“There is a new order of things,” ... shouted Linder. The short woman next to me jerked her neck and complained: “I can’t hear anything.” The slim young man, in his thin shabby overcoat, stretched his neck to listen: “He says that we have not been beaten. We have won, the sovereign people has won. We have conquered that false system....” “I can’t understand,” said the woman excitedly. We could hear Linder’s voice: “When we had beaten the Russians and there was no more question of national defence, we had to go on fighting for imperialistic, militaristic, egotistic ends....” “Aha,” said the woman, and was bored. The voice in the middle of the square continued to shout: “But perhaps we ought not to grumble that this war has lasted so long. We had to demolish the tyranny of a thousand years, the tradition of a thousand years, the servitude of a thousand years.” He, too, gloats over the destruction of a thousand years. What is the matter with this town? Some straggling cheers resounded and a few caps were raised. Then the square became mute, for the hat of the Minister of War began to wave again in the air. His face became purple with the effort, and his voice sounded shrill. Words came, and he said: “I never want to see a soldier again!” For a moment these words passed above my comprehension. Then they came back and drummed in my brain. I could not believe my ears. I must have misunderstood him. It seemed impossible that a sane person should have said such a thing. The Minister of War of the government which had broken up the front under the pretence that Hungary was in need of Hungarian troops for the defence of Hungarian frontiers! No, it was more than ever impossible now when the Serbians were marching towards us and Wilson’s message had delivered us up to the rapacity of Czech, Roumanian and Yugoslav ambitions. Only the voice of dementia or sublime criminality could speak such words. What made him say it? But he is drunk. Is it not visible on his face? Do not people see how he sways and grins? His tongue has slipped, he is going to withdraw his words. No harm has been done as yet. The people have not grasped his horrible meaning, his venomous words can be snatched back from the air. Near Linder a long sallow face began to nod. Károlyi stood on the steps. At his shoulder appeared a puffy, olive coloured face: Oscar Jászi, Károlyi’s prompter. So there they are too, listening to all this, and Károlyi nods and Jászi smiles, confirming, ratifying the awful words.