“Nothing can help the Central Powers now”.... The whole world said so, and thought us easy victims.
Then a miracle happened. It was on a certain day in May, and on that spring morning the three allies started an attack near Gorlice. “Mackensen, Mackensen!” they shouted in victory, and the Tsar’s Russia, the most terrible enemy whom a people had ever encountered, fell upon us.
Was it a long time ago? Was it in my childhood that I heard the story, that, down in Transylvania, like an echo of Gorlice, the name of Mackensen rose again as a cry of victory above the Hungarian and German armies? And then, above the vast mirror of the Danube’s flood, a third time the name of Mackensen resounded. For the third time he stood at the head of the armies that were defending the gates of Hungary.
Was it a long time ago? Was it so long ago that time has obliterated its memory? It was yesterday! It was on history’s bloody page in the world-war, while there was still hope, while our honour was still bright.
And to-day when Mackensen came to Budapest to negotiate with Károlyi for the repatriation of his army, the red soldiers of Pogány-Schwarz, under the leadership of Captain Gerö-Grosz, with full knowledge of the Government, dragged machine-guns to the railway station and trained their muzzles on the line, while an evening paper had its Kinema operator ready. That is how Hungary’s capital prepared for the reception of Field-Marshal von Mackensen.
When he looked out of his carriage window and saw the shameful spectacle of the railway station fortified against him, his fine, sharp features were distorted with rage. He took it in at a glance: he had been trapped. Capt. Gerö went up to him and told him he was a prisoner. Then he informed him that Károlyi wanted to negotiate with him and expected him at the House of Parliament. Mackensen protested, refused to go, and desired that Károlyi or his representative should come to the station. Capt. Gerö informed him that any refusal on his part would have disastrous consequences for his army.
After fierce argument the Field-Marshal reluctantly yielded, but declared that he would not leave his carriage till the machine-guns and the kinematograph apparatus were removed from the station. This was conceded. When he got out his face was white with anger and his chest heaved so that the decorations on it shook. He walked with his head erect to the closed car that was waiting for him.
The meeting between him and Károlyi took place in the House of Parliament, in the Prime Minister’s room. A German friend of mine gave me the following account of it, received directly from the Field-Marshal’s lips.
Károlyi received him standing and advanced a few steps to meet him. Behind him the social democratic secretary for War, the little Jewish electrician, was making himself as small as possible. Mackensen remained rigid, with both hands behind his back, glaring at the two men. He listened without a word to Károlyi, who, putting the responsibility on the powers of the Entente, requested him to give up all the arms of his army in conformity with the Belgrade Armistice. The Field-Marshal declined and said that as far as he was concerned, and according to his instructions from Spa, the conditions of the armistice concluded on the Western front were in force. He also declared that he would not leave Hungary till the last man of his army was over the frontier.