THE REIGN OF THE DUKES.
Árpád, called by the Greek writers Arpadis, was the first ruler of
Hungary, who laid the foundations of the present kingdom, and whose
statesmanlike sagacity may well excite admiration, considering that
under his lead a strictly Asiatic nation succeeded in penetrating into
the very interior of Christian Europe and moulding a state out of
the heterogeneous elements of old Pannonia. For this reason we find
it improper to call him a rude barbarian, as contemporary Christian
writers are in the habit of doing. He evidently was penetrated with
the Persian culture and his Oriental statesmanship not only equalled
but even surpassed the political ideas of the ruling men at that time
at the head of affairs in Pannonia and Eastern Germany. Arriving, as
he did, with a restless and adventurous nomadic people; he could not
mitigate at once the martial rudeness of the latter. Like other Turkish
and Mongolian masses the Hungarians, very soon after the occupation of
the country, rushed out into the neighboring lands to gratify their
lust of adventure and booty. They penetrated into Germany, spreading
terror and devastation everywhere. On a larger scale was their
inroad into Italy in 899, where King Berengar was defeated on the
banks of the Brenta. Twenty thousand Italians were slain, the wealthy
cities of Milan, Pavia, and Brescia were plundered, and the invaders
crossed even the Po. It was only by the payment of a large ransom that
the Italians could free themselves from the scourge of these Asiatic
conquerors. Encouraged by this success the Hungarians, in the following
year, entered Germany, trying their arms with varying fortune, until
a common decision of the chieftains arrested these incursions. In 907
the nation was saddened by a mournful event. The ruler who had founded
the new empire, who for nearly twenty years had directed the destinies
of the nation with so much wisdom and energy, and in whom the glory
of great statesmanship and generalship was united, had ceased to be
amongst the living. His body was, according to ancient custom, burned
and his ashes buried near a brook flowing at that time in a pebbly bed
towards Etzelburg, the Old-Buda of to-day. His grateful descendants,
after the introduction of Christianity, erected on that spot a church,
called the White Church of the Virgin, in commemoration of the immortal
prince. He was succeeded by his son Zoltán, who had to seize the reins
at a comparatively tender age, and who was therefore assisted by three
governors. This circumstance encouraged the neighboring princes to
fall upon Hungary in order to drive the new conquerors out of the
country. Luitpold, Duke of Bavaria, and Ditmar, Archbishop of Salzburg,
together with others, led the united army in three different columns,
flattering themselves with the hope that, imitating the tactics of
Charlemagne against the Avars, they would be as successful as that
famous ruler of the Franks.
[Illustration: ÁRPÁD TAKES POSSESSION OF HUNGARY.]
The Hungarians, menaced by such an imminent danger, concentrated all
their forces to resist the onslaught. Always quick to resolve and as
quick in their movements, they anticipated the attack, and the two
hostile armies met in 907 in the environs of Presburg. The struggle
on both sides was a bitter one. The zeal of the Germans, on the one
hand, was excited by the prospect of ridding themselves and the whole
Occident of the disagreeable neighborhood of these dangerous intruders,
whilst with the Hungarians, on the other hand, it was a question of
self-preservation, for in case of a defeat they had every thing at
stake. The latter, therefore, fought with the utmost vehemence, not in
regular battle array, after the German fashion, but with their storming
divisions, furious attacks, feigned retreats, and renewed onslaughts,
their arrows and javelins descending every time like a hail-storm, they
broke through the serried ranks of the Germans and rode down every
thing that was in their way. The sun rose and set three times over the
heads of the fighting armies before the great battle was decided. The
Germans were hopelessly defeated. Duke Luitpold lost his life fighting,
and with him the Archbishop of Salzburg, as well as most of the
bishops, abbots, and counts, laid down their lives during those three
fatal days.
