natural</em> frontiers.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>An hour must have passed since we began and we are +still reading the names of towns and villages cut off by +Clemenceau’s line in the name of “peace and justice.”</p> + +<div id='i_162fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_162fp.jpg' alt='THE FRONTIERS OF HUNGARY' class='ig001'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>The name of every lost town, every little village is a +stab. They want to take the sky above our heads, the +ground under our feet. They want to take our ancient +Hungarian towns, which we have not conquered by arms +but which we have built with the sweat of our brow. They +want to take the region of Sopron, where the giant of +Hungarian music, Francis Liszt, was born; Czenk, where +the builder of modern Hungarian culture, Count Stephen +Széchenyi, sleeps his eternal sleep; Pressburg, the ancient +coronation town, whence the cry of Hungarian fidelity +“<i><span lang="la">Moriamur pro rege nostro!</span></i>” rang out over land and sea. +They take Kassa with the grave of the champion of +Hungary’s freedom, Francis Rákoczy; Munkács, the +birthplace of our great painter, Munkácsy; Gyulafehérvár, +the resting-place of Europe’s saviour, John Hunyady, the +scourge of the Turks; Kolozsvár, where stands the birthplace +of the great prince of the Renaissance, Mathias +Corvinus; the field of Segesvár, the cemetery of our +national poet, Petöfi. They want to take Arad where +thirteen martyrs of our independence, including Count +Leiningen, died within an hour for their country. They +want to take Szalonta, John Arany’s purely Hungarian +birthplace, the district where the oldest and purest +Hungarian is spoken. They want to tear from us our +brethren the Vends, Ruthenians and millions and millions +of Hungarians. They want to take two rivers, the Drava +and the Sava, and three mountain ranges, the Tátra, the +Mátra and the Fátra, which adorn and form the armorial +bearings of Hungary. <em>And all this never belonged to those +to whom it is given.</em></p> + +<p class='c009'>They want to rob us of our cradles and graves, “in the +name of peace and justice....” My God! “Natural +frontiers....” Are they making fun of our sufferings? +Dare they call the wound cut into the country’s body +“Natural frontiers?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Somebody in the room laughed gruesomely.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Here, we overlooked this: the frontier is only fixed +till the conclusion of a definitive peace treaty....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I clung to the words, supported myself with them as +with crutches.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Of course these frontiers are meant for the Bolsheviks +only. They are threats to induce them to surrender....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Aladár Huszár shook his head sadly:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You will see, all this will remain....”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 22nd–23rd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The days when something happens to us are not always +the worst. The long dragging hours of eventless days are +just as terrible. To stand roped to the mast of a wreck, +to wait passively, to gaze at the hopeless horizon and to +fancy that every white wave is a sail. To see the lights of +phantom vessels, to hear imaginary voices. There is +nothing to see, nothing to hear: all this is as much torture +as the catastrophe itself.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 24th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The blossoms of the acacias have faded, but this year I +<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>have not seen their beauty. Now they have fallen to the +ground and something else is in the air—a rich scent which +floats through my window. If it had a colour it would be +white, if it were visible it would smile—the limes are +blooming. Somewhere, everywhere.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Books are less heavy to my weary hands, and I can now +sit up in bed. The shrill whistle of the trains no longer +pierces my brain, and there are many trains running, more +and more every day. The troop trains are coming back: +something is happening.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Soviet meeting was suddenly broken up and +Budapest is under martial law. The Soviet members of +Balassagyarmat have already come home, and judging by +their reports the triumphant Soviet must have been a +strange gathering. During the proceedings the comrades +unfolded their greasy parcels and began to eat, filling the +place with the smell of garlic and the litter of food. Notwithstanding +prohibition there was a good deal of drinking +in the dining-room, and while the comrades in the House of +Parliament were gushing about Proletarian happiness, +outside, at the entrance to the former House of Lords, the +leather-jacketed Lenin Boys were brutalising pale and +starving people.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Béla Kun presided autocratically over the assembly. +Whenever anything began to go contrary to his desires a +motion of his hand closed the debate. On the last day but +one ninety-seven members had put down questions, but +he shouted at them that he was fed up with their talk and +in twenty-four hours he hustled the Communist Constitution +through. The Soviet members of the capital attacked +those of the provinces; they clamoured that it was their +fault that the capital was starving, why did they tolerate +all the counter-revolutions? The provincial members, on +the other hand, declared that the Communist administration +was bankrupt, was worse than any other, and finally left +the place as a protest. The wind was already veering and +only Béla Kun’s terrorism saved the Directorate. The +Commissaries were shouting: “We won’t stand the +preaching of pogroms in the Soviet!” There was great +excitement. William Böhm declared that an anti-Semitic +pogrom putsch had been started in Budapest two days ago.</p> + +<div id='i_164fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_164fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>THE LIBRARY OF COUNT GEORGE SZÁPÁRY AFTER THE REDS HAD BEEN THROUGH IT.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>The Commander-in-Chief held forth in gloomy strains: +“Though the Red army is gaining victory after victory, +the situation is not altogether rosy....” On the 2nd +of May, he declared, amidst frenzied applause, the People’s +Commissaries and the members of the Workers’ Council +were to proceed to the front. “Our publicity agents have +spread the news over the country, yet the comrades still +stick tight to Budapest. If Eugene Landler with his +twenty stone can climb hills and lie in trenches under fire, +surely the others can do their duty too, otherwise the +Proletarian soldier will no longer believe in Proletarian +equality.” Then the Red Commander shouted in despair: +“The reserves have not turned up. If this goes on for +another four weeks, Vágó, Landler and Pogány can go +into the trenches under my leadership if they like, but +there won’t be any soldiers left....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I pictured the scene and could not help laughing at its +absurdity. I could see the twenty-stone mass of Landler, +and Pogány’s terrific circumference protruding from the +trenches, while Comrade Böhm, the typewriter agent, with +his Field Marshal’s baton elegantly held to his hip, stands +over them, the shadow of his legs throwing an O on the +deserted landscape. “A grandiose historical group,” ‘The +People’s Voice’ described it. Just so.</p> + +<p class='c009'>My friends heard me laughing, came into my room, and +laughed too. The children, who hadn’t seen anybody +laugh for a long time, could not understand what had +happened to us, so they, too, burst out laughing.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And this is the gang which rules over us!”... The +laughter stopped suddenly and there was silence—the same +silence as yesterday and the days before that. The +children stopped laughing too, and shyly left the room....</p> + +<p class='c009'>Another train whistled beyond the trees and a former +artillery officer ran in for a moment to see the Huszárs. +Strange rumours are flying about: the army is falling to +pieces all along the front: the soldiers are threatening to +shoot their commanders: Béla Kun promised peace and +bread and now they have war and paper money: at +Branyiszkó the Székler battalions and workmen-soldiers +demanded the national flag to be brought out and others +left the front: yesterday a victorious regiment retreated +from Léva to Ipolyság: on the Danube the Reds are +retiring too, without any cause, dispersing in all directions: +the men at the front have sent an ultimatum to Béla Kun +demanding that the “comrades should come out into the +firing line too,” or they will fight no longer: all the soldiers +are saying the same thing:—“the Jews swagger about in +patent leather boots behind the front while we die.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was not the ultimatum of Clemenceau and the Allies +that stopped hostilities with the Czechs, it was this attitude +of the troops. “Why did we beat the Czechs?” the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>soldiers grumbled. “What was the good of shedding all +that blood if we have to come back?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Our blood is cheap to the comrades!” others +answered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The soldiers who are passing through the station talk +about marching on Budapest: they are going to brain the +People’s Commissaries! Huge inscriptions are chalked +up all along the trains: “To death with Béla Kun!” +“Kill the Jews!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A poster has been stuck up opposite our house: it +represents a Red soldier with Semitic features holding a +rifle; his raised hand points in front of him and his mouth +is open as though he were pronouncing the inscription: +“You! Counter-revolutionaries, lurking in the dark, +spreading false reports, <em>Tremble</em>!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>‘The Red Newspaper’ shouts in the same bloodthirsty +strain: “We demand martial law against the Counter-revolution! +We demand that the administration of martial +law should be placed in the hands of the only man fit for +the position—Comrade Tibor Számuelly. Tibor Számuelly +is a brave and energetic man, who dares to be ruthless for +the sake of the Revolution.... With ten men he crushed +the Counter-revolution in Western Hungary.... All +honour to him who, in the interests of the Revolution, recoils +from nothing, who has enough culture and courage to +choose with energy and revolutionary faith the only path +that is possible, the path that is inevitable, the path trod +by Saint-Juste and Marat. The right system for every +emergency, the right man for every job! Martial law +for the degraded Counter-revolution. Tibor Számuelly for +the suppression of the Counter-revolution!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>To-day’s ‘People’s Voice’ reports that martial law has +already been proclaimed; its administrator, however, will +not be Számuelly but Commissary Joseph Haubrich, the +Red Military Commander of Budapest, who is a Christian. +But it is obvious why the choice fell on Haubrich and not +on Számuelly. The Jewish race is short-sighted where +the lessons of history are concerned, though it is not lacking +in prescience. Számuelly’s gallows, set up in the Hungarian +villages, are not discernible in Paris and Rome, but foreign +countries have their eyes on Budapest. So as far as +Budapest is concerned let it be a Christian who sheds the +blood of the Christians that rise against Jewish tyranny. +The Red press proves this assumption to be correct. +Számuelly’s slaughters were passed over in silence, but the +first execution under martial law in Budapest is announced +<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>in huge type: “<span class='sc'>Counter-revolutionary sentenced +to death!</span>”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In Budapest and in the provinces small hand-written and +typed handbills are now being circulated, marked “Copy +this and pass it on!” These handbills set forth the aims +of the foreign race which, under the ægis of the Dictatorship +of the Proletariat, has come into power, and appeal to the +Hungarian people to be patriotic. Among others who +undertook the distribution of these leaflets was Géza +Herczeg, a young man of the clerical class. He was caught +and “On Monday night the Revolutionary Tribunal +sentenced him to be shot.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>So a Hungarian has died because he distributed bills +inciting his compatriots to rebel against the Jewish terror. +On the feast of Corpus Christi a young Jew spat on the +Host, another fired at the altar, and in another place a +volley was fired at the procession. Számuelly favours the +proximity of churches for his executions, but in Béla Kun’s +Soviet Republic there has been no conviction for persecuting +Christians. The cup has now overflowed, the millions are +beginning to see. The eyes of the soldiery have been +opened by the useless deaths of their fellows and by the +acts of the champagne-drinking delegates-to-the-front. +Recruiting is announced to begin in our county to-morrow, +but village after village is sending messages to the +Directorate that it will not permit it. The peasantry is +fairly aflame. ‘Comrade’ nowadays means Jew in the +minds of the peasants.</p> + +<p class='c009'>On the other bank of the Ipoly they have beaten the +political delegate to death; his name was Ignace Singer. +I remember seeing the red-haired Ignace Singer, the +torturer of Balassagyarmat, and the rest of the Directorate +bolting in coaches from the Czechs; it was he who, after +the defeat of the local Counter-revolution, shouted from +the balcony of the county hall: “Slaughter the bourgeois +and don’t spare their women and children!” His voice +will be heard no more—nor will that of his friend, Comrade +Riechmann, who has chosen the wiser part and has +absconded with five million crowns in cash.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One more storm and the fury of the betrayed people will +break through the dams. The people has recovered its +memory; it remembers who exploited it during the war, +who enriched himself by Hungary’s disaster, who dragged +it into the terrible peace, into civil war and death. The +air is resonant with this new consciousness, conceived in +blood. In the great plain one can hear metallic clicks +<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>which bode danger: with set teeth the Hungarian +peasantry is sharpening its scythes; and the edge is not +meant for the crops, for the peasant looks towards Budapest. +The news has been spreading for days. In the county of +Pest counter-revolution has flared up. Aszód and Pécel +have risen, Cumania and the whole length of the banks +of the Danube are in ferment. It started on the 19th of +June, on the feast of Corpus Christi, and the tocsin carried +the news from village to village along the banks of the +Danube. The peasants took their scythes, tore up the +railways and cut the telephone wires. The Directorate took +to flight and the Red Guards surrendered and ran for +their lives.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Kalocsa, Duna-pataj, Dömsöd, Tas, Lacháza ... names +that sound like ancient Hungarian music. They are +ringing with the sound of Hungarian hopes ... Hungarian +scythes.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 25th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>It was long after midnight when I heard steps coming from +the direction of the railway station. A voice said in the +street: “There will be no trains for Budapest to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The news spread in the morning—nobody knew who +had brought it, it just came suddenly. <em>The Counter-revolution +has broken out in Budapest!</em> Imagination supplied the rest. +The Hungarians working for us in Vienna ... a railway +strike ... the names of villages and counties ... all +along the Danube ... the whole of Western Hungary, +Szeged.... The Whites are marching with fifty thousand +men from Szeged towards Budapest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Stories inspired by hope.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then somebody came from Vácz, bringing news. +Yesterday at four o’clock in the afternoon four cannon-shots +were heard in the direction of Budapest. The cannonade +increased. People ran down to the banks of the +Danube and listened with their ears to the ground. Many +stuck ribbons of the national colours in their coats. There +is a counter-revolution in Budapest! The barracks rose +against the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, and most of +the factories joined in. The monitors on the Danube +shelled and destroyed the Hotel Hungaria, which had +become Soviet House. The ships hoisted the national flag, +and white flags are floating from the castle, from Mount +Gellert, from the houses of Buda.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>A fierce joy seized me and I wanted to get out of bed, +I felt ill no longer. Then ... nothing especial happened +and yet things began to lose their brightness. Evening +came. We laughed no more and suspense became pain.</p> + +<p class='c009'>No newspapers arrived. The train was very late; there +was a passenger from Budapest—Comrade Frank, Dictator +of the County, and once again he talked loudly under the +porch, and he wore a red tie. A gentleman passed with a +white handkerchief protruding from his pocket. “Remove +that counter-revolutionary badge!” shouted Frank. My +friends sat around me in silence, none of us dared speak of +plans. Hope dried up in our hearts. Then the door was +cautiously opened and somebody came in. It was a +railwayman—they always have the latest news. The +Counter-revolution in Budapest has been defeated, and +those who were caught are to be hanged!</p> + +<p class='c009'>In Budapest everybody knew about it beforehand, +people talked openly in the streets. The signal was +expected for three o’clock, when the monitors would open +fire. The moving spirits of the rising were Captain +Lemberkovics and a military chaplain, Julius Zákány. +Haubrich, the Red commander of the garrison, appeared +to side with the rising and declared that in case of success +he would assume the military dictatorship; in case of +failure, however, he would deal mercilessly with the +organisers. He also informed the credulous counter-revolutionaries +that the Soviet had ordered him to declare +martial law. He had managed to postpone it till the 26th, +but could hold out no longer. Let them therefore have +the rising on the 24th, on Tuesday. Thus it was Haubrich +himself who fixed the date and on Tuesday morning his +posters appeared on the wall. Martial law! The carrying +out of the Counter-revolution was entrusted to a Red +brigade of Hungarian soldiers composed of about three +thousand men, and they had thirty guns and a few +armoured cars. Haubrich knew of this, and just before +the rising he despatched the brigade to the Northern front. +From that moment the Counter-revolution was reduced +to a forlorn attempt, supported by the men of the artillery +barracks, the monitors, the military academy and the +patriotic workmen of a factory in Ujpest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When the signal was given in the harbour of Old Buda, +the three monitors came forth under the national flag and +began to shell Soviet House. Fifty pupils of the military +academy occupied a telephone exchange and meanwhile +people were gathering at the appointed places. Officers, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>citizens, students and policemen met under doorways. +The workmen, however, forsook the rising at the last +moment. Many of the officers were late. In places where +four or five thousand armed men were expected, only ten +or twenty appeared, and of the twenty thousand hoped +for only a few hundreds turned up.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The men in the artillery barracks were restrained by +Communist orators, who appeared suddenly and informed +them that the Counter-revolution had already been +defeated everywhere, and made them arrest their officers. +The monitors gave up their useless cannonade and fled +down the Danube to the south. The workmen of the +factory were persuaded to surrender to a band of terrorists +who had hurried to the spot. Shots were exchanged +between Buda and Pest. The colours on the masts of the +ships on the Danube and on the soldiers’ caps changed +from red, white and green to red as events took this turn. +Terror Boys on lorries with machine-guns raced through +the empty streets, shooting into the windows and firing +volleys at the houses, occasionally breaking into houses +and carrying the occupants off. They tore down the +national colours wherever they found them, and corpses +began to strew the pavements. When evening came the +unfortunate town knew that it had not yet freed itself +from the tyrant and that there was seemingly no hope left. +By its organisation the Red power had swept away in a +few hours the rising of the barracks, the monitors and the +factories. The whole thing crumbled away in blood, +misfortune and retreat. Everything was lost.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Not everything! In the general collapse a handful of +Hungarian boys kept the flag flying. The forsaken cadets +of the military academy held out. Till next morning +these boys in white uniforms defended the telephone +exchange which had been entrusted to them against the +assaults and machine-guns of the Reds. They also defended +the building of their academy, besieged by a whole regiment. +The attacking Reds were reinforced in the morning, artillery +was brought up, and Haubrich sent a message to the effect +that if they did not surrender he would have the whole +place blown to pieces. Then only did the gate open and +the heroes of the Counter-revolution lay down their arms. +Soldiers with fixed bayonets drove a group of boys in white +uniforms to the condemned cells.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Everything is lost. Yet there has been this ray of light +in a town wrapped in darkness and shame. Our honour, +which the men could not defend, was saved by a few boys; +<span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>and through our despair there appeared a vision of a new +generation worthier than the old. What will be their fate? +The nights are nights of terror and nobody sleeps; some +fight with horrors, others hope and pray.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Poor boys! I think of them and their mothers, of +unknown, pale, sleepless women, strangers to me yet +closely kin. I, too, have a mother.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 26th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The Red press rhapsodizes to-day. “The Counter-revolutionary +plot has failed. Capitalism attempted to +regain its power. It was led on by a tricolour flag. The +mean, cowardly bourgeois mob of priests, bankers, aristocrats, +officers, <em>Jew boys</em>, has crept out of its lairs to incite +pogroms.