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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 *** |