In the dormitories of girls’ boarding schools young Jewish masters are made to sleep, so as to accustom the little girls to the presence of men. Jewish medical students accompany little girls to the mixed bathing places that they may kill all modesty with ridicule. Sexual education grows apace. The purpose of nursery schools has been changed: the teachers have been informed confidentially that the kindergarten must be used to estrange the children from their mothers and supplant the family. All toys are declared common property in order that the children may forget the crime of private ownership. And while our rulers are forcing the present generation of youths into the Red army, they decree that playing with lead soldiers must be forbidden to the coming generation, lest one day the slaves dream of liberation. An order has been issued that the old reading and history books must be given up: they are being replaced by new history books, written by people who do not even know our language. The workshop of destruction is producing new school books, for the Commissary for Education has given instructions that in future all school books must preach the gospel of class war. Hungarian literature is no longer to be taught; henceforth nothing but ‘universal literature’ is to be taught in Hungarian schools. Such scraps of our history as are allowed to be taught are falsified and systematically besmirched: “John Hunyady was a mountebank, Matthias Corvinus a charlatan, Denis Pázmándy a scoundrel.” It is not difficult to understand the purpose of the little boy’s blasphemous song: let the children despise their fathers and mothers so that even at home parents may fail in their efforts to repair the destruction wrought in the schools. For fifty years a devilish fiend has been slowly robbing the Hungarian people of its soul. Now that it has attained power it is destroying that soul with feverish haste, lest they should recover their soul when they regain their consciousness. * * * * * _April 25th._ Black and white shapes are circling in the sky: the storks have come back, birds of so many legends and stories. They left us in the autumn, stayed away for many months, and yet they have found their way back to their own ragged nests on the trees along the banks of the Ipoly. I looked at them as they descended, calm and peaceful. They did not attempt to take possession of a strange nest, of another bird’s home. Mysterious, inviolable laws lead them to their own nests, regardless of the fact that in our country, at the foot of their trees, a man may no longer claim his own home. ‘Every house becomes common property,’ and he who dares to oppose this order is tried by a Revolutionary Tribunal.