_April 21st._ The town remained quiet and the house was wrapped in silence. I could hear nothing but the throbbing of my pulse. Was that man still standing at the corner? After midnight the roar of a single gun disturbed the night. I waited, but the ominous silence returned. Such must be the silence in a lunatic asylum at night.... The lamps burn low in the corridors, and now and then steps pass between the cells. The watchman makes his round.... Out there the Red patrols pass under the window. Dawn begins to break: salvation has failed again. And yet the hours are flying for us. If the powers of the Entente delay, the Dictatorship will make us pay for their attempts. Let them hurry, lest they be too late. The Dictators are proclaiming their threat that blood will flow. They are covering the walls with posters: “To arms!” “Advance, Red soldiers!” “Rise in defence of the Proletariat!” “The Revolution is in danger!” The fleeing Reds have been reformed near Debreczen and Nyiregyháza. A number of battalions and batteries have been removed from this western theatre. Trains are running at unusual hours: the Directorate is nervous. The petty tyrants proclaim the victories of the Red army, the reckless courage of the Proletarian heroes. Booty, innumerable prisoners! The newspapers write in the same strain. From the capital come telephone messages and telegrams in cypher. Meanwhile the Czechs are shouting from the other bank: “Hey, Reds, there is a Red Easter in store for you!” It is said that many soldiers deserted this night from the town: certainly there seem to be fewer about than usual. They are disillusioned now; when they enlisted, they were told: “Down with war! Henceforth a soldier’s life will be exempt from danger. Red soldiers will have good pay and they can do whatever they like.” And now, all of a sudden, revolutionary court martials are established. Béla Kun abolishes the Soldiers’ Councils and the ‘confidential’ system, and behold, the soldiers have to go to war! Towards evening we went to the bank of the river. Tiny armed figures were visible on the other shore, and single soldiers passed us in haste; they had already removed the red from their caps and a few wore bonnets of the old pattern. A cold wind was blowing, driving back the waters in silvery ripples, and shaking the aspen trees; a shudder passed over the reeds. Another soldier came along from the town. When he caught sight of us he left the road and made quickly for the fields. “He’s deserting!” The small figures with bayonets on the other bank were gradually absorbed by the darkness. A tree in blossom alone stood out white against the leaden grey sky. Our souls knew hope again. If only the frosty wind does not kill the early spring! * * * * * _April 22nd._