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>This is a cunning attempt to twist the truth. The +persecution of the Christians must be screened, and as +there is none to contradict it, Béla Kun’s press boldly +calls executed Christians ‘Jews’ so as to persuade the +grumbling people that the Dictators do not protect their +own race. And it accuses the Jewish bankers of sympathy +for the Counter-revolution so as to throw sand in the eyes +of the peasantry led to the scaffold. Géza Herczeg, to +whom they allude, was a Hungarian, and the Jewish +bankers have nothing in common with Hungary’s struggles.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I have it on the authority of one of the noblest figures +of the Counter-revolution, a friend of mine, that when in +desperation the organisers of the Counter-revolution asked +for a loan from the Hungarian Jewish bankers abroad, and +the Hungarian aristocracy, for the present deprived of all +its means, offered to guarantee it, they refused with +derision; for although the Dictatorship of the Proletariat +is causing them temporary losses, they are ready to +sacrifice themselves for the final triumph of their race +and declare proudly that “this Béla Kun is, after all, a +wonderful fellow!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The written materials for the history which is to be +compiled to-morrow is already being intentionally falsified +by the newspapers of to-day. The Counter-revolution was +not a fight of Capitalism against the Proletariat, it was +a fight of the Hungarian nation against the foreign race. +Its victims are not bankers and capitalists, but the poor +Hungarian middle-class, starving intellectuals, struggling +manufacturers, poverty-stricken officials, and artisans, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>while its butchers are not Proletarians but Számuellys, +Joseph Pogánys, George Lukács and Béla Kuns.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Bad news....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is cold. The door rattles and the wind comes in at +every crevice. Out of doors under a leaden sky the trees +are blown nearly to the ground.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Someone says in a whisper:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There is an old saying that when there is a wind like +this in June it means that the gallows are busy.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>They are hanging Hungarians everywhere. Brave +Captain Lembrovics and his friend, Lieutenant Filipec, +have been killed. They have hanged the leaders of the +factory workers, Ladislaus Orszy and foreman Martinovics. +Other factory workers and bourgeois have been shot in +front of the factory by terrorists.</p> + +<p class='c009'>‘The People’s Voice’ reports the news with satisfaction:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Court martial has sentenced Stephen Kiss, Joseph +Grasse and Ladislaus Szabó, former officers, and Zoltán +Oszváth, a captain on the active list, Antony +Waldsteinbrecht, a former lieutenant of the reserve, +and Francis Imrey, a former captain, to death by hanging.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Terror tribunal is now trying the pupils of the +military academy. And who will count the corpses thrown +into the Danube, the dead bodies lying in the streets? +Now and then one hears a name from among the many. +Madarász, a young medical student, was beaten to death +because he had the temerity to study with a candle burning +in his room. To the shame of humanity they have also +murdered Dr. Nicholas Berend, the famous children’s +specialist.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Comrade Haubrich proclaims proudly: “Order reigns +in Budapest,” and has the following proclamation posted +up:—</p> + +<p class='c009'>“After June 26th the doors of all houses must be closed +at 8 p.m. No one is allowed in the streets after 10 p.m. +More than three people must not be together in the street. +All theatres and places of amusement are to be closed.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>And the Dictators order the city, distracted with sorrow, +to hoist red flags on its houses. The walls are covered +with orders.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Any counter-revolutionary attempt, or offence, will +be punished by hanging. Any counter-revolutionaries +caught armed will be shot on the spot.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Budapest. June 25th, 1919.</p> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line in4'><em>Joseph Haubrich</em>,      <em>Béla Kun</em>,</div> + <div class='line'>Commander of the Garrison. Deputy Commander-in-Chief.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>They give orders, sentence and murder undisturbed. The +wind is howling. Trees are blown nearly to the ground. +And all over Hungary there are hangings.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 27th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Now that it has passed we begin to realise that even in our +despair we had still hopes. It is no good to tell us we +were wrong, we persisted in believing in the success of the +heroic inhabitants of the banks of the Danube. That is +over too, for there also the Counter-revolution has been +defeated. A political delegate boasted loudly in front of +the county hall of Balassagyarmat: “We have settled +the whole lot. While Béla Kun and Haubrich worked in +Budapest, Számuelly dipped the peasants’ rising in red. +He took his revenge on the farmers. Any village that +had injured the Jews was simply exterminated.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>People are fleeing from those parts, coming in our +direction, and escaping over the Ipoly into the hills, where +the Czechs are. The Czechs take our people to Olmütz +if they are officers and to Pressburg if they are civilians. +The fugitives know the fate in store for them, yet they go +there; anything is better than the gallows.</p> + +<p class='c009'>People escaping from sentence of death are continually +ringing at the door, seeking Aladár Huszár. Somehow +those who are in trouble know his name, and they come +to him pale and exhausted, even as I came. Often they +cannot speak, yet he understands them as he understood +me. The Directorate keeps an eye on him and his house +is watched—detectives swarm around it. But he manages +frequently, when night has come, to conduct anxious +shadows through the quiet streets of the town to the living +bridge across the Ipoly. Meanwhile the Red sentry loafs +at the corner and glares at our windows. Hours pass. +Mrs. Huszár walks quietly up and down in the next room. +She stops suddenly, resumes her walk, then stops again. +The whole house shares her vigil. Then the small gate +opens ... so he has come home at last. The wind covers +the tracks of the fugitives, the news of blood alone remains.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The banks of the Danube are one continuous death +rattle: for a whole week Számuelly has been hanging. +The Revolutionary Cabinet despatched him and he arrived +with his terrorists at Kunszentmiklós the day after the +rising. With him came his two Russian Jew hangmen, +Itzigovic and Osserovic, and, dressed in black and with +<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>leggings, a little Jew hangman called Kohn-Kerekes. The +latter was overheard having an argument with Gustav Nick, +a freed murderer and terrorist, as to whether one could hang +two or three within five minutes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Számuelly toyed with his elegant chamois gloves. He +wore patent leather boots, a Soviet cap, and on the breast +of his Russian blouse a red Soviet star. Ignace Fekete, a +telegraph operator, was dragged before him. Számuelly +inquired why his orders had not been obeyed? “Hang +him!” Somebody told him that Fekete was a Jew. He +made a sign to Kohn-Kerekes: “Let him go!” Jews +are only hanged by mistake.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In Tass he had two men hanged on a mulberry tree in +front of the town hall because they carried sticks. “Where +did you buy those sticks?” “Somewhere,” the men +answered haughtily. “Hang them!” ordered Számuelly. +In Solt he had the notary and the innkeeper hanged. He +spat on Lieutenant Azily when he was already on the +gallows. And on he went with his hangmen. Csengöd, +Öregcsertö ... everywhere he hanged.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In Duna-pataj he met with resistance, so he attacked the +peasants, who had only scythes, with guns. Yet they +stood their ground for five hours. Hundreds and hundreds +perished. In to-day’s ‘Red Newspaper’ Számuelly reports +in Duna-pataj alone three hundred counter-revolutionaries +killed. When his Terror Boys got possession of the village +he had sixty men, old and young, hanged and shot without +questioning them. He himself fixed the rope round several +of the victims’ necks and kicked the corpses with his +patent leather boots. In Dunaföldvár also the trees were +turned into gallows. After a desperate battle Kalocsa +was forced to surrender. Számuelly erected his gallows +in front of the house of the Jesuits. During the execution +a priest in full canonicals, with a crucifix raised high, +appeared in one of the windows and from a distance gave +absolution to the martyrs. Poor Hungarian peasants, +unknown yesterday, now immortal! They were thrown +naked into pits—the Directorates did not even register +their names. Számuelly, with disgusting callousness, +certified ‘suffocation’ as the cause of death.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A single gesture on the part of humanity would have been +sufficient to save us from all this shedding of Hungarian +blood. Instead, the victorious powers encircled us and +pointed us out to their own working men as an example +of the blessings of practical Marxism. They talked of +‘peace’ in Paris. And to satisfy the more sensitive of +their citizens their representatives in Budapest now and +then entered a formal protest against the shedding of blood.</p> + +<div id='i_174fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_174fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>ARPÁD KEREKES <em>alias</em> KOHN.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>SZÁMUELLY’S FAVOURITE HANGMAN.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>A traveller came with the evening train from Budapest +and he brought news. The Revolutionary Council had +fixed Thursday for the executions, which were to take +place in public, in one of the finest squares of the town, the +Octogon. All preparations were made: the military +cordon was posted early in the afternoon: the Lenin Boys +were there. The whole town was trembling with excitement +and a crowd of some ten thousand people assembled, +waiting and murmuring. There were no gallows—it was +intended to hang the counter-revolutionaries on the lamp-posts. +The carts for the corpses arrived, and the excitement +of the crowd increased. Six o’clock struck. Somebody +shouted: “They are bringing the condemned!” Then +it was given out that the hanging would not take place. At +the last moment Colonel Romanelli, the head of the Italian +Military Mission, had sent a note of protest to Béla Kun, +which was reported in the newspapers:—</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I address to you the demand that you respect without +exception the lives of all the hostages and political prisoners +who have fallen into your hands in consequence of the late +events, including those who were taken after armed resistance. +I warn you and every member of your Government +that you will be called jointly and severally to account if you +execute the sentences mentioned above.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Béla Kun answered as follows:—</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Hungarian Soviet repudiates all threats which +render the members of the Government responsible for +events which are the internal affairs of the country.” He +appealed to the “friendly feelings testified by Italy +towards the Soviet” and expressed his doubt whether +Italy could be the protector of “gangs of assassins who, +in the interest of the Counter-revolution had intended to +murder women and children and exterminate the Jews” +and who had been sentenced by judges of the Soviet +“according to their own laws.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Számuelly goes on hanging people in the provinces, but +in Budapest the execution on the Octogon was prevented +by the manly and determined attitude of the colonel. But +while Italy saves a few lives with one hand, what action +does she take with the other? Why does Italy refuse to +know who Béla Kun is and what it means in the eyes of +Hungary that he can boast of his friendship with Italy and +that the Red army can proclaim “We are smashing the +Counter-revolution with Italian guns and Italian arms?” +<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>It is said that the pearls from the lovely white necks of +Hungarian women go abroad, and that fine thoroughbreds +are driven from the Hungarian prairies in exchange for +guns sent to exterminate us.</p> + +<p class='c009'>If this is true, there will be no blessing on the exchange. +Spilt blood will ooze out from under the pearls and from +under the hoofs of the horses.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>June 28th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The Counter-revolution has been beaten everywhere. The +power of the Dictators seems never to have been greater. +When they first came they had to share their power with +the trade-unions, the Soldiers’ Council, the ‘confidential +men,’ the Peasants’ and Workers’ Councils and later on +with the National Soviet. Within three months they have +freed themselves of all these. First of all the peasants +disappeared as a deciding factor. They were followed by +the ‘confidential men’ and these by the Soldiers’ Council. +The Workmen’s Council was reduced to a shadow, the +trade-unions were transformed and subdued, the Soviet +was sent home, and of the remnant of these three they +made a dummy, the ‘Economic Council,’ in whose hands +the new constitution was placed. The beginning and the +end of this Constitution is the domination of their race +over the ruins of the destroyed power of the State. The +edifice of tyranny has been perfected. All means and all +power are in its hands. It has absolute sway over life and +death. Law-giver, executive, judge, gaoler and executioner, +all in one.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The red flags of victory are floating over seas of +Hungarian blood. The Dictators are revelling. Complimentary +addresses and telegrams are pouring in. Among +the first, Comrade Frank pays his homage to the Cabinet +in the name of the Directorate of Balassagyarmat. The +County of Nográd! Its people bite their lips with shame +and hatred. At the recruiting meeting of Balassagyarmat +not a single man presented himself for enlistment, so the +meeting had to be closed, and the Directorate asked the +Government for Terror troops, so that violence and rifle +butts may be used to force men into the army.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Meanwhile the Red press reports a sequence of +congratulatory addresses. The women raise their voices +too. What may they have to say? In the name of the +national organisation of Communist women, Sarah Goldstein, +Mrs. Elias Brandstein, Maria Csorba-Goszthony, Ida +Josipovich and Vera Singer, the women whom the unfortunate +inhabitants of Budapest called ‘Lenin Girls’ after +the defeat of the Counter-revolution, “greet with love +<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>Comrade Haubrich and request him to present their heartfelt +gratitude to the others.” Meanwhile demented mothers +and sisters weep for the captive pupils of the military +academy and the shadows of horrified women roam under +the acacias on the banks of the Danube.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The country honours the victors of the Counter-revolution.” +So the comrades of the Frank type swear +to fight to the last breath for the victory of the Revolution, +and Sarah Goldstein and those of her kin send their “loving +thanks,” their warm gratitude. Otherwise there is silence. +Awful silence. And the summary tribunals of the +Revolution are sitting permanently.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Colonel Romanelli prevented the executions at the +Octogon, but hostages are strangled secretly, quietly, on +out-of-the-way building plots, in the deep recesses of dark +yards. There are frequent executions in Parliament +Square: the rabble hangs about there for hours on end; +women sit on the kerb and wait.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What are you waiting for?” someone asked. “For +an execution,” a surly woman answered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is so simple, the Entente sees nothing of this. Soldiers +with fixed bayonets bring a victim. The hearse follows. +The crowd turns to the steps. A volley is fired. The +stones beneath the lions are battered with bullet marks. +The hearse goes off slowly and the square becomes empty. +There is nothing more to be seen.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the House of Parliament, on the side reserved for the +Peers, are officers of the Political Investigation Department, +modelled on the Russian Cheka, and Otto Korvin-Klein +sits there in judgment. Since the representatives of the +Entente have invited Béla Kun to disband the terror +detachments, the Lenin Boys have transferred their +quarters from the Batthyány palace to this place.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the adjoining houses people only sleep in the daytime: +at night they look trembling towards the House of +Parliament from behind their darkened windows. Above +the entrance of the House of Lords shines a huge arc lamp. +Motors pass incessantly. This is the time when the +terrorists collect the hostages, the material for Korvin-Klein. +The cars stop under the lamp. The light shows +leather-coated men dragging along their miserable victims, +whom they push into the entrance. Now and then a +scream filters through the walls of the House of Parliament. +Then, as if by word of command, the engines of the motors +begin to purr, the horns are blown to drown every groan, +every death rattle. Armed Lenin Boys emerge from the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>gate, dragging a form with them. The group proceeds to +the lower quay. Arms clatter, the steps die away in the +distance. There is a splash. Then the black group +returns, but there is no longer anyone in their midst. +Romanelli has protested against public executions. But +near the House of Parliament people cannot sleep at night.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The streets are dark and empty. In the whole town +there is but one other doorway lit up: under a red canopy +an arc lamp burns above the door of Soviet House. Beside +it is a small trench mortar and terrorists stand on the +pavement in front of it. On the balcony a huge red flag +hides the machine-guns, and the entrance is vividly +illuminated. The People’s Commissaries arrive in motor-cars. +The terrorists line up. Present arms! Mrs. Béla +Kun receives the same honours. And within the walls of +Soviet House the comrades insist on being called +‘Excellencies.’</p> + +<p class='c009'>A country gentleman told me about this; ignorant of +the change he went straight from the station to the Hungaria +Hotel. The guards mistook him for somebody belonging +to the place, and only when he wanted to pay his bill did +they discover that he was an outsider. Afraid of being punished, +the frightened servants smuggled him out and the +news of the orgies in Soviet House escaped with him. Michael +Károlyi and his wife spend an evening there now and then.</p> + +<p class='c009'>For a long time I had not heard of them. In the first +week of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat Michael Károlyi +stood as an invisible power above the Revolutionary +Cabinet. The People’s Commissaries treated him with +respect. But after the Soviet elections, when Béla Kun +and his followers had obtained full control, Károlyi was +thrust into the background. They wanted to send him to +Gödöllö, the former royal residence, as Commissary of +Production, and later they placed their former protector +with a Communistic co-operative society. For appearances’ +sake Károlyi pays occasional visits to his office, but he +does no work whatever. He has had a gramophone installed +in his office. Detectives guard the peace of his villa in the +hills of Buda, while motor lorries pass between the starving +houses to carry food and ice to him. But the hospitals +have no ice for their patients. His wife is often seen in a +glaring red hat, driving through the quiet streets in the +car of the People’s Commissaries. At night they partake +of the festivities of Soviet House behind locked doors, +in company with Béla Kun, Comrade Dovcsák, Pogány, +Landler and their womenfolk. The Gipsies who play to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>them spread the tale. The revels go on and the music +never stops. Disregarding prohibition, French champagne +flows freely. Tibor Számuelly pours some into Countess +Károlyi’s glass, pouring it with the hand that fixes the +rope round his victims’ necks. They drink to the eternal +prosperity of the Soviet, and costly banquets are consumed +in illuminated halls while the dark town is starving. The +evening ends in voluptuous dancing. Then the music dies +away....</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 2nd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>People are being stopped in the street.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Your purse!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The 91st order of the Revolutionary Cabinet is being +put into execution:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The banknotes of the Austro-Hungarian Bank, of the +denomination of 50, 100, 1000, and 10,000 crowns, are +withdrawn from circulation on the 1st of July of this year. +Anyone using them after that date for payment, accepting +or proffering them or exchanging them, will be charged +before a revolutionary tribunal. Besides the punishment, +all notes found in the possession of the culprit will be +confiscated. The informer shall receive half the value of +the confiscated amount.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Detectives are about and the Red soldiers are confiscating +on their own account. They present their bayonets: +“Your purse! Get it out of your pocket! Blue money is +prohibited!” and they take the notes of the Austro-Hungarian +Bank. Some of them keep the purse too—as +a souvenir. But the white-backed Soviet money is returned +with derision to the owner. Red posters on the +walls proclaim: “Social production is the source of +prosperity!” The Soviet system, after despoiling the +treasury, the safe deposits and private dwellings, has now +started to ‘produce’ from people’s pockets.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Just as Marxism was incapable of realising its political +conception, so it is incapable of realising its economic +ideals. In its attempt to alleviate the want of small +change the Cabinet ordered six locksmiths’ shops in +Budapest to manufacture twopenny iron coins. The cost +of production of each of these coins was over a shilling. +The Marxian pamphlet theory has collapsed in the light of +the sun; its political application has resulted in unheard-of +tyranny and slaughter, and its economic application in +bankruptcy and robbery.