A short notice at the foot of the paper said something about her—Count Michael Károlyi had sent her the following telegram: “It is my human duty to express my deep sympathy over the tragical death of my greatest political opponent.” My mother was horrified at this. “How could he be so shameless as to intrude like that!” Indeed, this impudence sounded like a sneer at Tisza’s memory, and in any case it was wanton cruelty to the faithful, heroic woman who knew full well that for many years Károlyi had with cruel hatred incited the masses against her husband. The origin of this hatred was deep and irreparable, for it sprang not from a divergence of ideas but from the physical disparities which resulted from Károlyi’s infirmities. Michael Károlyi, a stunted degenerate afflicted with a cleft palate, a haughty, hopelessly conceited, spoilt and unintelligent child of fortune, could never forgive the simple nobleman Tisza that he was gifted, strong, clean and healthy, every inch a man, powerful, and in power. It was the hatred of envious deformity for strength, health and success. Those about him, for ends of their own, made capital out of this. Some of his satellites reported several of his utterances on this subject. In fact Károlyi made no secret of his hatred for Tisza. Many times he was heard to assert that he would not rest till he had ruined him. Could he have done so, he would have sent his telegram of condolence to the widow of his “greatest political opponent” at an earlier date, namely when the discussion of the new standing order of the Hungarian parliament took place. On that occasion he challenged the half blind Tisza, who was about to undergo an operation, to a duel in the same week when he, Tisza, had already fought two others, one against Count Aladár Széchényi, the other against the Markgrave Pallavicini. On this occasion Károlyi’s hatred was fanned to a white heat, for Tisza, a master of fence, assessed his adversary no more seriously on the duelling ground than in politics: he played for a little with him and finally thrashed him with the flat of his sword till he collapsed. Idly I turned the paper. Another notice attracted my attention: “In the name of the National Council Count Michael Károlyi, Dr. Joseph Pogány and Louis Magyar order that on the first of November all theatres of Budapest shall give gala performances.” Gala performances! Budapest and all Hungarian towns to be beflagged! And Hungary struggling in agony and Stephen Tisza on the catafalque!... A wave of indescribable bitterness swept over me. Oh! that I could escape from it all and leave it far behind me!