“Will the Hungarians be grateful for it?” asked the Kaiser.
“We shall be grateful,” answered Stephen Tisza.
They have torn the contract of our alliance, but a common misfortune can write a more permanent alliance than any human hand. Marshal Foch’s document stating the conditions of the armistice with Germany is the twin of the ruthless writing of Belgrade. Wilson’s mask has fallen and the victors beggar us and let loose upon us the blood-stained cloud which comes from the East to cover the despair of betrayed peoples.
On this cloud obscure strangers steal over the Russian border into the heart of Europe and join with those whose features resemble theirs. And there are such in Paris, in London, and in New York too.... They have invaded the greater half of Europe. In Russia Trotski-Bronstein, Krassin-Goldgelb, Litvinoff-Finkelstein, Radek and Joffe are all-powerful. In Munich Kurt Eisner is the master and president of the Republic. In Berlin Beerfeld is at the head of the Soldiers’ Council and Hirsch at the Workmens’. In Vienna the power is in the hands of Renner, Adler, Deutsch and Bauer. And in Budapest....
Is this all accidental?
Carrion-crows on dying nations.... They hack out the eyes that still see, they pierce the still throbbing hearts with their beaks, tear shreds of flesh from the convulsed members. And nowhere does anyone appear to drive them away.
Nothing happens.... Silently, silently, like speechless despair, the rain beats at my window.
November 11th.
I might have known that it would end like this!