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>The Jews have been spreading the news for days that +the ‘blue’ money of the Austro-Hungarian Bank is going +to be valueless. This morning at dawn their wives went +to the bridge over the Ipoly and stopped the peasant +women who were bringing their baskets to town. An old +woman from the other side came into the yard and told us +that the Jewesses were, after all, kind to the poor people. +They read out at the bridge the new law about the ‘blue’ +money. Those who did not turn back at the news had +theirs exchanged by the Jewesses, out of sheer kindness, +so as to save them from the Revolutionary Tribunal. For +three two-hundred-crown banknotes they had given her +a thousand-crown Soviet note. Of course it was a +‘white’ note and her husband would not have such things +in the house, but in any case the soldiers would have taken +the blue notes and the white ones are better than nothing.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Aladár Huszár came in.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What has happened? Anything wrong?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No, nothing.” He was looking for his wife. They +talked for some time, then came back. I felt that they +had read the anxiety in my eyes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A reliable carriage has come from the other side of +the Ipoly. You can escape by that.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>So we need worry no longer. Fate has decided.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We have no right to detain you. You are safer there.” +And tears stood in their eyes too.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Aladár Huszár went to bring the carriage to the door +while I packed my meagre belongings. It was slow work; +every trifle reminded me of something and every movement +reminded me that I was still convalescent. Where +shall I rest to-night? To part from good friends to go on +the road again, further from home, to knock again at +strangers’ doors? To ask the Czechs for protection! I +shuddered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When I had finished packing I sat down on a chair and +held my breath. I wanted to think hard what I should +have to do. I had little money and my boots were worn. +Yet, somehow I must get to Nyitra, whence I could escape +to Vienna. If I got well I might find some work. Or +perhaps at Szeged.... It tired me out to think of it.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Noon came, then afternoon: Aladár Huszár came in +with great glee, a smile in his eyes. “You’ve got to stay +with us! The carriage has gone, I could not find it. Fate +has decided.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You stay at home with us,” his wife said softly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Fate’s carriage had gone. Goodness knows where it is +<span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>now. It may be a good omen, it may mean that these +things will not last much longer.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We have lived through bad days together,” said +Aladár Huszár. “We will share the good ones that are +coming as well.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We smiled at each other. We know by now that +sufferings unite people more than joys.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 5th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Everybody says that Balassagyarmat will be in the neutral +zone. Its military evacuation is expected for to-day and +people are so excited they hardly know what to do with +themselves. They stroll about in the street with their +hands in their pockets. There is no work, no food; the +shops, even the chemists, are empty. Women gather at the +street corners. And from the other bank there comes an +uninterrupted stream of heavily-laden carts. Fine old +furniture, bedding, mattresses, old family portraits, are +heaped pell-mell on them. On one, amidst torn silk +curtains, on empty bags, I caught sight of a beautiful +bracket clock, the jolts of the car making its soul hum.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The famous Balassa clock from Kékkö Castle,” said +Aladár Huszár.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There came a flock of sheep, followed by a troop of +singing soldiers, then a herd of pigs, and some cattle. +Valuable Swiss milch cows with huge udders were being +driven to the slaughter-house.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The people glared gloomily at the plunderers.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The main roads are littered with books,” a young man +said in front of the window. “Everything you see has +been stolen.” The loafers shook their heads and swore. +“The whole of the highlands is ruined. They did not rob +the gentry only!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who is all this going to belong to?” an old peasant +inquired.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who?” said a frightfully shabby man with a +gentlemanly appearance. “Listen to this! It tells you +who: ‘The Red soldiers’ Ten Commandments. 10th +commandment: Don’t take rich people’s houses, cattle, +land or jewellery. Leave those to the Soviet.’”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 6th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>They are coming! Somebody said so and the news ran +through the town and blossomed out in every little house.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>They are coming! How often have we said these words +with horror within the last terrible nine months. The +soldiers are coming from the front and are no longer +defending our frontiers. The French, the Czechs, the +Rumanians, the Serbians, are coming. The Communists, +the Red soldiers, the searchers, the detectives, are coming. +They are coming, the terrorists. Then again we said, +‘the Rumanians are coming.’</p> + +<p class='c009'>And now the words are in our mouths again and they +sound joyful and great. Hungarians are coming! From +Szeged! Everybody says so. It is simply a question +of days.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Red press splutters with rage. It foams with vulgar, +coarse words against the Entente and Count Stephen +Bethlen, because it has heard that even in occupied +territory Hungarian White Guards are allowed to be +enlisted. But, according to ‘The People’s Voice’: “The +comic-opera Government of Szeged has not strength enough +to organise the rabble of the bourgeoisie, it has not even +the power to form an armed force from its hooligans, +cut-throats and gutter mob, for the realisation of its sinister +projects.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We really know nothing at all, we do not even know +whence the news came, yet we keep saying to each other: +“They are coming....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>When darkness fell I took a walk in the little back garden. +Suddenly somebody rose from among the shrubs, it was +the wife of Gregory, the coachman:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do tell me, please, Miss, what is happening?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The question came suddenly and I answered instinctively: +“Our own people are coming! The Hungarians have +started from Szeged!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The old woman looked me straight in the eyes, as though +seeking confirmation. It was obvious that she had something +to say. Then she folded her shrivelled old +hands, and, in a devout, humble attitude, which +words cannot express, her voice rose through the silent +night:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Our Father, which art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy +name!”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 7th–10th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The fleeing Directorates from the Highlands are flocking +in and requisitioning houses for themselves. Female +detectives have come from Budapest. The escaped +<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>Directorate of Losoncz has quartered itself on Balassagyarmat. +Its chief, Comrade Szijgyártó, terrorises and issues +orders right and left. He wants to dismiss all the officials +who had been left in their places and threatens that +he will not allow any bourgeois family more than one room +whatever be the number of its members. He commandeers +whatever he wants—take everything from the bourgeois! +They are taking even from the poor. Orders have been +received that sixty head of cattle have to be sent to +Budapest; they will not even leave the milch cows.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There is no food: the Government has stopped all +supplies for Balassagyarmat, it being in the neutral zone. +For days the bakers have baked no bread, nobody will +cart wood, and there is no salt. A peasant offered four +chickens for two pounds of salt, although he would not +sell them for two hundred and forty crowns. One cannot +buy anything for money. Our Sunday dinner cost us a +towel and a sheet: everything is done by barter, money +has disappeared from circulation.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In vain has the Cabinet decreed under the pain of severe +penalties that the ‘blue’ money (of the Austro-Hungarian +Bank) must be exchanged within nine days for their own +‘white’ banknotes. At ‘The People’s Bank’ of +Balassagyarmat the people of the whole county have so far +exchanged twenty crowns. The peasants hide their money +and say: “What good is it to pay it into the bank if it is +worthless? Let the worthless things remain in our trunks.” +The other day a soldier stuck the white money he had +received for pay on the wall. It has no purchasing value.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The peasants laugh among themselves. They are hiding +their crops, they did not enlist, and they will not give their +money to Béla Kun. As for the propaganda speakers, +they say: “We sent them back to the Government—in +blankets.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Since things have taken this turn, the three hundred +crowns daily wage fails to revive the enthusiasm of the +Jewish agitators engaged by the Dictatorship of the +Proletariat. The Commissary for Education has now +decreed that henceforth the teachers will have to speak +to the people in the villages.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<p class='c009'>Voices in the next room. Railwaymen, postmen, simple +citizens now frequently slip in by the back door; they +come for advice and bring the news.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>The Czechs have again entered Kassa, but the Rumanians +have not withdrawn from the Tisza, whatever Clemenceau +may have promised. The heroic pupils of the military +academy escaped death at the last moment: the Terror +tribunal sentenced them to hard labour. This is to +Romanelli’s credit. It is said that it was he who delivered +Baron Perényi and his patriotic companions from gaol +whither the Counter-revolution of June 24th had brought +them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A deep sad voice spoke: “Fourteen counter-revolutionaries +have been sentenced to death in Budapest....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I strolled out into the little back garden but even there +I could not breathe. The trees did not move. The soil +was hot and above it the air trembled like leaves above an +open fire.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 12th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>They came slowly round the corner, talking with an air +of importance. Then they stopped, as though quarrelling. +They had Soviet caps on their heads and were dressed, +regardless of the heat, in leather coats and black leggings. +Then I noticed the hand grenades in their belts. They +had a bestial look about them, with faces that betrayed a +familiarity with gaol. The hand of one was covered with +black hair and he had a costly ring on his finger. Where +did he get it from? I shuddered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>They have been coming for days, their number has +increased since the Entente insisted on the evacuation of +Balassagyarmat. The forsaken town listens trembling at +night when their nailed boots clatter along the pavement +and stares at them with horror from under doorways, from +behind drawn curtains. They laugh, boisterously, their +mouths wide open....</p> + +<p class='c009'>I looked after them. As they lifted their feet I saw the +heavy nails on their heels. How many human faces have +they crushed?</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Lenin Boys, escaped convicts, miscreants ready for +any mischief—these are the props of the Dictatorship of +the Proletariat. These are the men who take hostages. +These are the judges presiding over the terrorist tribunals +of Bolshevism. They judge and hang when and where +they like. They can do as they like. Their commander is +a sailor called Cserny who was a leather-worker before +the war. His car is constantly racing through the streets +<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>of Budapest. Several people have described him to me. +He always wears a cap drawn deeply over his face and +goes about in a leather waistcoat with long sleeves, a red +scarf round his neck. His face is clean-shaven and his eyes +are animated by the soft, greedy expression which is +characteristic of a bloodthirsty feline playing with its prey. +There are many rings on his red hands and he uses scent. +His appearance is that of a footman dressed in his master’s +clothes. His decisions are rapid, he does not waste time +on his victims, and when he has finished with them he +spends hours looking at the artistic frescoes of the House +of Parliament. He is sentimental and without mercy. +He purrs and claws.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is said that this man got to know Károlyi when the +sailors mutinied in Cattaro. After the mutiny he fled to +Budapest. He was given money by his friends and sent +on a tour of instruction to Bolshevist Russia, where he +made the acquaintance of Számuelly in a school for +agitators in Moscow. Soon after the October revolution +he came to Budapest and during the whole Károlyi régime +he agitated undisturbed among the sailors. On the night +of March 21st he commanded the plunderers.</p> + +<p class='c009'>And since then this brigand<a id='r5'></a><a href='#f5' class='c012'><sup>[5]</sup></a> is the absolute master of +the nights of Budapest.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 13th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>If bread runs short in a town the Revolutionary Cabinet +at once despatches—a propaganda speaker to the place.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Comrade Soma Vass has arrived.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The people taking their Sunday walk stopped in front +of the town hall. Comrade Vass (Weiss is his real name) +appeared suddenly on the balcony, near the red flag. But +he wasted his time with his threats and incitements, the +public remained cool and indifferent.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A labourer shouted to him: “Give us bread!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The speaker waxed hot: “That is not the question to-day. +The question now is the preservation of the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat. We will not tolerate the +Counter-revolution!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Is bread a counter-revolution?” the labourer heckled.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Don’t interrupt, comrade! We shall crush the +Counter-revolution. We shall exterminate it. We shall +hang every bourgeois. If there are not enough gallows in +this Soviet Hungary, we will grow them. Yes, comrades, +we will grow them!”</p> + +<div id='i_186fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_186fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>JOSEPH CZERNY WITH HIS TERRORISTS “THE LENIN BOYS.” (Hanged 18 Dec., 1919.)</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>The heckler swore. One man lit a cigarette and +several cried, “Shut up,” but Comrade Soma Vass went on +talking. Nobody paid any attention to him, the people +chatting among themselves. “He will grow gallows ... +a nursery of them ... grow them, shape them.... +Well, at least he has a programme of a sort.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>And thus, after all the destruction, Béla Kun’s spokesman +has nailed down the only creative policy of Hungary’s +Socialist production. They are going to grow gallows.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 14th–20th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Béla Kun has sent a note to Clemenceau asking for the +evacuation of the Tisza as promised in compensation for +the abandoned offensive against the Czechs; he received +the following answer:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Béla Kun, Budapest. In answer to your wireless +which you sent on the 11th inst. to the President, the Peace +Conference declares that it cannot negotiate with you as +long as you fail to observe the conditions of the armistice.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>For a time I stared at the text of the telegram. How +much blood, shame and suffering would have been spared +to humanity if the victorious powers, instead of sending +propositions through General Smuts to Béla Kun’s band +of murderers and dangling before the Soviet’s eyes the +possibility of its admission to the Peace Conference, had +sent from the start a reply to this effect. Let the spilt +blood and the inhuman tortures fall on the heads of those +who wanted to bargain when conscience, honour and charity +forbade any bargaining.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is all clear now. The victorious Great Powers did +not enter into negotiations with Béla Kun because they +were pressed to do so by their own Proletariat, for that +pressure would still exist, but simply because he made +light of the integrity of the country to which he had not +the slightest title. This shame can never be wiped out. +The frigid, tardy note cannot restore the lowered dignity +of the victorious States.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Béla Kun answered, his reply couched in provocative, +ironical terms. He made little attempt to disguise the +doubt he had of Clemenceau’s veracity and derided his +impotence to impose his will on the Rumanians and Czechs.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Orders for mobilisation are again covering the walls of +<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>the town, and the village criers are walking the streets and +beating their drums. Huge posters have made their +appearance, representing the running figure of a sailor, his +mouth wide open. His head is about two feet long, his +arms about three yards. Above his head he stretches a +red cloth inscribed with the words: <span class='sc'>To Arms!</span> And +while this frightful poster-sailor overruns poor, truncated +little Hungary, deprived of its seashore, Béla Kun puts +out his tongue at the peace conference. At the meeting +of the ‘Committee of 150’ he rang the tocsin with one +hand: “The Proletariat in Hungary is going through its +crisis!” The other he waved in triumph: “To-day the +Hungarian Soviet is an important factor in international +affairs, more important than old Hungary ever was! This +is proven by Clemenceau’s last despatch....” He had +a word for everybody, but through his boasting one could +hear the chattering of his teeth. The Bavarian Soviet +has died, the Austrian Soviet was never born, the armies +of the Russian Soviet did not come to the rescue. And +throughout Hungary his enemy Counter-revolution raises +its head. It is there on the edge of the scythe as the stone +sharpens it, it is in the glaring emptiness of the recruiting +offices, at the idle writing desks of the offices, in the movement +which hides the blue banknotes and refuses the +white ones, in the stroke of every oar that crosses the +Tisza at Szeged.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Dictatorship is groping about, seeking something +to cling to. As a last hope it is clinging to the phantasmagoria +of world-revolution, which, after all, was from the +beginning the foundation of its politics. So the Soviet +Cabinet has addressed an appeal to the Proletariat of the +world, calling on it to demonstrate in favour of the +Hungarian and Russian Soviets and to proclaim world-revolution +on July 20–21st.</p> + +<div id='i_188fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_188fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>A RECRUITING PLACARD FOR THE RED ARMY.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 21st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>People call revolutions ‘youth’ and ‘dawn’. But +revolutions are not daybreaks, nor are they the chaos out +of which comes the beginning of all things. They are not +the first hour of a new age, but the last decaying hours of +a senile age in which the features of the times have become +distorted.</p> + +<p class='c009'>This is not dawn! Revolution is the midnight agony +of a passing age, when the vision of the future appears only +through the blood and sweat of the dying. The senile age +dies in the revolution. And when the disorder of dawn +has passed and morning breaks, man becomes a child again +and an autocratic power takes it by the hand and leads it +back to order, to law, to church, to early Mass, into the +presence of God. Then comes the youth of the age, the +period of dreaming idealism, of fights for freedom, of Art. +This age gathers flowers, ploughs and reaps, sings and +follows the footsteps of the beloved. Then comes the age +of manhood. It creates industry and commerce, it goes +on board ship, weighs anchor and brings treasures from +beyond the seas. The treasures increase, the superfluities +accumulate and flow into a few hands, the reign of gold +raises its head above the misery of millions.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The evening comes over a pale world of ill omen. The +nauseous scent of faded flowers pervades the air. In +saturnalian revelries the cups are emptied to the dregs. +These are the hours of wild, dissolute orgies, old faces +painted to look young, derisive laughter. The bells of +the churches only mark time, law is only respected by +the simple and regarded no better than stupid, traditional +nursery tales by the cunning. The tired incapable crowd +is ruled by degenerates, hereditary wrecks, criminals and +lunatics. Respect disappears, the hand that worked drops +its tools and the hour of midnight approaches.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then comes the agony of the senile age. Blood is shed, +flames rise to the sky and between fire and blood the age +dies. Revolutions are not mornings. They are the death-struggles +of the midnight hour. And we poor Hungarians +have been for months the witnesses of such an artificially +<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>provoked agony. It ends the age, but, above my sufferings, +I feel that the real dawn is coming towards us.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 22nd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The day of the heralded world-revolution has passed. +The Red press gushes over the strikes in other countries, +but reports that the Dictatorship will summon before the +Revolutionary Tribunal any Hungarian workman who +dares to stop work. In a fortunate country like Soviet +Hungary there is no longer any need for strikes. In +Russia, where happiness has been attained to an even +higher degree, workmen who strike are executed. None +the less there is no work being done in town to-day. Nor +is there any on other days. Why work? For forged +banknotes?