Confession on Patriotism

I am a man prone to confessions. I am excited to dissect my own soul and I am happy when the knife cuts something concealed out of me. Now, as I am writing for the journal – so dear to me – of superstitionlessness, I am pleased by the idea of exposing one of my shameful superstitions. There are not many who do not think I am a little bit too Hungarian, and only a few believe that I consider the ravage of Hungarians my vocation. Well, the fact is that I am very much Hungarian, while accompanying even this identity of myself with a cruel criticism. But the real confession only comes now. I am not only a Hungarian who, perhaps sometimes