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 machineguns 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 house-keeper's fiance, 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 mouth-piece 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 Kún 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 Kún 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 Kún 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. "

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 Kún 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 Kún 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-2lst.

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 Petőfi'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.

Petőfi'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 ' fan- in ' and nobody paying the slightest attention.

Mrs. Beniczky and I held a council this morning. If the Czechs are really going to occupy Balassagyarmnt, 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.