</p> + +<p class='c009'>World-revolution! That is the word which is being +whispered to-day at street corners. A mad hallucination! +Yet, if it were to come? What if man’s evil spirits were +powerful enough to send millions in the same hour to the +assault of their God, their country, their home and +humanity? Or if Béla Kun’s word is just successful +enough to induce the Proletariat of the Western Powers +to tie their Governments’ hands so that things may continue +here as they are for months and years, till the fire has +burnt out?</p> + +<p class='c009'>A solitary figure came through the silence, came quickly, +with an elastic gait, though the bag on his back seemed +heavy. He turned his head constantly to right and left, +and his eyes, widely opened, had a stare in them which +reminded one of the demented. He looked round, then +again started quickly towards the Ipoly. Then he +disappeared.</p> + +<p class='c009'>This stranger passes here frequently nowadays, though +he is not always the same. Sometimes he is young, sometimes +old. He is fleeing from gaol and death, and dreams +of Szeged. Two friends of my brother Géza escaped this +way, across the river. They came to the house, on their +way to Szeged. They had no idea I was here, but they +brought news of my brother. He is hiding in the hills of +Buda, like the others who have not escaped abroad and +are not yet in prison.</p> + +<p class='c009'>They also told us that Stephania Türr had been in +Budapest in June, looking for Count Stephen Bethlen and +me, to take us to Italy.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>One evening there was a knock at our gate at an unusual +hour and a newcomer stood in front of us like a shadow—Count +Stephen Keglevich, fleeing from his property in +Abony. His wife and children are coming to us too, they +have had to flee separately, so as not to attract attention. +They were driven out by hunger and the children were +on the verge of starvation, for the only food they could +obtain was what the peasants succeeded in bringing them +by stealth from Count Keglevich’s own farm. Since May, +when Szémuelly suppressed the Counter-revolution in +Abony, that region has been like a mortuary, and now +war is beginning again there. So they are escaping to +Ipolykürt, beyond the Ipoly, to the plundered castle. +There they will, at any rate, be able to sleep on the bare +ground—the one thing the Reds and the Czechs could not +take away.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The patriotic Counter-revolution of the faithful Vends +in Western Hungary has been defeated by the Reds and +the Vends have fled into Austria. They have been interned +in Feldbach and many Hungarian officers have joined them. +Baron Lehár is their commander. In Szeged the legendary +hero of Novara, Nicolas Horthy, is Minister of War. Paul +Teleki is Foreign Secretary. General Soós and Gömbös +are organising the national army. When I took leave of +the latter in March, I knew that I should hear of him if +I lived.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is said that Colonel Julier, the new Chief of Staff, who +was forced to take Stromfeld’s place at the point of the +revolver, will be Red only till he has crossed the Tisza. It +is also said that whole battalions of the Red army are +deserting to Szeged. In our imagination that town, like +a mirage, is floating amidst national coloured flags on the +banks of the Tisza, above the Great Plain. We see the +three colours, we hear the National Anthem whenever we +think of the town. Our proscribed flag, our proscribed +hymn! I am a beggar, for the property of the dead and +the condemned reverts to the Soviet. But when my +imagination sees the three colours floating against the sky, +when the great prayer of my race echoes in my mind, I am +the richest woman in Hungary.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A hand has put ‘The Red Newspaper’ on the table: +big type again:—“Revolutionary outbreaks in Paris, +Berlin and Turin. Demonstrations of the foreign +Proletariat in favour of the world-revolution.” Then, set +in small type, a short notice:—“Kiel.... The demonstrations +have passed without the slightest disturbance.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>That is the history of the world-revolution. It is finished +and the door is still open.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 23rd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The news is in everybody’s mouth: the Reds have won +a decisive victory on the Tisza and the members of the +Directorate have regained their confidence. It is from the +attitude of these people that the town reads the position +of the Dictatorship. Their star is in the ascendant and +the Proletarians treat us with more rudeness than ever. +Red colour has again blossomed out on the soldiers’ caps, +but they do not feel too sure about it, and instead of ribbons +they wear geraniums. That generally means that the +position is doubtful: a ribbon cannot be removed suddenly, +a flower is quickly torn off.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Goodness only knows how often I have wandered round +the little back garden. If it is really true that the Reds +have crossed the Tisza! Those who have seen their bestial +destruction in their own country, and observed them +returning with booty stolen from people of their own +blood, must falter when they think of their victims.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What news?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In Huszár’s hand the journal’s yellow, mean paper +rustled. “They have crossed ...” he paused, then went +on: “... On July 20th we crossed the Tisza at various +points.... From Tokaj to Csongrád we are pursuing +the beaten Rumanian troops everywhere....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>So they have won a victory with our blood against our +own blood; for this is not a question of Rumanians. A +defeat of the Rumanians, the re-occupation of the torn-off +territory, the release of our Hungarian brethren, were not +the objects of the Dictatorship’s ambition, but a new +larder and a new field for robbery, new slaves and new +legions. And we cannot even deceive ourselves with the +belief that the news is untrue. It is true, it must be true, +because Béla Kun, who loses his head when in despair and +is impudent after success, has sent to Clemenceau, the +President of the Peace Conference, the following ironical, +provoking message: “We have been obliged by the +Rumanian attack, which was undertaken against the +wishes of the Entente, to cross the Tisza, and to enforce +the wishes of the Entente against the Rumanians.”</p> + +<div id='i_192fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_192fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>THE LENIN BOYS POSE FOR THEIR PHOTOGRAPH WITH THEIR VICTIM.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>Our thoughts travel wearily to those parts where, behind +the receding Rumanian flood, foreign energy will set against +each other the few remaining Hungarians. Számuelly’s +train is under steam, and if it starts it will plant the further +shore of the Tisza with gallows.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A tightly-shuttered house has been burning here in +Hungary for months. Nobody tried to extinguish it. At +last the smoke choked itself, the fire burnt itself out. Who +troubled about those who were in the house? Those +outside cared only that the fire should not spread to the +adjacent houses. Now the windows of the house on fire +have burst, the fire has been revived by the air, the flames +lick the palings, spread, flare up, run. What if they were +to ignite the Great Plain and unite with the Russian +conflagration?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Evening came. Hours dropped into space. One of us +picked up the paper and we now noticed something for the +first time. Below the news of the passage of the Tisza, +three words darkened the page: “Sentence of death.” +At Saint Germain the victors presented their peace treaty +to the remnant of Austria.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Our quarrel with Austria has lasted for centuries, and +she brought us hard times, yet there is no people on earth +to whom her fate causes as much pain to-day as to us. We +have fought and fallen together on the battlefield. Now +they hang a beggar’s satchel round the neck of unfortunate, +torn Austria, and out of irony, with devilish cunning, send +her to take her share with her own predatory enemies, in +the plunder of Hungary. They compensate her with +Western Hungary, with a piece of land that promises +endless revolts and is meant to act as a living wedge to +prevent for ever an understanding between the two +despoiled peoples. It is a devilish plan, the most perfidious +part of the terrible Peace Treaty. It pretends to be a +present, but it is a curse and a disgrace.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A single candle was burning on the table, and by its +light we could see a map on the wall—the map of Hungary! +That unit of a thousand years which was not created by +man but was made into one country by nature. The +thing I could never believe, which was always deemed a +threat meant only for the Revolutionary Bolshevist +Government, the frontier of Hungary as delineated by +Clemenceau, has disclosed itself in the Austrian treaty as +the real aim of their vengeance. In the name of peoples +and nations the men at the Peace Conference are preparing +a crime which is only paralleled by the partition of Poland.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly I see, like a train of misty ghosts, a shackled +procession pass before my eyes: the granite walls of the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>Carpathians; the mysterious rushes of Lake Fertö; the +sea under the Carso; the Danube rushing through the +Iron gate; the summits of Transylvania; the forests of +Mármaros—all of them under a foreign yoke! I did not +own an inch of that ground, and yet it was all my own. +They take it from me, and equally from everyone who is +Hungarian. Aladár Huszár has drawn upon the map the +frontiers fixed by the Paris Peace Conference. It is as if +a knife were passing through our flesh, leaving a line of +blood wherever it passes. The ancient frontiers are all +left far beyond the line and deep in the country there is an +awful gash. The red line proceeds on the map, staggers +now and then as though in horror, stumbles, recoils and +then goes on, leaving ancient Hungarian cities without, +cutting pure Hungarian regions in two, leaving a miserable, +truncated body—the Hungary of the Peace Conference!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Those who have never leant over the map of their own +country, those who have never drawn with weeping eyes +new frontiers within the old historical boundaries at the +bidding and according to the predatory desires of enemy +peoples, those are ignorant of the meaning of torture, of +lust for vengeance, of revolt, of hatred, of patriotism.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We shall take it back!...”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Which of us said it? It matters not. It is not the +saying of one person, it is the word of a whole nation. Even +in our misery and destruction we had the strength to say +it. “We will take it back!” That is the phrase which +all our coming generations will breathe. That is the phrase +mothers will teach to their infants. Bride and bridegroom +will pledge each other’s troth with that phrase before the +altar. Those who go will leave this phrase as an inheritance, +those who remain will take their oath upon it. We +will take it back! The last clod, the meanest tree, every +spring, every blade of grass, every stone.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Nothing moved in the silence of the night. Only the +flame of the burnt-out candle flickered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let us go ... we must sleep. This is the last candle +in the house....”</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 24th–29th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>There is one piece of news to-day that gives us some hope. +Even if the ship seems still afloat, it is sinking, for the +first rats are leaving it. Michael Károlyi, who proclaimed +he would hold out to the last breath, who has betrayed +<span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>Hungary and has driven her into Bolshevism, has been +arrested with his wife and secretary at a Czech frontier +post and sent to Prague. Retribution must be near, for +he was afraid and fled. It is reported that since the banks +refuse to pay more than two thousand crowns to any one +individual, he provided himself with several millions of +Austro-Hungarian Banknotes and a false passport. He +wanted to go through Vienna to Milan, but Italy did not +desire his presence. Bavaria refused to admit him, but +Prague offered him an asylum. They owed it to him. +Without Michael Károlyi the Hungarian Highlands would +never have passed into Czech captivity.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He has gone, fled from the nation’s just vengeance, but +he cannot escape the long arm of God’s justice. Millions +of Hungarians driven into slavery and homelessness, seas +of spilt Hungarian blood, miles of Hungarian land, cry out +to heaven against him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A mean man, a debased politician, and one of the greatest +traitors in the world’s history.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Iscariot has passed.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>July 29th–31st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Sometimes one can learn a town’s news by watching its +street corners. To-day some soldiers gathered opposite +the house. One of them said something, gesticulating, +while the others stood and stared at the pavement. There +were no red flowers in their caps, though I saw some in the +gutter. Shortly afterwards I saw them leave the village +with their bundles on their backs and disappear through +the corn-fields.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Everybody is talking about the tremendous losses of +the Red army. The official papers try to screen them: +“Our victorious armies.... The whole of Rumania’s +forces opposing them.... We withdrew our troops +behind the Tisza, in perfect order, without any losses in +men or material....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Twenty-eight thousand dead,” says rumour, and ten +thousand men are reported drowned in the Tisza. Soma +Vass need not plant his nurseries for gallows, the wholesale +murder of Hungarians has been successfully accomplished +on the banks of the Tisza. And while they died, Comrade +Landler, the Commander-in-Chief of the Red army, and +other comrades watched them from a safe place through +field-glasses. The Rumanian victory and the defeat of +<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>the Reds are both paid for in Hungarian blood. Never +have Hungarians died a more tragic death.</p> + +<p class='c009'>If this sort of thing lasts much longer there will be no +one but lunatics left when the end comes. Every hour +brings new tales of terror. In Budapest Tibor Számuelly +is gaining more and more power. He wants to become +Dictator. Hitherto the Dictatorship has been too lenient, +so the terrorists are going over to his side. And their one +idea, before they lose their power, is to be revenged on the +nation. Already the Directorates have received secret +instructions and are drawing up lists. Számuelly is +preparing for a massacre of the citizens. None shall be +spared, neither artisans nor peasants.</p> + +<p class='c009'>News comes from the other bank that the Czechs are +returning. They say they have orders to occupy Vácz +on the 3rd. More and more soldiers are disappearing from +the village, and Terror Boys are continually flowing in +from Budapest to take their place. There are already +eighty here.</p> + +<p class='c009'>After the arrival of the evening train people steal in the +dark towards the Ipoly. Hitherto it has been Hungarians +who were escaping, now it is mostly Jews who slink along +the walls carrying parcels. In the town hall they are +feverishly packing up the archives of the Directorate; +the Jewish comrades have again withdrawn into the +background.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Szijgyártó has now become the absolute master of the +town. Among other things he issued an order to-day that +every individual who is not registered and whose stay is +not considered justified by the Directorate must leave +Balassagyarmat within twenty-four hours, on pain of being +summoned before a Revolutionary Tribunal. Those who +come from Budapest will be sent back there under police +escort. Once more there is talk of searching houses: the +terrible hand groping for me has returned. It will be bad +luck if it catches me now when its days are already +numbered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We discussed the matter and the old plan of escape was +revived—across the Ipoly, somehow to Vienna, to Szeged; +but again the horror of asking hospitality from the Czechs +in my own country, my poverty, my illness, interfered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let’s wait and see how things develop,” said my +friends.</p> + +<p class='c009'>How often have they said that!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly I thought of the house in Szügy: I +could not leave without bidding it farewell; so I +walked over to it and saw the garden and its mistress +once more.</p> + +<div id='i_196fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_196fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>TERRORISTS WITH A VICTIM WHOM THEY HAVE FLAYED AND TORTURED TO DEATH.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>(This photograph was found at their headquarters.)</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>When I was there last the crops were still standing; now +the wheat was in sheaves and summer walked between their +gold over the fields. Then I came to the garden and found +that the clean-swept courtyard was no longer a soldiers’ +right of way. Crimson ramblers were blooming on the +walls of the house, and round about the pump the downtrodden +grass had sprung up again. On the terrace, green +plants and garden furniture had taken the place of +ammunition boxes. How rapidly the ruts of ammunition +carts and service waggons and dirt and garbage disappear. +Will it be like this elsewhere too?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Before I left, Mrs. Beniczky walked through the garden +with me and we stopped for a moment near the trees +between which I had caught a glimpse of the hussar bugler +among the Red soldiers, near the bushes whence I had +watched Pogány’s car. How much had happened since +then! The trees had become dark green and grave; the +garden had passed its nuptial glory. Its wreath had +faded, its most beautiful flowers had gone.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When I reached the small railway station of Balassagyarmat +I saw that soldiers were running about, throwing +their arms into waggons. “They are evacuating the +town,” said a railway man, laughing scornfully. On the +open track, amidst piles of boxes and bags, carriages, +bedding, machine-guns, and pianos were standing near the +waggons, ready to be loaded. The streets were quiet, but +carts were standing at the doors of some of the houses and +people were hurriedly packing things at random into them. +They are running away! Yet Comrade Landler reported +in ‘The People’s Voice’ of the 29th that: “There is no +change in the situation at the front.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Red press is indulging in paroxysms of fury against +the Szeged Government. “Cheats, scoundrels, Jingoes,” +are the epithets bestowed by Béla Kun’s newspapers; and +all the time little handbills are being secretly passed from +hand to hand. They were dropped by an aeroplane from +Szeged: “The hour of delivery is at hand! Prepare to +support the National Government!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The village listens, tense under the Red posters which +disfigure its walls. It listens abstractedly, as though +trying to hide its thoughts, and behind closed doors and +windows people put their heads together. Stories born +of desire are spreading, but the insufferable thought that +we are in need of help from the Rumanians dominates our +<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>imagination and hopes: “The national army has already +left Szeged!... Whole Red regiments have passed over +and have laid down their arms. White Hungarian troops +will come with the Rumanians. Perhaps to-morrow.... +In Budapest the commander of the garrison has prepared +the population for a general alarm should the Dictatorship +of the Proletariat be in danger. The whole town is covered +with posters.... An hour after the alarm has been +sounded nobody must be in the streets. Soldiers must +hurry to their barracks, workmen to their respective +headquarters. Within an hour from the alarm all electric +trams must be withdrawn.... All shops and public +offices must be closed at once, as well as the doors and +windows of houses. Simultaneously with the alarm martial +law will be declared.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Such preparations have never been made before, either +in May when the Rumanians attacked, or in June during +the Counter-revolution. Those who come from Budapest +speak of the disruption of the Red army as it retires, of +its anarchy, of mutinies of Terror detachments, of +Számuelly’s autocracy. It is impossible to get a clear +picture of what is happening: “The White army is approaching! +The Rumanians are advancing from the Tisza!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>One can hear the crackling and collapsing of the +Dictatorship. The powers of the Entente have sent a +note, and the Cabinet has felt obliged to publish it in its +press. This note is no longer addressed to the Soviet or +the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. At last, then, the +Allied and Associated Powers are going to address themselves +to the Hungarian people! Under the title: +‘Declaration of the Entente on the Blockade!’ the Red +press screens the Note of the Powers in which they declare: +“We sincerely desire to make peace with the Hungarian +people....” But peace can only be concluded if the +Hungarian people is represented by a Government which +“represents really the will of the people, and not by one +whose power rests on terror.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It has taken the Entente Powers four and a half months +to come to this decision! No wonder they have been slow +to discredit Béla Kun, for, after Károlyi, he has rendered +them invaluable service. He has ruined and robbed +Hungary of her last sources of strength. Now they can +take possession of the booty which is no longer capable of +offering resistance and can pay with our thousand years’ +old possessions the war bills presented to them by their +little allies.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span><em>August 1st.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The news reached the village last night. The Red army +has gone to pieces. Comrade Landler reports that after +“the unchanged situation at the front, we are attacking +the Rumanians who have crossed the Tisza.... The +Red army is in perfect order and has gained a victory over +the Rumanians.... We have retired, unbeaten, of our +own accord.