The so-called unemployed are more powerful than those who work, and they are many. Their leader is Béla Kún, and they have plenty of money. Shirking work is one of the best means to-day of earning one’s bread and it is powerfully supported by a Government which distributes millions under the name of unemployment doles, while nobody will sweep the streets; snow and dirt grow in piles, and the garbage rots in the doorways. It happened yesterday that, after infinite pains, I managed to obtain, at a fabulous price, a few sacks of coal. The carter who brought it threw it down in front of the cellar-trap. When I asked him to shovel it in he swore vilely because it was getting dark and he was not disposed to do it. He left it there, in spite of any tip I could offer him. And so, with the help of the little German maid, we had to do it ourselves. The other day I saw an officer dragging home a cart of firewood. My sister brought potatoes home in a Gladstone bag because nobody would carry them for her at any price. The garbage of the capital has been removed during the last few days by some officials from the town hall; no carter would do the job, and so these officials thought it would not be out of the way to ‘earn,’ besides their official pay of ten to twenty crowns a day, an extra one hundred and thirty crowns per diem. While this sort of thing is going on there is a huge crowd in front of the office which pays out the unemployment dole. Lusty young men and ne’er-do-weel domestic servants ‘spoon’ in the crowded, disorderly queue. They get fifteen crowns daily, but are not satisfied and demand thirty. The agitators go even further and say persistently: “Everything is yours.” Nothing but hatred or indifference is left now in the minds of the people. I went to a funeral this afternoon. We buried a young woman, a victim of the epidemic. We couldn’t find a cab to take us to the cemetery, so we all walked. The priest was late, as he too was unable to find a cab. The large, cold garden of the dead was getting dark among the black cypresses when the coffin was lowered into the grave. The grave-diggers had waited a long time, and they became impatient and grumbled furiously. We heard coarse words. One of them looked at his watch. “It’s too late,” he said, “we’ll leave it till to-morrow.” So they stuck their spades into the mound of earth, took their hats and left. Down in the open grave lay the coffin, and the dismayed silence was broken by the fall of little clods of earth upon it. We looked at each other helplessly; nobody dared to speak. “I won’t leave her like this,” said the widower, and taking the spade in his shaking hands he covered with earth the most precious thing that life had given him. The lumps of earth showered noisily down on to the coffin. For a moment we stood overawed, the whole thing seemed so terrible, then we bent down and helped with our naked hands.