“Nobody knows. People are in despair. News is contradicted as soon as published. Károlyi negotiates with the Missions of the Entente in the name of the Bolshevik Government. The Italians, they say, are sympathetic. It is even said that they are disposed to recognise the Soviet Republic. The Italian delegate, Prince Borghese, is a great friend of Béla Kun and the beautiful Jewesses of the Commune. It is also rumoured that a Boer general called Smuts is to be sent here to force the Bolshevik crowd to resign.” Baroness Apor glared rigidly before her as if she saw something terrible. “Számuelly is getting more and more to the fore,” she continued after a short pause. “The Government threatens in his name whenever it wants to cause alarm. The others are busy drawing up the new Constitution. They speak and issue orders as if things were to remain like this for ever.” None of us said anything. Our thoughts were so similar that speech was superfluous. * * * * * _April 4th._ Sometimes nobody visits us for days; but it happens occasionally that people come to see us. As soon as I hear their steps on the gravel I run and hide in my room. The other day while I was sitting there Countess Dessewffy was saying in the drawing-room that the police were after me, but that she knew I had made good my escape to Switzerland. It seemed quite amusing. With the exception of one friend nobody knows that I am here or who I am. This is Baron Jeszenszky, whose property is near by, at Kövesd. He often goes to Budapest. Then we wait impatiently for the news he brings back. Anything that gives hope finds credence with us. Baron Jeszenszky waves his hand in despair: “Mark my words, this will never come to an end.” The more we contradict him the more pessimistic he becomes. If, however, we agree, he gets angry and becomes hopeful. “What lack of faith!” I feel similarly inclined, and so does everybody else, for we express our doubt only in the hope of being contradicted; we try hard to raise some hope in ourselves and are angry when it is thrown over. We went early to bed and I read Sir Thomas More. The book opened where the conquering Utopys reaches his island where he is going to found the realm of universal happiness: “... But Kyng Utopys, whose name, as conqueror, the Iland beareth (for before his tyme it was called Abraxa) which also brought the rude and wild people to that excellent perfection in al good fassions, humanitye and civile gentilnes, wherein they nowe goe beyond al the people of the world: even at his firste arrivinge and enteringe upon the lande, furthwith obteynyge the victory....” Sir Thomas More, the forefather of Socialism, imagined it like that. He wanted to found his land of universal happiness on a gentle, civilised people. Will there ever be people like that on this earth? Until there is, Socialism will remain the island of Utopia.