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The members of the Balassagyarmat Directorate are +unable to disguise their nervousness, the comrades are +rushing about the shops clamouring to buy no matter what +so long as they can get rid of their white Soviet banknotes. +But however much they pester and threaten, the shopkeepers +refuse to sell. The shop windows are empty, only the +propaganda shop of the Commissariat of Education still +offers its wares—pamphlets, portraits of the Commissaries, +Red stars, badges with the ‘Red man’ and plaster busts +of Lenin and Marx. But these are at a discount to-day. +The town is practically without traffic and the telegraph +wires bring incessant orders from Budapest: “Let +everyone remain at his post. Let none dare to run +away....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Steps halted outside and I heard a Semitic voice say: +“Let us lead it into other channels....” What did +that mean? While I was pondering the front door bell +rang. The Sub-prefect has come with a wire from +Budapest. Béla Kun’s rule is over!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Something snatched at my heart and I felt that I wanted +to shout.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s certain to be true,” the Sub-prefect said. “A +purely Socialist Government is being formed.” And he +folded his hands carefully as if he were afraid of committing +himself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A purely Socialist Government! That was not what we +had expected! Now I remembered the rumours that the +delegates of the Entente had not been negotiating with +the Viennese committee of Count Stephen Bethlen, nor +with the Government of Szeged, but had been exchanging +pourparlers for days, not with Hungarians, but with +William Böhm, Kunfi and with Károlyi’s henchman, +Garami.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I thought at once of what I had heard outside my window: +“Let us lead it into other channels....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>So the Jews are still to be our leaders: the Red hangmen +of yesterday are resuming their old garb of moderate +Socialism and are preparing to pass the power from one +<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>hand into the other. The world-revolution has not come +off, and there have been other mistakes in their calculations; +they reckoned every item as they thought—the threats of +the Entente, the attacks of the Rumanians—but they forgot +to take into account that dying Hungary might have energy +enough to cross its arms over its torn breast and undermine +Bolshevism from within with its old weapon, passive +resistance, despite the failure of the Entente and Rumanian +arms.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There were shouts in the guard-room opposite:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who said that? Arrest him!” And Red Guards and +Terrorists rushed towards the post office. If the postmaster +said so, he must be arrested. But instead of +answering them the postmaster called up Budapest, a +Terrorist meanwhile holding one of the receivers. And +along the wires the question rang to Budapest. The +answer came at once: “The Government has resigned, +the Soviet exists no longer. Budapest is mad with +happiness.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Terrorists glared at each other terror-stricken, but +they did not arrest the postmaster; instead they went to +the Directorate for instructions. But the Red offices in +the town hall were empty and the comrades had disappeared. +Some of them had been suddenly taken ill and had been +obliged to go home. The news rushed along the darkening +streets and in a few seconds it had spread all over the town.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Peace on earth and good-will among men!</p> + +<p class='c009'>The house became too narrow for me. So did the garden. +A violin was being played next door, sobbing to the accompaniment +of a piano. Then, in spite of ourselves, we all +burst into the forbidden, outlawed, Hungarian hymn. We +just stood and sang, and the National Anthem went up in +that summer night, to the starlit firmament.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Below, in the dark, on the other side of the street, +noiseless dark figures slunk away. In the light streaming +from open windows the neighbours stood bareheaded. +They were praying too.</p> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-r c003'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>August 2nd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The shepherd’s flute sounded slowly through the breaking +morning. I felt disappointed; my elation had passed; +my mind was still racked with anxiety. Everything +seemed the same in the streets: the red flag was still +floating over the county hall, the Red soldiers were leaning +out of the guard-room window just as they had done during +the victories of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat over the +Czechs. A schoolmaster who lived near by was walking in +his shabby Sunday coat towards the teachers’ Communist +school. What has happened? The gates of the prison +are open: are the captives afraid to leave it?</p> + +<p class='c009'>A little boy took his red, white and green toy flag from +above his bed and waved it out of the window. A man in +the street shouted at him threateningly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>About noon the wife of a neighbour came, bearing +alarming news: they want to arrest Aladár Huszár. He +went to the teachers’ Communist school and distributed +ribbons with the national colours and made a speech +to the teachers. When Comrade Weiss, the examining +Commissary, arrived, the National Anthem was filling the +place. In his fury Comrade Weiss tore up all the teachers’ +certificates. The Jewish teachers stood by him, while the +Hungarians left the place with Huszár, singing the National +Anthem. Outside Red guards met them and tore the +national colours off all of them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>So when Aladár Huszár came home we hoisted a huge +red, white and green flag on the house.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The drum! What has the Town Crier to say now?... +“It is forbidden to wear or exhibit any emblems....” +Presently two hooligans invaded us and tore down our flag, +but we don’t care. The whole village is in a ferment. +Patrol followed patrol. A man feverishly pasted pink +posters on the walls, displaying the telegram of the +Secretariat of the Socialist-Communist Party.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“As the result of an agreement with the Entente, a</p> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> + <div class='nf-center'> + <div><span class='sc'>Workmen’s Government</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c013'>formed by the trade-unions has assumed power. The +officials of the existing workmen’s organisations will +<span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>continue to act without interference.... The strictest +martial law is to be proclaimed.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Green posters were then stuck up beside the pink ones +all along the street, containing the text of the new +Government’s telegram. They called themselves a +Workmen’s Government instead of a Revolutionary +Cabinet, Ministers instead of Commissaries. President: +Peidl; Interior: Peyer; Justice: Garami-Grünfeld; then +followed three of Béla Kun’s Commissaries: Agoston-Augenstein +for Foreign Affairs, Haubrich for War and +Dovcsák for Commerce; at the end of the list the former +President of the Soviet, Garbai, Minister for Education.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I remembered the conversation I had overheard +yesterday: “Let us lead it into other channels....” +Moritz Kohn has arranged his fraudulent bankruptcy and +suddenly Mrs. Moritz Kohn’s name appears above the +shop. But what is the National Army doing?</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Dictatorship of the Soviet collapsed with the Red +army; its position became hopeless on the 31st of July +when it became known that the Rumanians would not stop +a second time at the Tisza. Béla Kun had hurriedly convoked +the Workers’ and Soldiers’ Council of Five Hundred +yesterday afternoon. And in the great hall of the new +town hall, where on the 21st of March a handful of men +had proclaimed the Dictatorship of the Proletariat, Béla +Kun resigned in a halting, tearful voice. During the +night he fled with the other Commissaries and their families +to Austria, finding protection under the wings of their +co-religionist Chancellor Renner. With the help of the +Peidl Government they made their way to the frontier, +<em>protected by an escort supplied by the Italian military mission +in Budapest</em>! It is said that Számuelly has disappeared. +But among those who fled with Béla Kun was the bloodthirsty +Weiss—and so were Schwarz, Vágó and Pogány, +and the twenty-stone lawyer, Comrade Landler, the Red +Commander-in-Chief. They absconded from their army +between the Danube and the Tisza, after having driven +it into death and destruction, though they had sworn to +stand by it to the last drop of blood.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Without wounds received on the fields of Bolshevik +glory, but with many millions of Austro-Hungarian banknotes, +they disappeared into the obscurity from which +they had emerged to Hungary’s misfortune a few months +before. They have gone, as Michael Károlyi did before +them. So the country hoisted its tricolour flag once more. +But the Government of Peidl, which not only tolerated +but abetted and organised the flight of the criminals, +would not tolerate such a resurrection; so it forbade the +flag and proclaimed martial law.</p> + +<div id='i_202fp' class='figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/i_202fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>BÉLA VAGO <em>alias</em> WEISS.<br> <br> <span class='c011'>ASSISTANT COMMISSARY FOR HOME AFFAIRS.</span></p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>Aladár Huszár has been arrested in the street and is in +prison. The commander of the Red garrison wants to +have him executed for the National Anthem incident, and +for wearing ribbons of the national colours, but the chief +of the police telephoned to Budapest, asking that he be +reprieved. The answer came: “Keep him in custody +and let the Terrorists take him to Budapest.” The +Terrorists openly declare that they are going to settle with +him on the way. Mrs. Huszár wanted to see her husband, +but the Terrorists would not let her. “Comrade Szijgyártó +is interrogating him now.” The news spread like wildfire. +Machine-guns were mounted in front of the county hall.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then the whole town began to simmer and even the +inhabitants of the red-postered houses came forth—officials, +teachers, the whole educated class, the people of +no importance coming to protect the unimportant folk’s +friend. The railway men, the postmen, all of them, +clamoured that Huszár should be set free. And suddenly +the Red garrison went over to their side.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The drum again:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Anybody found in the streets after 9 p.m. will be +arrested by the Red patrols.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>But just then the Red guards sent a message to Comrade +Szijgyártó that if the prisoner was not released by nine +they would lay down their arms and refuse to serve any +longer.</p> + +<p class='c009'>People were talking excitedly in the streets, saying that +the Rumanians were already in Aszód and were coming +in our direction. Comrade Szijgyártó shook his fist with +rage: “I ought to have had him hanged at once.” The +crowd became more and more threatening and—at nine +o’clock Aladár Huszár was at home. He was quite calm. +Comrade Szijgyártó had run at him with raised fists, had +pointed a revolver at him, and threatened to shoot him....</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly we heard sobs from the end of the table. It +was only then that we noticed the children. With wide +open eyes, deadly pale, they were standing there and they +had heard everything. When we were as small as they +my mother would not allow anyone to tell us gruesome +stories; but in spite of their parents the children of this +age live through things which we were not even allowed +to be told in fairy tales.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span><em>August 3rd.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The town is in the hands of the Terrorists and no news +comes from Budapest. The last message came this morning. +The delegates of the Entente are negotiating with +the new Government and are inclined to recognise it. The +Rumanian advance has ceased.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the streets of Balassagyarmat the Communists, who +were trembling yesterday, are again assuming a provocative +attitude; the comrades who were ill recovered suddenly. +The propaganda shop has been opened again and the +window is full of Communist Declarations. More than +two people are not allowed to meet in the street.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Terrorists wanted to arrest Aladár Huszár again, +but he had fled. The door bell is ringing all day—detectives +and red guards inquiring for him. And in the village the +inhabitants and the railwaymen are arming secretly.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>August 4th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>A shot was fired close to the house and this was followed +by a regular fusillade. People came running out of the +houses and for some minutes there was confusion. The +wife of Gregory, the coachman, tumbled in breathlessly: +“What goings-on!—the soldiers have barred our street. +They are driving the people into the houses at the point +of the bayonet.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I thought at once of Aladár Huszár and hoped they +had not arrested him. His wife received many messages +not to show herself in the street and naturally we wanted +to know what had happened; so by the irony of fate, it +was I who crept out of the house.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The people I met spoke excitedly; everybody was +coming from the direction of the county hall and nobody +was going that way. A man said: “Turn back, you +cannot go there. A new detachment of Terrorists has +arrived and there is a corpse in the street.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>So the trouble was not about Huszár. I thanked him +for the warning, but went on. Another running crowd +was coming towards me. A servant girl leant against the +wall and began to tie her boot laces.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s happening there?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The girl answered, panting:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They have red caps, goodness only knows what they +are, perhaps French, but they are firing furiously.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The shooting had stopped now. Two schoolboys were +<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>peeping out from behind a door: “The Jews have +taken up arms,” they said mysteriously. The street +leading to the station was absolutely empty and nothing +was audible but my steps. Men in leather coats were +standing in groups in front of the county hall and round +the machine-guns bayonets were glittering in the sun. I +looked round rather alarmed, this was the first time I had +seen the place and I had pictured it differently. There +was no tower on the town hall and not a trace of my +imaginary arcades or old pump. It was a pity, but the +disillusionment of a dream is always so.</p> + +<p class='c009'>As if I had suddenly been perceived the bayonets turned +towards me and the men in the leather coats shouted +furiously: “Back!” Someone looked out of a ground-floor +window. The soldiers promptly stuck their bayonets +into it. “Bloody bourgeois, in with your head, or I’ll +knock it off!” I saw that the Terrorists were coming in +my direction, so I thought it was time to turn back.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the afternoon a detective called. He was one of those +whom we call ‘radishes,’—Red outside and White within. +He inquired after Aladár Huszár and told his wife that the +red caps who had been mistaken for Frenchmen were +hussars back from the Tisza front and that the firing was +caused by an attempt of the town guards to disarm Comrade +Szijgyártó. He was saved by the Terrorists, who were +now masters of the town. Then he looked carefully round: +“The Lenin Boys have decided to hold out to the last. +They want to revenge the fall of the Dictatorship and +intend to plunder to-night. There are a hundred of them. +They are out to kill and have marked this house. Be +careful!” He looked round again. “And please don’t +forget to tell Mr. Huszár when he gets back into office +that I am not a Communist.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Hours passed. The news passed like a shudder through +the streets. Many locked their front doors. I buried my +papers again and we also hid the money that was in the +house. We all packed up our most necessary things. As +evening fell, we could bear our isolation no longer. I must +try.... I will go towards the station; perhaps I shall +hear something by chance. But the streets echoed with +emptiness and the station was deserted. Only a +workman was sitting on the weighing machine filling his +pipe.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“When is the next train for Budapest?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There won’t be any train,” the man answered and +lit his pipe. Then he closed his eyes.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>I went homewards. New posters were showing on the +walls:—</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Strict martial law.... All gatherings are prohibited +and those who do not obey the injunctions of the Red +guards will be shot on the spot.... Szijgyártó. County +Commander.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Near a paling a short elderly Jew was standing and +talking to a woman. Quite coolly, obviously so that I +should hear it, he said: “At half-past five the Rumanians +entered Budapest.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I stumbled, though my foot had not hit an obstacle, and +the blood rushed to my face. The Rumanians! I could +hardly grasp it. The Rumanians! That is the reason, +then, why our people could not come! That is the reason +why the Entente stopped them! That is why so many of +us had to die during the long months of waiting! The +occupation of Budapest was reserved by the Great Powers +for the Rumanians so that the city might become their +prey and they might still act the rôle of deliverers.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I felt giddy as I walked home. The blow and the +humiliation were so great that everything else became +indifferent.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Budapest is in the hands of the Rumanians!</p> + +<p class='c009'>The clock struck nine; suddenly I heard a violent +knocking and furious cursing at the end of the corridor, +and a fat, angry man rolled into the room. He had forgotten +to take his hat off, and his pipe was in his mouth. +It was old Schlegel, a stout old German market gardener +from the banks of the Ipoly, a fiery Hungarian patriot, who +within the last few months had helped innumerable refugees +across the river.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Donnerwetter! The devil, why don’t you open your +door? I knock—the curfew—they shoot people down out +there.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Now that he was in safety, he calmed down and put his +fat hand on Mrs. Huszár’s shoulder: “I just came to tell +you you need not be anxious. Your husband is in my +house. We have plenty of arms. If the Communists try +their slaughtering trick here, I’ll come too and shoot them +like dogs.” He produced from his pocket a huge rusty +revolver and waved it like a mace threateningly above his +head. “That is all I had to say.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I stole to the front door to see if all was clear. The new +moon had already set and there was not a soul in the street. +I made a sign to the old man and in his gouty way, his +right leg always foremost, he passed me into the street. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>Without a word he touched his hat and with shaky, baby-like +steps disappeared at the end of the street between the +high stalks of the Indian corn. The electric light went +out. The town moved no longer.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Our vigil was illuminated by a single candle, and we kept +looking at the clock. It was said that the Terrorists were +guarding the streets leading out of town so that nobody +should be able to escape. Looting was to begin at +midnight. Even if they did their work quickly it would +take them half an hour before they came here. This house +was said to be marked as their third point of attack.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Somehow I remembered a horror of my childhood. I +was quite small. My grandmother Tormay was telling us +stories about her Huguenot ancestors. She told us how, +before the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, the men of +Catherine de Medici had locked all the gates of Paris so +that none should be able to escape and then marked with +chalk the houses inhabited by Huguenots. “But that +happened more than three hundred years ago,” my grandmother +said, “when people were still wild and cruel.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The clock struck midnight.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I asked Mrs. Huszár to escape at once with her children +into the fields of Indian corn as soon as the shooting started. +We listened. Nothing ... only the clock struck again. +Half-past twelve. My friend was standing near the window +listening, and I thought how often we had sat up through +the nights like this during the last few months.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you remember? That night when we kept saying, +‘Now the Czechs have fired!’ ‘Now the Reds!’”?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Our fate has not altered. The Dictatorship of the +Proletariat is still alive and continues to torture us.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One o’clock!</p> + +<p class='c009'>A hen fluttered up the roof of the house opposite. Under +the stars silence pervaded the summer night.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Half-past one!</p> + +<p class='c009'>A dog barked, and all round other dogs responded.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They are coming!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The anxious moments passed. The dogs were silent +again and in the cool dawn the first cock crowed, followed +at intervals by others. It reminded us of clocks striking +the hour in succession.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The sun rose. The Terrorists have not come. Who +can say why? The St. Bartholomew’s night of Balassagyarmat +has not come off.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span><em>August 5th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>This morning we learnt that before starting on their +plundering expedition the Terrorists found a supply of +champagne in the cellars of one of the hotels. They got +so drunk that they could not even stand. So a few hundred +bottles of champagne saved the town. Comrade Szijgyártó +was the only man who remained sober. It appears that +he received an ambiguous message from the Budapest +Workmen’s Government and in the course of the night he +sent his detectives out to find whither he could escape. +When his men returned they reported that the roads to +the villages were guarded by armed men, so he was obliged +to wait till the Lenin Boys had slept off their drunkenness. +But meanwhile the old police of Balassagyarmat had +assembled. Now people are talking of the Terrorists’ +intention to escape by train, but the police will disarm +them at the station.