“I won’t go,” I said. “It would be cowardice to run away. If they want to arrest me, let them do it. I shall stay here.”
“But we shall need you later, when we can resume our work,” my friend said, and tried to persuade me. “I would take you with me, but you wouldn’t be safe there, for they’re sure to search our place for my brother.” I listened to her patiently, but I felt neither fear nor excitement, perhaps because of a curious illusion I had that the talk was not about me, but about somebody else.
About seven o’clock a young journalist friend came to us, deadly pale. He closed the door quickly behind him, and looked round anxiously as if he feared he had been followed. He also looked terrified.
“Károlyi has resigned,” he said in a strained voice. “He sent Kunfi from the cabinet meeting to fetch Béla Kún from prison. Kunfi brought Béla Kún to the Prime Minister’s house in a motor car. The Socialists and Communists have come to an agreement and have formed a Directory of which Béla Kún, Tibor Számuelly, Sigmund Kunfi, Joseph Pogány and Béla Vágó are to be the members. They are going to establish revolutionary tribunals and will make many arrests to-night. Save yourself—don’t deliver yourself up to their vengeance.”
Even as he spoke, shooting started in the street outside. Suddenly I remembered my night’s vision.... We are in the big ungainly house ... the door handle of the last room is turning, and the last door opens....
An awful voice shrieked along the street:
“LONG LIVE THE DICTATORSHIP OF THE PROLETARIAT!”
THE END.[7]
FOOTNOTES
[1] The People’s Voice, a Social Democratic newspaper.