Then came the events of October 28th. A crowd which had gathered near the rooms of Károlyi’s party, incited by the revolutionary speeches of two factious orators, and led by Stephen Friedrich, a manufacturer, started towards the Danube to cross over to the Royal Castle and claim from Archduke Joseph the Premiership for Károlyi. “He alone can get us a good peace!...” There was a crush at the bridge-head. The crowd used the police roughly. Shots were fired. The police replied with a volley. A few people fell dead on the pavement. That was exactly what the organisers wanted. They shrieked wildly: “These martyrs will make the revolution....” How many days ago did all this happen? I began to count. One, two, three, four days in all. It seemed as though it had been much longer ago. Four days!... What a gap between then and this day when Tisza lay dead and with him much of Hungary’s honour! * * * * * The torture of these memories drove me into despair. An utter weariness possessed me. I fell back on my bed. I wanted to rest, but against my will impressions came crowding into my brain.... October 29th.... What happened on that day? Detached images passed before me. Fields soaked with wet.... A little, whitewashed cottage on the edge of a wood, a tangled little garden, with ivy creeping over the paths and covering the old trees. For years I have gathered my evergreens there for the Day of the Dead. This year the little house has a new inmate. The old people have gone and the new proprietor appeared frightened when I shook the gate for admittance. Even after he had admitted me he looked at me several times suspiciously. His name was Stern, or something of the sort. While selling the ivy he spoke nervously: “This neighbourhood has become very insecure. Many deserters roam the woods. They spend the night in the empty villas.” Then he asked me what I wanted the ivy for. “The cemeteries will be closed this year on the Day of the Dead. They are afraid of the crowds, because of the epidemic, and then ... who knows what may happen if the King is obstinate and won’t make Károlyi Prime Minister.” “I hope he never will....” The man looked at me angrily: “He must come, and so must the Socialists. They will save Hungary.” “It is odd that you should expect the salvation of the country to come from those who denounce patriotism.” “I see things differently,” said the man. “That is just the trouble in Hungary. They always talk of the country, the nation. There is no such thing as a country and a nation. It is the same to me where I live, in Moscow, in Münich or in Belgrade. It is all the same to me as long as I live well. That is the thing we have to drive at, and it is only through socialism that it can be attained.” “The ultimate end being communism?” “Later, sometime, some day, yes,” the man answered in a low voice. “And the Russian example? Do you think that what is going on there is the realisation of human happiness?”