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Everybody was out of doors. Here and there a young +man in a leather coat, with a brand new hat on his head, +appeared, looking innocently at the crows.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Mrs. Huszár noticed it too and we looked at each other. +“They have changed their garb....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Suddenly policemen, railwaymen, guards with white +flowers, officials, women and boys began rushing towards +the station. The whole street was running and its rush +was watched from both sides by the posted horrors of the +Dictatorship of the Proletariat. The Red soldiers, wild +sailors, half-naked workmen wading in blood, shapeless +female monsters. Yesterday they were all alive; now, +as I passed them quickly they receded on the walls beside +me as the phantoms of a terrible past.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A youth came running from the direction of the county +hall shouting at the top of his voice.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Lenin Boys have escaped!” While people were +waiting for them at the station they fled with their booty +from the other end of the town. People swore and angry +voices shouted: “Scoundrels! But they will be caught!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In that moment, as if a chain round the town’s chest had +broken, Balassagyarmat breathed freely again. Men raised +their heads, spoke loud and freely, many careworn faces +made an attempt to smile. There was talk and laughter +under the trees lining the streets. Then a boy started to +work and others took it up—arms were raised, sticks and +pocket-knives worked feverishly, and in a few minutes, all +through the town, the posters of the Dictatorship were +hanging in shreds from the walls. Thick layers of paper +<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>fell on the pavement, bright coloured scraps covered the +cobbles, and were trodden in the dust.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The grape harvest has come in the land of hunchbacks.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>August 6th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Days have passed since the murderers of the country have +fallen and fate has not yet done justice to them. Reality +has achieved nothing, so it remains for imagination to sit +in trial over the criminals.</p> + +<p class='c009'>People tell each other that Michael Károlyi and Béla +Kun have been given up by the Czechs and Austrians and +that both have been hanged. Between the Danube and +the Tisza and in Western Hungary the peasants are +arresting the hiding butchers of the Dictatorship and +delivering them up to the justice of the crowd, who make +them eat the posters scratched from the walls. Then they +are executed by those whose father, mother, husband or +child they have murdered.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then comes one authentic piece of news: Tibor +Számuelly has committed suicide. He was the first who +tried to escape. The Cabinet had not yet resigned when +he rushed in his car to the aerodrome, hoping to fly to +Russia. But not one of the pilots would undertake the +job. Then he started with some of his hangmen on a +lorry towards Austria but was arrested on the way, and +while unwatched shot himself dead.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That is not fair,” said a farmer, “he ought to have +been strung up on a dung-heap.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He deserved the torture chamber, not a bullet!” And +the people curse the scoundrel furiously for having escaped +human justice.</p> + +<p class='c009'>But once again our elation is stifled by sorrow, for we +are receiving more and more unexpected names of the +victims of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. In the last +hours, during its agony, the reign of terror has snatched +the lives of Oscar Fery and his faithful companions, +Menkina and Borhy.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Oscar Fery, the organiser of the Hungarian county +police, was the heroic soul of the Counter-revolution. He +was a brave soldier, who, notwithstanding that he was a +Lieutenant-General, stayed in Budapest during the +Commune so that in case of need he might be on the spot +to lead his police. The Dictators were afraid of him—he +did not run away! A few days ago, he was dragged +<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>from his home at night and with two faithful officers was +taken to the Terrorists’ barracks. When the fall of the +Dictatorship was unavoidable, the prisoners were killed in +the cellars one after the other. Oscar Fery was the last, +and as he was being taken to the cellar he fell over the +mutilated bodies of his companions. There was an awful +storm that night, the roaring of the wind dominated every +sound. Yet for hours one could hear the screams of the +victims in the cellar of the barracks.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The murderers have escaped, but their saviours continue +to rule over Hungary while the Entente negotiates with +them. And the Rumanians are in Budapest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“One can’t go on living like this. We would much +rather be killed.” I have seen weeping men to-day.</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>August 7th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>There are no trains yet from Budapest and the town is +surrounded by a ring. Nobody can get out of it; no +passengers, no newspapers come to us. The Workmen’s +Government has cancelled all the orders of the Dictatorship, +and no fresh orders have come through yet. Only a part +of the troops from the Tisza front could be disarmed. The +soldiers have over-run the country and many are robbing +and plundering.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A doubtful rumour spread yesterday evening. It was +said that an opposition Government had been formed in +the capital. Is it true? Or, as so often before, is it only +an invention arising from our hope? Yet hope <em>is</em> rising.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You sit down and write an article in remembrance of +Balassagyarmat,” said Aladár Huszár. “The old patriotic +newspaper has reappeared.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>For months I have been writing only for my own self +and the idea of publicity came disturbingly to me, as if +someone were watching my pen over my shoulder. +“Resurrection ...” I chose that title for my article and +I signed my name—the first time since the events of +March.</p> + +<p class='c009'>As I wrote it many thoughts passed through my mind. +The name of Elisabeth Földváry, my companion and +protector during the sad days, has fallen off me as a cloak. +I return it to those who have a right to it and I hope they +will forgive me for using it. I give it back—but not with +a light heart. The cloak, worn for so many months, has +practically grown on me, and refuses to part from me. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>I must seek a road that leads me back to my own self. +And while seeking it, two individualities collided within +me: my own, which has to fight and work, and the other, +the poor, tired, shy, retiring one, which has realised the +pleasures of obscurity and the peace of quiet irresponsibility. +Suddenly I feel frightened. Will that which life has left +me be enough for what life expects from me?</p> + +<p class='c009'>The door flew open as if torn by a hurricane:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Come, come, all of you!” shouted Aladár Huszár, +holding a paper in his hand. “Great news. A +proclamation....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Why? What? Whence?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>He read, deeply moved:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“To the Hungarian people! Inspired by the everlasting +love with which I cling to the Hungarian people, looking +back on the sufferings we have gone through together in +the last five years, I give way to the request addressed to +me from all quarters and will attempt to solve the present +impossible situation!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We no longer asked any questions, we knew who it was +who for five years had suffered in common with us, he who +loves the Hungarian people with everlasting devotion, the +people forsaken by everybody, whom nobody loves. The +Archduke Joseph!</p> + +<p class='c009'>After all the hatred—everlasting love! A tear ran +down my cheek; I did not wipe it away but left it there +to wash off the traces of so many sufferings.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A Government has been formed and its members are +Hungarians, not foreigners. Stephen Friedrich is Prime +Minister.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was a time when Friedrich had been misled by +Michael Károlyi. He took his part in the October +Revolution though in the course of the winter he had +opened negotiations with the Counter-revolution. He too +is responsible for those events, but he is the only one who +has shown contrition and has redeemed his fault. After +the closing of the darkest and most humiliating pages of +Hungary’s history he has written his name on the first +clean page.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The sun was shining and on the roof of the county hall +the red, white and green flag was being hoisted. The eyes +of a whole town filled with tears.</p> + +<p class='c009'>On October 31st the hands of traitors drew the flag into +the Revolution as a snare. Then, in tragical disgrace, it +was made to float over the country which its enemies +occupied and tore to pieces. The sight of it became a +<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>torture, my soul revolted against it, and I turned away +from it that I might not see it; it became unclean and was +besmirched. And when everything that it stood for had +been crushed and dissipated, they tore it down with derision. +From that moment it became ours again: it was persecuted +like ourselves. It was sentenced to death, stood before the +Revolutionary Tribunals; prison and the gallows were in +store for those who harboured it. The flag became a +martyr. Because innocent Hungarian blood has been +shed for it, because it has been consecrated with blood, and +blood has brought it back to us and raised it above us—God +have mercy on him who dares to touch it! Its +tricoloured folds are now unfurled under the sky. And +beneath it, on the walls of Balassagyarmat, there stand +the letters of the Palatine’s message: “... with everlasting +love....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Peasants, gentlemen, workmen, and Red soldiers of +yesterday gathered in front of the proclamation and read it, +deeply moved. I stood there too. The sun had set and +yet it seemed that some mysterious afterglow lit up the +faces....</p> + +<hr class='c010'> + +<div class='lg-container-r'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><em>August 8th.</em></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The day has come. The terrible spell is broken. +Hungary again takes her fate in her own hands. And +to-day I am to see my mother again.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Life returns to the groove whence it was torn some +months ago. Through the breach in the walls which have +encircled us the horizon is widening, the first train to the +capital is starting. And I take leave of the house which +has given me a home, I take leave of the people, the +children, of my little corner near the window and of +the shady palings of the back garden, of everything that +has been kind to me in my misfortune, of all the +unforgettable things....</p> + +<p class='c009'>Through the windows of the train the station buildings +were already receding. Then the last little houses disappeared, +the waters of the Ipoly, the poplars on its banks, +the glittering heights of the distant Fátra. Then everything +became small and distant. The green trees gathered close +together, the roofs sank in the distance, and the flag above +the county hall seemed to rise higher and higher. Its staff +had become invisible, only its folds were floating like a +huge, tricoloured bird which had stopped in its flight +<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>above the town. And winding like a thread of silver +between its swampy meadows the Ipoly kept me company +for a time. Then parched fields came towards me, a sad, +dry country. In the fields of Indian corn the empty, +straggling stalks rustled in the wind raised by the train. +And this rattling noise is heard everywhere in Hungary +to-day, for everything has been burnt.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Somebody in our compartment whispered: “It was +for to-day that Számuelly had fixed the massacre of the +bourgeoisie.... It was to have begun in Budapest. +Then all over the country.... Lenin and Trotsky had +ordered a stricter Dictatorship.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>‘Lenin speaking!’ The awful words dissolved like +rotten things in the air. He speaks no longer here! Nor +does Számuelly; but there are voices from gallows-pits, +from the graves and from the unburied dead.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The track curved, and from the direction of the old +castle of Nográd we could see a storm racing towards us. +In a few moments the sky was black. The train threw +itself against the hurricane, then was compelled to stop. +The heavy carriages trembled; the trees slanted and the +dust rose in dark clouds. The wind moaned like a monster +organ. Such a wind preceded the world-war. To prevent +premonitions I said quickly: “If we stick to each other +and do not forget.... In one year, in two, or ten or +even a hundred years, Hungary will arise again, for there +is a little speck of earth which belongs to us. Six feet of +ground at the foot of Golgotha was enough to bring the +Resurrection....”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The storm passed to the west and the spires and cupolas +of chastened Budapest appeared again in sunshine above +the plain and the hills.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I took leave of my companions at the station and then +a carriage carried me off. I was alone. Flags were floating +above me on all the houses—curious flags, that had been cut +in half when the terror was requisitioning them for an +auto-da-fé. On the walls the orders of Rumanian generals +were posted—on white paper. Like ambulant ruins, the +electric trams with smashed windows crawled along their +rails. The shops were still closed and between the blinds +one could see that the windows were empty. The dusty +glass showed traces of removed posters. After the +robberies of Communism, life had not yet returned to the +beggared town.</p> + +<p class='c009'>With steel helmets and fixed bayonets a Rumanian +patrol came round a corner. The blood rushed to my +<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>face, and then I noticed something else: in ramshackle +cabs Rumanian officers with painted cheeks and rouged lips +were sitting with young Jewesses. How quickly they have +made friends! And how happy they seem!</p> + +<p class='c009'>A motor lorry was standing in front of a house from +which Rumanian soldiers were removing typewriters. War +contribution—everything is war contribution. With +mighty swings they threw the delicate machines one on +top of the other. A thud, a crash—that was the end of +them! Rumania is acquiring the tools of Western culture. +But instead of broken typewriters it might have acquired +capital in the shape of hundreds of years of Hungarian +gratitude, if it had been content to leave the little that +was left to a ransacked people.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Over the bridge flags were playing in the breeze. +Suddenly I saw them no more. There, above the hill, +sadly, stood the royal castle. Opposite, on the shore of +Pest, the House of Parliament was standing with its +darkened stones. The building seemed quite young a +year ago. How suddenly it has aged, how tragic have +become its bloodstained cellars, its bullet-marked walls, +the square where the rabble watched the executions, the +stairs leading to the river!</p> + +<p class='c009'>On the side of Buda the flags were floating too, on the +bridgehead, on the houses. Towards the end of the town +the palings showed now and then the traces of torn-off +red posters.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Then I came in sight of our hills. But since I had last +been here the forest has disappeared. The Dictatorship +of the Proletariat has exterminated that too.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Now I was going up the hill; nobody was waiting for +me, nobody knew I was coming. All the way along I was +smiling to myself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The high, double roof of our house showed up +bright against the blue sky. The gate was open, the +pebbles crunched under my feet, I opened the front +door.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A white wall, an oaken staircase, flowers on my mother’s +table. And I stood there, irresolute. Steps were approaching, +peculiar steps, as if one foot were slightly dragged +behind the other. Blessed steps, beloved steps, I ran to +meet them! My mother stood in the door.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I felt that I turned pale. Already the flame was dying +within her and she was preparing for the long journey. +But I will keep her back, she must stay with me. She +opened her arms and I felt her, who had always been taller +than I, so small, so elusive, against my heart. I will keep +her back, will make her stay.</p> + +<div id='i_214fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_214fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>ROUMANIAN TROOPS OCCUPYING BUDAPEST.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>And in her arms my outlawry died. I was home again.</p> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c003'> + <div><span class='small'>THE END.</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='chapter'> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span> + <h2 class='c004'>APPENDIX.<br> <span class='c011'>THE CRIMINALS OF THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE PROLETARIAT<a id='r6'></a><a href='#f6' class='c012'><sup>[6]</sup></a></span></h2> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c003'> + <div>By OSCAR SZOLLOSY, LL.D.,</div> + <div class='c014'><em>Councillor in the Royal Hungarian Ministry of Justice.</em></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c015'>Lenin’s well-known axiom to the effect that in revolutions +for every honest-minded man (unfortunately) are to be +found hundreds of criminals, can scarcely be applied to +Hungarian Bolshevism, for among the notorious exponents +of the same even the lamp of Diogenes would hardly have +enabled us to detect one honest-minded man. Criminalists +of long standing who lived through the horrors of the Red +Régime in Hungary, which lasted from March 21 to the +end of July, 1919, could testify, even without the decisions +of the court of laws, that the leading spirits of the ‘Soviet +Republic’ (with the exception of a few fanatics) consisted +of common criminals, to the greater part of whom might +be applied with perfect aptness the definition of Anatole +France, ‘<i><span lang="fr">encore bête et déjà un homme</span></i>.’</p> + +<p class='c009'>Every revolution has its idealistic champions, its +enthusiasts who inflame the masses with a fiery passion +and are themselves ready to endure all the suffering of +Calvary in the service of the creed which they profess. +Fanatic apostles of high aims may be sympathetic even in +their fatal errors; and there is always something sublimely +tragical in their fall. Who would doubt the unselfish +enthusiasm of Camille Desmoulins, of Jourde, or of Louise +Michel for their ideals, for which they were content to suffer +and die?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>In our moral judgment we distinguish between political +and other criminals; a similar sharp distinction is made by +the general conceptions of criminal law, for political +agitators are liable to confinement as first-class misdemeanants, +while thieves are imprisoned in common jails +and murderers are condemned to the gallows.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Revolution, as a movement of the masses aiming at the +violent overthrow of the existing system of law, from the +standpoint of criminal law is a single cumulative criminal +act; committed against the community as a whole,—a +movement called into being by the co-operation of individuals +grouped into a mass in which individual actions are +merely insignificant episodes. The masses, however, cannot +be called to account under the criminal law; the judgment +on them is pronounced by the nation and by history. The +work of the judge is to investigate the individual guilt +of the persons taking part; in this manner he finds himself +dealing with numberless varieties of revolutionary acts—from +agitation, riot, through destruction of movable +property and numerous other offences, to murder,—the +series comprising practically all the acts known to the +criminal code. But of all these offences the only ones +which may be classified as political crimes are those unlawful +attacks against the aims of the State and the realization +of the same which are of a political character by virtue +alike of their objects and their nature (<em>e.g.</em>, incitement +against the constitution or against the binding force of the +law); in cases where only the tendency or motive is of +such character, while the means employed are base, as is +true of most revolutionary offences,—for without violence +and dangerous threats there can be no revolution,—we are +confronted, not with political, but with common crimes. +The incendiaries of Paris who set fire to the Tuilleries were +common criminals, though they acted from a political +motive.</p> + +<p class='c009'>And those who, clothing themselves in the red cloak of +revolution, with Phrygian caps on their heads, ‘work for +their own enrichment,’ are not revolutionists at all—merely +criminals.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Bolshevism, the wildest form of Marxian Communism, +which annihilates capital under the pretext of making property +public, destroys or distributes among its own votaries +the private possessions of others, abolishes the right of +choice of labour, subverts the thousand years old system +of production and, in order to effect all these things, ruins +all the institutions of an historic State, concentrates the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>proletarians in the ‘council’ system with the object of +exercising dictatorial power over the bourgeois classes, +persecutes religion and national sentiment, places physical +labour above intellectual work, transforms the common +seaman into an admiral, employing the real admiral as a +scavenger,—this suppression of the common liberties, more +tyrannical in character than the despotism of any Cæsar, +could not have maintained itself for even the briefest space +of time without resorting to the means of extreme terrorism. +Therefore, having disarmed the bourgeois classes, and +rendering them defenceless, it placed King Mob on the +throne and used the same to keep the other members of +the community in constant fear and trembling.