“Oh shame, oh bitter shame! Once Clio’s records told Of fame no fairer than thy fair name’s fame; Now thou’rt despised, and those who would of old Cringe at thy feet, dare strike thee free and bold Full in the face, and cover thee with shame. Whate’er my fate, whatever its decree, I shall forbear and suffer for thy sake; Though God’s most bitter curse should fall on me, Ne’er shall I rest, but goad and harass thee Until I stir thy heart, or my heart break.” “Down there in the plain, Arány wandered after sunset over the snow-covered land. He stopped at the threshold of stately manors, under hamlets’ tiny windows, lit up by the brushwood fire from within. And it is the soul of the plains that speaks from his lips: “The Nation lives and shudders as its heart With horror feels destruction’s deadly grip....” “And above all, alone, like the voice of a giant choir, the voice of Vörösmarty exclaims: “For come it will, for come it must The dawn of better days, For which this land, with pious lips Beseeches Thee and prays.” “Thus speaks the past to us while the lute of the present is silent, while innumerable, homeless Hungarians wander aimlessly in the streets of the distracted country’s epidemic-ridden capital, whose streets are bedizened with flags fluttering in heart-breaking irony. “My poor, unfortunate town, is there nobody to tell thee to put thy begrimed flags at half-mast? Hast thou not a single minstrel to rouse thee? Dost thou not see thy disgraced streets trodden by the fugitives of half thy country, by foreign armies, while all around thee the country is dismembered? “So let the dead come with their lyre to raise the quick, let the grave shout into the dwellings of the living, let the past console the present. For the songs of Hungary’s poets of the past are all our hope; for they alone hold the promise of Hungary’s future.” So far had I written. In the morning I telephoned to the editor of the _Pesti Hirlap_ and asked him if he wanted an article. It was the first time in my life that I had had to ask for space: up till now it was the papers who had asked me for copy. The editor accepted with thanks, so I sent him the manuscript; but I looked in vain for it in the paper next day, and the day after. I telephoned again. The editor was embarrassed, he apologised and said that he regretted he was unable to publish the article as it was not in accordance with the Government’s views. “Are the Government’s views so anti-patriotic then?” I asked. “Please don’t forget,” said the editor nervously, “that the present situation is terribly delicate; this may be the last bourgeois government, and goodness only knows how long it can hold its own.” “I hope not long. I would rather see destruction declare itself openly. This downfall in disguise is intolerable.”