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In our country the Dictatorship of the Proletariat +was nothing more or less than an organized rule of the +mob, under the demoniacal direction of Belial, the spirit +of destruction of Jewish mythology.</p> + +<p class='c009'>But what were the elements composing this mob?</p> + +<p class='c009'>So long as the State power is the expression of the common +will of the people and has at its command disciplined +physical force, the authority of the State and the moral +constraint involved suffice to hold in check those criminal +propensities and hidden instincts which are latent in the +masses. Under such circumstances the expression ‘mob’ +is restricted to vagabonds, professional criminals, the +denizens of the common haunts of crime who are a public +danger. But, the moment the rule of law is overthrown +and the respect for authority vanishes, the lid of the box +of Pandora flies open, and the criminal or unhealthy +instincts hitherto kept in check rush unimpeded from their +secret hiding-places, and the mob is recruited by men who +have so far been peaceful and industrious day-labourers, +factory hands, students, tradesmen or officials. And those +degenerate individuals who are criminally inclined are only +too eager to join any movement which enables them to give +free vent to their inclinations. During the opening weeks +of the Bolshevik régime Budapest became the gatheringplace +of international adventurers flocking thither from +all quarters of the globe,—‘Spartacus’ Germans, Russian +Jews, Austrian, Rumanian, Bulgarian, and Italian communists +hastened thither in the hope of finding rich booty +under the ægis of the Soviet Government. At a mass +meeting held in the suburbs, speeches were delivered by +demagogues in six different languages.</p> + +<p class='c009'>But more foreign still to this country than the rabble of +strangers were the leading People’s Commissioners themselves, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>though all were born on Hungarian soil. They +hated, not merely the bourgeoisie, but the whole Hungarian +people, with whom they never had anything in common. +Their hatred was most violent against the agricultural +peasant class, which forms the bulk of the nation, whereas +the industrial labourers represent barely more than five +per cent. of the whole population. While at Petrograd, +in the service of Lenin, Béla Kún had had Hungarian +prisoners of war, officers and privates alike, shot <em>en masse</em> +with machine-guns, for refusing to join the Russian Red +Army.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When the future People’s Commissioners, laden with +Russian gold, emerged from obscurity, they pushed into +the background the former leaders of the working classes. +In their incendiary speeches and newspaper articles could +be heard the hissing of the vipers of hatred. The terrible +trials of the four and a half years’ war, its demoralising +effect, the exorbitant demands advanced after the defeat +by soldiers embittered by battle and grown accustomed +to a distaste for a life of work, the unemployment caused +by the shortage of raw materials, and the discontent of +the industrial labourers that had long been lurking beneath +the surface,—all these circumstances in a few months +ripened the seeds sown by the wicked and unscrupulous +agitation of the adventurers. Their adherents consisted, +besides a few educated persons of disordered intellect<a id='r7'></a><a href='#f7' class='c012'><sup>[7]</sup></a> or +greedy of profit, of a small fraction of socialist labourers +(who terrorized the rest of their fellows) and the mob +described above.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Were these men really capable of believing in the +incredible,—of believing that the results of a social evolution +of a thousand years could be changed in a single night by +the help of bands of terrorists? Did they believe that +they could violate human nature by means of their +peremptory ‘orders’ (edicts), or that the world-revolution +<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>with which, as an inevitable certainty, they constantly +sought to cajole their partisans would really hasten to their +assistance? Did they honestly desire to ‘redeem’ the +working classes,—which, in fact, they ruined,—with their +devilish system? And is the bestiality of their instruments +the only charge that can be laid at their doors? There +were evidently some men among them who cherished such +a belief and such a desire; but it would be extremely +difficult to draw such a conclusion from the nature of their +deeds. On the contrary, it is certain that almost all of +them were actuated by the hope of personal aggrandizement, +by a morbid and unbridled desire of omnipotence; +they desired to seize for themselves everything that seemed +of any value to them in the country and to destroy everything +that stood in their way. An exceptionally favourable +opportunity for the realization of their aims was afforded +them by the desperate situation of the country and the +lethargy of the exhausted bourgeois classes; and to this +end they hastened to exploit the infatuation of the masses.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Pre-eminent among them, alike for ability and for skill +in the application of Bolshevik ideology, was the People’s +Commissioner for Foreign Affairs, the keen-witted, astute +and extraordinarily active Béla Kún,<a id='r8'></a><a href='#f8' class='c012'><sup>[8]</sup></a> who remained to +the end the soul and leading spirit of the Red régime. +Already during his activity as a provincial journalist, this +lizard-faced, well-fed agitator had shown the greatest +contempt for the morals in general acceptance among the +middle classes and had consequently been only too ready +to sell his pen as a means to hush up delinquencies committed +by the bourgeoisie. He had been compelled, in +consequence of petty embezzlements committed at the +expense of the proletariat, to resign his post in the office +of the Kolozsvár Workmen’s Insurance Institute. Earlier +in life he had been a votary of night orgies; and during +the ‘lean’ days of the Soviet régime he did not abstain +from sumptuous banqueting, while everywhere the masses +intoned the refrain of the Internationale, ‘Rise, starving +proletarians, rise!’ As People’s Commissioner, he took +up his quarters in a fashionable hotel on the Danube +Embankment, under the protection of a body-guard armed +with hand grenades. His inflammatory speeches, in which +he employed all the hackneyed casuistry of the demagogue, +at first exercised a suggestive influence even on the more +sober-minded section of the working classes. He preached +the necessity of an inexorable application of the dictatorship; +and he himself—ignoring his own revolutionary +tribunals—gave orders for the perpetration of secret +murders committed in the dark. It was in this way that +he got terrorists to kill two Ukranian officers who had come +here to repatriate Russian prisoners of war and whom he +suspected of implication in a plot against his person. In +a similarly secret manner he provided for the murder, +among others, of Francis Mildner, captain in the Artillery, +for having (as he, Béla Kún, declared) encouraged the +pupils of the Ludovica Military Academy to ‘stick to +their guns’ during the Counter-revolution in the month +of June. Moreover, he gave Joseph Cserny, the formidable +‘commander’ of the ‘terror-troops,’ a general authorization +for the perpetration, by means of his underlings, of similar +murders.</p> + +<div id='i_220fp' class='figcenter id003'> +<img src='images/i_220fp.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>SZÁMUELLY, ARRIVING BY AEROPLANE FROM MOSCOW, BRINGS GREETINGS FROM THE RUSSIAN COMMUNISTS.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>The only one of his associates who surpassed him in +bloodthirsty cruelty was Tiberius Szamuelly,<a id='r9'></a><a href='#f9' class='c012'><sup>[9]</sup></a> a horrible +figure who was the object of universal abhorrence, even +among the working classes,—a man who experienced a +perverse enjoyment in the destruction of human life. +This degenerate successor of Marat and Hébert was a +sharp-featured, narrow-chested Jewish youth of low +stature; according to medical men who knew him, his +blood was tainted, and he was consumptive. Prior to +the war, he acted as reporter—without talent indeed, but +never without a monocle—to a clerical news agency; +during the war he was an officer in the reserve; and, at +the age of twenty-eight, his hatred of mankind and his +experiences in Russia qualified him for appointment as +a People’s Commissioner. He was a type of humanity of +the lowest kind, degenerate alike physically and mentally. +In the Governing Council he came into conflict even with +Béla Kún, because the latter declined to comply with his +delightful suggestion that the mob should be allowed at +least three days’ free pillage immediately after the proclamation +of the Dictatorship of the Proletariat. It was +he who, at the meeting of the Budapest Workers’ Council, +raised the cry of ‘Death to the Bourgeoisie!’ and the +following day the seething crowd swarming along the +boulevards echoed his cry—‘Death to the Bourgeoisie!’ +In April he was authorized to exercise in person, in the rear +of the Red Army and in places where there was any counter-revolutionary +movement, the rights of the revolutionary +<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>courts-martial. And, indeed, he accomplished his task +thoroughly; those whom the members of the local +Workers’ Councils branded as ‘white’ he had hanged, +without even the formality of a trial, on the nearest pear +or apple tree. As a rule, his manner of sentencing to +death the victims brought before him, was by a motion +of the hand or by secret ‘cue’; though sometimes he +pronounced formal sentence in the words—‘Step under +the tree!’ These words were enough for his hangmen. +He condemned to death persons ‘taken up’ at random +against whom there was not even the shadow of a +suspicion,—mostly for the simple reason that they belonged +to the detested peasant class. At Duna-pataj he ordered +his underlings to bury a wounded peasant, whom he saw +being treated by a surgeon, alive in a grave together with +the dead. At Sopron-Kövesd he had an old railway +booking-clerk of the name of Schmidt hanged, and compelled +his son to watch the dying father’s convulsions for +twenty-five minutes, and then hanged the son on the same +tree by the side of the father. A short time previous to +the overthrow of the Commune, he endeavoured to establish +a military dictatorship; and his particular adherents had +drafted a list of the State officials, police officers and +aristocrats who had been selected as doomed to be +slaughtered within three short hours.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A dwarf in comparison with this monster was the red-handed, +black-souled Joseph Pogány,<a id='r10'></a><a href='#f10' class='c012'><sup>[10]</sup></a> one of Count +Stephen Tisza’s murderers and the demon of demoralization +of our former army. From being a socialist journalist, he +became President of the Soldiers’ Council, later People’s +Commissioner for Public Education, and finally Commander +of an Army Corps. He was the son of a Jewish ‘corpse-washer’ +of the name of Schwarz; and, though endowed +with but mediocre ability, was incredibly ambitious. +In his maniacal endeavour for self-assertion, the comic +elements were overshadowed only by the depravity of the +means he employed. Grotesquely adipose in figure, he +loved to ape the poses and gestures of Napoleon, and +revelled greedily in the delights of power. He travelled +without exception in a Pullman car or in an automobile; +and at one of the health resorts on the shores of Lake +Balaton,—when the misery of the country was at its height,—he +arranged horse-races in which his Red Hussars took +part,—for his own distraction and in his own honour. At +<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>the first news of the approach of the Rumanian army, he +warned the entire population of Budapest that they must +consider themselves as the hostages of the Soviet Republic. +(It was at the same juncture that ‘Comrade’ Surek, +inspired with noble zeal, proposed at the Central Soviet +meeting that all hostages should be butchered at once and +mountains raised of bourgeois corpses!)</p> + +<p class='c009'>Hardly had the men of the Soviet seized the reins of +government, when the <i><span lang="la">homo delinquens</span></i> commenced his revels; +every base and filthy impulse was let loose, greed and +bloodthirstiness held a bacchanalian feast. When the old +order was restored it was found necessary, as a result of the +denunciations received, to institute proceedings in no less +than 15,000 criminal cases; and the number of persons +kept in detention by the Public Prosecutor in the metropolis +alone exceeded three thousand: on the occasion of their +arrest, almost all of the latter were found to be in the +possession of stolen money or other stolen valuables.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Typical criminals were placed in possession of all our +public institutions,—with the exception of the jails and convict +prisons, from which, indeed, individuals apparently +harmless to the proletariat State were released <em>en masse</em> +(those discharged from the convict prison at Sopron, for +instance, included a gipsy condemned for robbery and +murder) to make room for respectable men, hostages and +political prisoners. The former convicts were wanted to +recruit the ranks of the ‘political terror-troops’ and the +Red Guard, as well as to furnish functionaries to do the +more important work of the administration of justice.<a id='r11'></a><a href='#f11' class='c012'><sup>[11]</sup></a></p> + +<p class='c009'>Hitherto it had been the sole ambition of journeymen in +general to be able to set up for themselves as independent +masters of their respective trades: now, they were +informed by the <cite>Voros Ujság</cite> (Red Journal) that masters +were without exception dishonest extortioners, since they +employed workmen for wages: so they came to despise, +not only their masters, but their handicrafts, too, and +ended by joining the Red Guards or some other band of +pillagers.</p> + +<p class='c009'>During four months and a half all Budapest wore the +appearance of one vast condemned cell. The night visits +of savage Red Guards and drunken terrorists, domiciliary +<span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>visits (the most convenient pretexts for the ‘official organs’ +to plunder flats), the ‘commandeering’ of food and +dwellings, compulsory recruiting, the taking of hostages, +the arrest and torture of innocent persons, and the glaring +posters with their gruesome threats,—kept the inhabitants, +stripped of everything and nearly all suffering the pangs +of hunger, in a state of nervous tension, while suicides of +embittered fathers were every-day occurrences. Those +who had hitherto been held in check by the authorities, +had now become the authorities themselves; and, to the +citizen accustomed to a disciplined mode of life, nothing +can be more disheartening than the knowledge that the +‘authorities’ are the greatest enemies to the security of +life and property.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When, under the pretext of ‘nationalization,’ the Soviet +authorities proceeded vigorously to confiscate property, +thirty-four banks were occupied by armed forces and placed +under Communist management. The entire stock of money +and securities was seized, as well as the jewellery, gold +coins and foreign currency deposited in the safes. From +the Austro-Hungarian Bank (Budapest branch) two hundred +million crowns were taken and conveyed to Vienna for +propaganda purposes; while foreign currency of the +value of at least forty to fifty million crowns was distributed +among the immediate adherents (male and female alike) +of the new masters of the country. Of the foreign securities +seized several millions’ worth were sold; while the Sacred +Crown, the most jealously guarded of all the nation’s +treasures, was offered for sale. (The crown adorning the +dome of the royal palace was covered with a red cap.)</p> + +<p class='c009'>The salaries of the persons employed by the new +bureaucracy and the wages of the workmen were raised +so enormously that there could be no doubt as to the +probability of a speedy bankruptcy of the State. A prison +warder was paid wages amounting to about 30,000 crowns +a year. The Exchequer was soon empty; and there was +a shortage of the means of payment. At this juncture +Julius Lengyel, People’s Commissioner for Finance, declared +to a meeting of the ‘trustees’ (<em>Vertrauensmänner</em>) of the +officials of the bank of issue that ‘there are excellent foreign +and native forgers able to make perfect counterfeits of the +Austro-Hungarian banknotes.’ The services of these +‘excellent forgers’ were actually requisitioned; and they +made an enormous number of forged Austro-Hungarian +banknotes, of 200, 25 and 2 crowns respectively. Thus +the workers’ delight at the rise of wages became converted +into bitter disappointment, for they were paid in forged +notes which possessed a very trifling purchasing value. +The country folk refused to have anything to do with +money forged under the ægis of ‘authorities’ whose term +of power was so problematical, and in consequence ceased +to supply the capital with food.</p> + +<div id='i_224fp1' class='figleft id004'> +<img src='images/i_224fp1.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>1. LEOPOLD RADO <em>alias</em> ROTH.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='figright id004'> +<img src='images/i_224fp3.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>3. ERNEST BAUMGARTEN.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='figleft id004'> +<img src='images/i_224fp2.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>2. OTTO KORVIN <em>alias</em> KLEIN.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='figright id004'> +<img src='images/i_224fp4.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +<div class='ic001'> +<p>4. WILLIAM AUSCH.</p> +</div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> + <div class='nf-center'> + <div>(<em>For an account of these Terrorists, see the</em> <span class='sc'>Appendix</span>.)</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>Meanwhile Terror was working at high pressure, not +sparing even the better-disposed among the working +classes. Its appointed instruments—the Detective Department +of the Ministry of the Interior, with the bloodthirsty +Otto Korvin-Klein at its head, the Revolutionary Tribunals, +and the Political ‘Terror Troops’—never for a single +moment lapsed from the level of their respective callings.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Otto Korvin (Klein), a hunchbacked, clean-shaven +gnome of twenty-five years, was a well-paid official of a +joint-stock company when he was called upon to join the +ranks of the red, bloodstained knights of hate. It was he +who issued orders for the seizure as hostages of the notabilities +of our public life,—politicians, judges, bishops, writers, +manufacturers, generals; he who was known as <i><span lang="la">ornamentum +civitatis</span></i>,—the former Prime Minister, Alexander Wekerle, +a man of seventy years,—the former Ministers of War +(Home Defence), Hazay and Szurmay, the Speaker +(President of the House of Deputies), Charles Szasz, the +most distinguished of Hungarian publicists, Eugéne Rakosi, +Bishop Mikes, etc.,—all these men now became the inmates +of a common jail. But in many cases, the instruments of +Korvin’s vindictiveness—the terrorists and detectives—did +not even trouble to convey the hostages to prison; +dragging the victims out of bed and away from their homes +in the dead of night, they simply murdered them and +robbed their corpses. Alexander Hollan, Secretary of +State, and his aged father were shot on the Chain Bridge, +their bodies, bound together, being thrown into the Danube. +Louis Navay, a former speaker of the Lower House, +together with his younger brother and a local magistrate, +while being conveyed from Mako to Budapest, were dragged +from the train at Félegyháza, placed on the brink of a +grave dug in the neighbourhood of the railway station, and +then shot and stabbed with bayonets until they were dead; +on the same occasion, the Soviet mercenaries, as they +proceeded on their journey, shot three more hostages in +the train and seven at the railway station of Hodmezovasarhely.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Maybe these unfortunate men had a happier fate than +was that of some of the political prisoners whom Korvin +<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>subjected to his diabolical inquisition in the cellars beneath +the Houses of Parliament. What was enacted there, in +defiance of all human feeling, surpasses the utmost limits +of bestiality. Some had the soles of their feet beaten with +rubber sticks or their bare backs belaboured with belts or +straps; others had their ribs or arms broken, or tacks +driven in under their nails; some were compelled to drink +three litres of water at a draught, or had rulers stuck down +their throats, to force them to make disclosures. By the +side of a certain lieutenant-colonel Korvin placed a guard +with a hand grenade, ordering the latter to kill the unfortunate +officer, if he dared to open his mouth; another +prisoner he threatened to shoot unless he spoke immediately. +A lieutenant was found wearing on his breast an image of +the Blessed Virgin: ‘hang the thing up as an ornament +for his gallows,’ shrieked the inquisitor in a paroxysm of +fury. A prisoner named Balogh, who refused to confess, +was dragged by the terrorists—his hands tied behind his +back—up to the scaffold erected in the cellar and left +hanging there with the blood running from his mouth and +nose. For intimidation, the inquisitors showed the accused +persons a heap of noses, tongues, and ears that had been cut +off corpses. One of Korvin’s hangmen, a Russian Jew, +with a limp, and curly hair, named Gerson Itzkovitch, +laughingly vaunted that he was in the habit of gouging +out a bourgeois’ eye with a single turn of his Cossack knife, +‘like the stone from a peach.’ Those who were tortured +to death in the course of the inquisition were generally +thrown from the stairs of the Houses of Parliament into +the Danube; the actor Andrew Szocs was thrown down +from the third floor into the courtyard, where his body was +left to decompose for several days.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In order to prevent the wailings and death-cries of the +victims being heard by outsiders, a grinning chauffeur was +told off to keep the motor of his automobile incessantly +whirring in front of the ventilation holes of the cellars.</p> + +<p class='c009'>These frenzied blood-orgies betray all the symptoms +characteristic of that perversion which manifests itself in +a perverse and fiendish delight in the shedding of blood, +in shrieks of pain, and in maddening tortures.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Korvin’s female typist, Manci Hollos, endeavoured to +comfort an imprisoned lawyer in these terms: ‘You will +make a handsome corpse; it will be a pleasure to gouge +out your eyes and kick your broken ribs.’</p> + +<p class='c009'>Hysterical women, too, were given a plentiful scope of +activity by Bolshevism, which induced women to wear +<span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span>short hair, in order to be more like men, whereas the men +wore long, flowing hair, after the Russian fashion. +Elizabeth Sipos, the notorious agitator with whom Korvin +contracted a marriage during the Dictatorship, devoted +her energy to spying out the counter-revolutionary plans +of army officers. Margaret Romanyi agitated in favour +of Bolshevism among the telephone operators; while +Gizella Adler, in her capacity as political commissary, +armed with a revolver, herself delivered to the custody of +the Red Guards such persons as seemed to her to be +suspicious. Mrs. John Peczkai,<a id='r12'></a><a href='#f12' class='c012'><sup>[12]</sup></a> a woman doctor, took +pleasure in assisting at executions; her hobby was to be +allowed to determine whether death had ensued, and she +showed a particular eagerness in making inquiries as to +when and where the next execution was to take place. +Ethel Sari (a notorious pickpocket, who later on became +Secretary to the People’s Commissioner, Vago) took part, +with her husband, the gorilla-headed terrorist, Andrew +Annocskay, in the butchery at Maká, in the meantime +methodically pursuing her usual occupation of professional +pickpocket.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Those whom Korvin’s accomplices or the Red Guards +brought direct to the revolutionary tribunals, might have +congratulated themselves on at least escaping the cellars of +torture of the Houses of Parliament; but mutilation, +starvation and intimidation were the order of the day in +the prisons. In the prison attached to the Budapest +Central Court of Justice alone 1,461 persons were held in +custody, persons arrested as politicians, and not charged +with any criminal act. The tribunals, composed of +untrained individuals (industrial labourers and persons +‘with a past’), were not bound by any regular rules of +procedure and passed sentence with a rapidity of courts-martial +under military law. The Budapest Revolutionary +Tribunal sentenced to ‘confinement in an asylum’ an +accused person who evinced symptoms of dull-wittedness; +and against this sentence there was no appeal.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Governing Council appointed the lawyer Dr. Eugene +László political commissary for all the revolutionary +tribunals. This man was the offspring of a marriage +between cousins, and his mother died insane; his fellow-lawyers +and journalists (for previously he had been law +reporter to a daily with a wide circulation) spoke of him +among themselves as ‘mad László’; yet he was one of +the most fanatical of Communists and in his degeneracy +<span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>was quite the equal of the more calculating Korvin and the +more ignorant Számuelly. These qualities were amply +sufficient to fit him to act as super-reviser of all judgments +passed by the revolutionary tribunals; and his legal +training enabled him to do his work by simply ordering +the members of the tribunals to pass the sentences dictated +by him. In the case of Dr. John Stenczel and his associates, +who were charged with being counter-revolutionists, acting +in touching agreement with Otto Korvin, László conferred +the dignity of judge on Joseph Cserny, directing him to +sentence all the accused but one to death. As President +of the Tribunal, after ten minutes’ hearing of the case, +which was a mere parody of the administration of justice, +Cserny pronounced sentence of death on eight men and +then, by way of motive for the sentence, whistled between +his fingers; of the men condemned in this manner, three +were shot, while the others were graciously reprieved and +sentenced to imprisonment for life. (One member of this +tribunal was Francis Gombos, a worker in the cartridge +factory, who was known to be ever ready to agree to a +sentence of death; he ‘despised human life,’—though, it +would appear only in the case of others, for, when at a +later date the Court of Law sentenced him to death, he +broke into sobs and implored mercy.)</p> + +<p class='c009'>This same Eugéne László, who, during the Dictatorship +of the Proletariat, had no fewer than four flats in Budapest, +was far less severe in respect of the standard of morality +applied to his own actions, for—as appears from the +evidence of his own officials—he stole from the Budapest +mansion of Baron Ulmann clothes, silver cigarette-cases +and other portable articles, which he then sold at a high +price, Joseph Cserny having bought from him, among +other things, caps for 100 crowns. These individuals also +made a practice of arresting as hostages rich merchants, +whom they then released from prison—as a proof of their +magnanimity—in return for money and rice!</p> + +<p class='c009'>A quite different type—one might almost say a true +type of Apache—was ‘Comrade’ Joseph Cserny,<a id='r13'></a><a href='#f13' class='c012'><sup>[13]</sup></a> the +broad-shouldered and big-limbed sailor whom Béla Kún +himself entrusted with the organisation of the ‘terror +troops.’ He was of a very powerful physique and +possessed remarkable muscular strength; and he was +possessed with the conviction that in the general upheaval +he was called upon to play a pre-eminent part and must +<span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>to that end be a ruthless murderer. Not even Béla Kún +himself was suffered to contradict him on this point; and +when, under the pressure of the Entente Missions and of +the workers, it was proposed to disband his troops, he +forthwith conceived the idea of offering his services to the +counter-revolutionists. From among the volunteers who +applied to him for ‘a job’—these persons were the very +scum of society—he selected men of the lowest repute, +dare-devils ‘with a past’ ready to perpetrate any crime,—the +criminals known as ‘Lenin Boys,’ more than 400 in +number, whose special vocation was to stifle any counter-revolutionary +movement. What they really had to do, +however, was not to take part in any open fighting or in +regular military operations, but to inspire terror in districts +where any counter-revolutionary movement had already +been suppressed by the Red Army,—by murder, torture +and pillaging. We know now, from the sentences of the +courts of law, that this ‘institution’ was ‘a gang organized +for common wholesale murder’ and robbery, re-assured in +advance by Ernest Seidler, People’s Commissioner for +Police, who said: ‘You may put out of the way as many +“bourgeois” as you like; I will see that everything is +hushed up!’</p> + +<p class='c009'>The ‘Lenin Boys’ took possession of Count Batthyány’s +mansion in the Theresa Boulevard, which was transformed +into a veritable fortress; in the cellars were amassed +enormous quantities of ammunition, while the ‘garrison’ +had at their disposal field guns, <em>minenwerfers</em>, and twenty-four +machine-guns. The pavement in front of the house +was barricaded, while before the gate heavy motor-lorries +armed with machine-guns were kept constantly in readiness. +Each ‘Lenin Boy’ was armed to the teeth with revolvers, +a bowie knife and hand grenades. The whole town knew +the ‘Lenin Boys’ by their leather coats and flat caps with +bag-like flaps at the back. (Cserny himself carried a long, +sharp hunting knife stuck in one of his yellow top-boots.) +To their fortress-mansion the ‘Boys’ conveyed by motor-lorries +enormous quantities of ‘commandeered’ clothes, +food, wine, jewellery and ladies, who, after being forced to +take part in their wild orgies, were boxed on the ears and +‘chucked out.’</p> + +<p class='c009'>These bandits had a peculiar slang of their own to express +their methods of assassination,—viz., ‘to send to Gades,’ +‘to refrigerate,’ ‘to send floating,’ ‘to send home’; their +torture and flogging might be ‘under-done’ or ‘well-done’ +(slang phrases adopted from the kitchen jargon). Whenever +<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>Korvin or Gabriel Schán (the political commissary +attached to the District Commander of the Red Guard) +telephoned to Cserny, saying—‘I am sending you a man; +send him to Gades,’ the person in question was dead by the +following morning, and his corpse ‘sent floating’ on the +Danube.</p> + +<p class='c009'>From among these ruffians were selected the Soviet House +Guards, as well as the Számuelly Detachment, which was +quartered in the leaders’ special train, and was always kept +in readiness to travel away.<a id='r14'></a><a href='#f14' class='c012'><sup>[14]</sup></a></p> + +<p class='c009'>Cserny’s spy, a boy of fourteen years from Nagyvarad, of +the name of Nicholas Gelbert, was able to obtain an entrance +everywhere—as an unsuspected child, and indeed carried +on his trade with astonishing zeal; on one occasion he +himself shot a captain, for which act he is said to have +received from Béla Kún a reward of 10,000 crowns.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When the ‘terrorists’ were temporarily disbanded, forty +of the ‘most trustworthy’ were transferred to the detective +section operating in the Parliament building; later on, +however, the gang was again organized and took up its +quarters in Buda, in the Mozdony utca school.</p> + +<p class='c009'>These brigands ‘despatched’ a host of persons without +the formality of a trial, either by the orders of their +superiors or on their own initiative, in the latter case either +to humour their cynical lust of blood or with intent to rob. +One day an ensign of hussars, Nicholas Dobsa, having lost +his certificate of identity, went to the Soviet House to +procure a new one; in consequence he was brought before +Gabriel Schán, the Political Commissary, twenty-three +years old, who had formerly been a law student and had +become one of the most blackguardly desperadoes of the +Red régime. The ensign smiled when speaking to his +inquisitor; this was reason enough for Gabriel Schán to +have him despatched as a ‘saucy youth’ to Cserny in the +Batthyány mansion. Two ‘terrorists’ (Géza Groo and +John Nyakas) seized the unfortunate young man, dragged +him to the cellar, and beat him unmercifully, fracturing +his lower jaw and one of his arms; then they dug a grave +for him and shot him. Merely because he had smiled +when speaking to Gabriel Schán!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Dr. Nicholas Berend, a University professor, on the day +of the counter-revolution in June waved a white handkerchief +<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>at the gunboats which bombarded the Soviet +House; he was shot and his body robbed by terrorists, +who took his money, watch, clothes and shoes (in a word, +everything), and then threw his corpse into the Danube. +This was how this notorious ‘political institution’ showed +its respect for the medical profession. In the evening of +the same day, a medical student named Béla Madarasz, +who, preparing for an examination, remained absorbed in +his books in his garret room, and kept a light burning +beyond the prescribed hour, was dragged by the terrorists +into the street, where one of them gave him a blow on the +head, while another stabbed him in the abdomen; after +his gold watch had been taken from him, he was thrown +into a dust-cart and ‘sent floating’ in the Danube.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Gustavus Szigeti, a merchant who had been arrested in +Veszprém on suspicion of having harboured Count +Festetich in his house, was, at the instance of the Political +Commissary for Veszprém, who offered a reward of 5,000 +crowns, taken bound by the terrorist Gabriel Csomor to a +sandbank in Lake Balaton and there stabbed to death by +that ruffian, who fastened a piece of a broken grave-stone +to the corpse, cut off the tip of the left ear, and sank the +body in the lake, afterwards sending the ear-tip to the +Commissary as authentic proof that he had killed the victim.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Soviet rulers indulged a special hatred towards the +rigorous chiefs of the former gendarmerie too. A few days +prior to the fall of the Soviet Government, Edward Chlepko, +Commander-in-Chief of the Red Guard, on the basis of a +pre-arranged anonymous denunciation, had Lieutenant-General +Oscar Ferry arrested, together with two lieutenant-colonels +of the gendarmerie. The political detectives +Bonyhati (formerly a lieutenant in the reserve) and +Radvanyi—two men whom even Cserny dubbed ‘bloodhounds’—conveyed +the unfortunate officers to the +Terrorists’ barracks in Mozdony utca, where, after three +days’ fruitless inquisition, all three were hanged by the +‘Lenin Boys’ on a water-pipe in the cellar. These victims, +too, were buried in the Danube.</p> + +<p class='c009'>During the reign of horror in Budapest, Számuelly’s +‘death train’ rushed from one end of the country to the +other, landing its hellish passengers at the scene of every +counter-revolutionary movement. So far as we have +hitherto been able to ascertain, the official assassin of the +Dictatorship executed thirty persons in Szolnok, twenty +in Kalocsa, sixty-one in the small village of Duna-pataj, +in addition killing a host of other innocent people in twenty-five +<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>different towns and parishes. The most ‘eminent’ +of the hangmen of this Hungarian Jefferys were Louis +Kovacs, Arpad Kerekes (Kohn), and Charles Sturcz, who, +at a mere sign of the hand from Számuelly, hanged or shot +seventeen, forty-six, and forty-nine persons respectively.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The usual custom of these human brutes was to place the +victim on a chair beneath the tree selected for the purpose, +then to throw a rope round his neck and order him to kick +away the chair; whenever the victim was unable, owing +to his terror of death, to do so, he was beaten with rifle-butts +and prodded with knives, until the instinct of escape +from this sanguinary torture compelled the writhing victim +to comply with the command. These beasts beat greyhaired +old men to death; in some cases they gouged out +the victims’ eyes before killing them with all the refinement +of Bolshevik cruelty. In one case, after hanging a parish +notary, they forced his wife, who was approaching confinement, +to watch her husband’s death agony. They even +slapped the faces of the dead and kicked them, using +obscene language in their abusive mockery of their victims.</p> + +<p class='c009'>‘I could not continue to watch these scenes’ an army +surgeon confessed; ‘I broke into a convulsive fit of sobbing,—a +thing that never once happened to me during four years +of service at the front.’</p> + +<p class='c009'>In comparison with these monsters, the jackal is a mere +lamb, the rattlesnake an innocent gold-fish. They walked +in human guise; but the bestial instinct for plunder and +butchery latent within them was not restrained by any +human feeling or kept within bounds (was, indeed, rather +enhanced) by human intelligence.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Yet, undoubtedly, the awful responsibility involved must +be borne by those who either directly enjoined or at least +watched, tolerated and approved the perpetration of +the crimes committed by them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Each of the responsible leaders knew that by ‘Commune’ +the criminal means liberty to steal, and by ‘terror’ blind +butchery.</p> + +<p class='c009'>These leaders were the conscious promoters of a fearful +material and moral devastation, and must have known that +the very existence of a whole generation of working men +was at stake. ‘Thus crimes are born, and curses—but not +new worlds!’</p> + +<p class='c009'>With their souls full of hatred, they made boastful +promises of earthly bliss to those whom they swept to +perdition.</p> + +<p class='c009'>‘No greater catastrophe than Bolshevism could have +<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>befallen the working classes,’ says—in one of its manifestoes—the +council of the newly-revived Social Democrat Party.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Is it worth our while to inquire whether, amid all this +horror and terror, there is to be found anywhere even a +spark of that ‘holy madness’ which makes the apostle +ready to die the death of a martyr for his creed?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Rigault, the Chief of Police in the French Commune, and +one of its blackest figures, waited in Paris for the coming of +the troops from Versailles; when the soldiers thronging +into his suburban hotel mistook the proprietor for him and +were about to seize him, Rigault hastened towards them +with the words—‘I am Rigault! I am neither a brute nor +a coward!’ Ten minutes later, Rigault was dead.</p> + +<p class='c009'>And the Budapest People’s Commissioners,—the men +who had so often emphasized ‘the unparalleled cowardice +of the bourgeoisie’ and abused our heroes and our martyrs,—when +the assassin’s dagger slipped from their grasp, +packed in feverish haste the foreign currency which they +had ‘sequestered’ for their own private use from the +Austro-Hungarian Bank, and, boarding their special train, +fled in a panic to a milder climate,—away from this +plundered, devastated and unhappy country.<a id='r15'></a><a href='#f15' class='c012'><sup>[15]</sup></a></p> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c014'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><em>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></div> + <div class='c003'>Crown 8vo. 6s. net. each</div> + <div class='c014'>THE OLD HOUSE: A Novel</div> + <div>STONECROP: A Novel</div> + <div class='c003'>Demy 8vo. (uniform with this</div> + <div>volume) 12s. 6d. net.</div> + <div class='c014'>AN OUTLAW’S DIARY</div> + <div class='c014'>Part I Revolution</div> + <div>with a Foreword by The Duke</div> + <div>of Northumberland.</div> + <div class='c003'>Published by</div> + <div>PHILIP ALLAN & CO.</div> + </div> +</div> + +<hr class='c016'> +<div class='footnote' id='f1'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. A photograph of St. Stephen’s Crown (the Holy Hungarian +crown) is reproduced at page <a href='#Page_162'>162</a> of Part I of this work.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f2'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r2'>2</a>. A portrait of Böhm is reproduced at page <a href='#Page_196'>196</a> of Part I of this +book.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f3'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r3'>3</a>. Francis Rákoczi, the leader of the Kuruc rising against the +Hapsburgs, in the early years of the 18th Century, a national hero, is +buried in the Cathedral of Kassa. His body was transferred from +Turkey to Kassa in 1907. [Transl.]</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f4'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r4'>4</a>. It is a common belief in Hungary (and in many other countries) +that if a murderer approaches the corpse of his victim the blood will +flow from the fatal wound. [Transl.]</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f5'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r5'>5</a>. For a further account of him <em>see pp. <a href='#Page_228'>228</a>–229</em>.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f6'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r6'>6</a>. The Publishers of this volume are greatly indebted to Dr. Oscar +Szollosy and to the Editor of <cite>The Anglo-Hungarian Review</cite> for +permission to include this account of some of the chief actors in +The Terror.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f7'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r7'>7</a>. The People’s Commissioner for Public Education, George +Lukács, was the son of a wealthy banker, and was persuaded to join +the Communists by the crack-brained daughter of an extremely +rich Budapest solicitor, who subsequently assisted Béla Kún and +his associates to counterfeit banknotes, till finally she was thrashed +publicly (in the street) with a hunting crop by an embittered +‘bourgeois.’ A portrait of Lukács is reproduced at page <a href='#Page_106'>106</a> of +this volume.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A certain Ministerial Councillor, Stephen Láday, once declared +emphatically to the writer of this article that Communism might +be very pretty in theory, but was, in his opinion, impossible in +practice. Two months later Láday became a Bolshevik People’s +Commissioner.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f8'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r8'>8</a>. For a portrait of Béla Kún, see vol. i., p. <a href='#Page_160'>160</a> of this work, where +a further account of him is given.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f9'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r9'>9</a>. See pp. <a href='#Page_96'>96</a>–98.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f10'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r10'>10</a>. See vol. i., p. <a href='#Page_70'>70</a>.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f11'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r11'>11</a>. A story which is far from improbable, though it certainly +sounds like a popular anecdote, runs to the effect that, at a trial +of one of the proletarian tribunals, in answer to the ‘Public +Prosecutor’s’ question: ‘Where did you take the stolen articles?’ +one of the persons accused of theft said, ‘To the woman in Budafok +to whom you and I took that bicycle last year!’</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f12'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r12'>12</a>. A photograph of her is reproduced at p. <a href='#Page_140'>140</a> of this volume.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f13'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r13'>13</a>. See also pp. <a href='#Page_185'>185</a>–186.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f14'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r14'>14</a>. There were similar detachments outside of Budapest, the same +being delegated to hold the provincial towns in mortal terror, <em>e.g.</em>, +the ‘Fabik Detachment’ in Székesfehérvár, the ‘Gombos Terror +Gang’ in Györ, etc.</p> +</div> +<div class='footnote' id='f15'> +<p class='c009'><a href='#r15'>15</a>. Béla Kún and a large number of his fellow-Commissioners +escaped to Vienna. Our efforts to obtain their extradition by +Austria were fruitless; under the pressure of the Socialists the +Austrian Government refused, and subsequently handed them over +to the Russian Soviet authorities.</p> + +<p class='c009'>After the re-establishment of law and order, of the revolutionary +criminals arrested ninety-six were condemned to death, the rest +being sentenced to various terms of imprisonment. Of the persons +condemned to death fourteen were reprieved, eighteen (together +with 400 other condemned persons) handed over—in exchange for +Hungarian prisoners of war—to the Russian Soviet, while sixty-four +were hanged, the latter number including Korvin, László, Schán, +and Cserny.</p> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c014'> +</div> +<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'> + +<div class='chapter ph2'> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + + <ul class='ul_1 c003'> + <li>Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + + </li> + <li>Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last chapter. + </li> + </ul> + +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75812 ***</div> + </body> + <!-- created with ppgen.py 3.57e (with regex) on 2025-04-07 16:59:19 GMT --> +</html> + diff --git a/75812-h/images/cover.jpg b/75812-h/images/cover.jpg 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