It was but natural that, encouraged by this successful battle, the
Hungarians should eagerly continue their marauding expeditions in
every direction into Germany and even France. Dividing into small
bands, just as the Turcomans used to do up to quite recent times in
Persia, the Hungarians infested the whole of Saxony and Thuringia,
and penetrated as far as Bremen. They crossed the Rhine, flooded a
part of France, and quick as were their inroads, no less promptly did
they return, always laden with rich booty and driving before them a
long file of slaves of both sexes. The entire Occident was continually
harassed by them, and this gave rise to those dire misrepresentations
of the Hungarians and to the execrations against them which could be
heard all over the western world during the tenth century, and which
were faithfully copied into the chronicles of that time. In these
chronicles they were charged with devouring the hearts of their enemies
in order to render themselves irresistible in battle. Signs in the
heavens were said to herald their approach. Virgins devoted to the
service of God foretold the irruptions of the Hungarians and their own
martyrdom. Mere human power seemed hopeless against them; the litanies
of that time, therefore, abound in special prayers asking for the
protection of the Lord. Impartial history easily recognizes in all this
partly exaggerations, partly outbreaks of dismay, and the effects of
fright, but these utterances, overdrawn as they are, contribute much
to our knowledge of the violence of the struggle between the western
Christians and the Asiatic Hungarians. Quite differently and by no
means so dreadfully are the Hungarians described by the Byzantine
historians. Their reputation for ferocity, and the knowledge of the
terror they inspired, enhanced their valor and audacity. Neglecting
all precautionary measures, and undervaluing their enemies, they began
to meet here and there with small disasters, and, as the Germans on
the other hand, becoming familiar with their mode of warfare, and more
accustomed to the strange appearance of Asiatic warriors, grew bolder
and bolder, we may easily account for the turn which gradually took
place in the war fortunes of the Magyars. It was Henry the Fowler, King
of Germany, who, after making preparations for nine years, inflicted
the first heavy loss upon the Hungarian adventurers near Merseburg
in 933. The Germans rushed into the battle with the cry of “Kyrie
eleyson,” whilst the Hungarians were wildly shouting “Hooy, Hooy.” The
Saxon horsemen caught up the Hungarian arrows with their shields, and
in solid ranks threw themselves in fierce onset upon the Hungarians.
The latter perceived with surprise and dismay that they were opposed by
a well-organized enemy. During the hand-in-hand fight which now ensued
the Germans achieved victory by their determined bravery. A great
many Hungarians fell in the fight, and many more were killed during
their retreat. The number of killed is assumed to have been thirty-six
thousand. The Hungarian camp with all the baggage fell into the hands
of the victors. Henry commanded that a universal thanksgiving feast
should be observed throughout the whole of Germany, and ordered that
the tribute hitherto paid to the Hungarians should be divided between
the churches and the poor.
The Hungarians now refrained from entering Germany in a northern
direction, but the more frequent and more vehement grew their
irruptions into Bavaria and also into the northern portion of the
Byzantine empire. It was the old lust of conquest and adventure, and
greediness for booty which spurred their activity. Duke Taksony, who
succeeded his father Zoltán in 946, and reigned until 972, was animated
by the same lawless spirit, and the Hungarians would have continued
to be the scourge of the neighboring countries if the defensive
measures taken by the Germans about this time had not acted as a dam
against their devastating flood. In the year 955, on the river Lech,
near Augsburg, King Otto the Great inflicted a terrible defeat upon
the Hungarians—a defeat by which nearly the whole of the Hungarian
army, numbering forty thousand men was annihilated. Their generals,
Bulcsee and Lehel were captured; the chains of gold they wore around
their necks, as well as other trinkets of gold and silver, were taken
from them, and at last they were carried to Ratisbon, and were made
to suffer a disgraceful death by being hanged. A part of their fellow
captives were buried alive, whilst the others were tortured to death
in the most cruel manner. The remainder of the army was destroyed in
its retreat by the people who had everywhere risen, and, according to
tradition, but seven were left to reach their homes. The Magyars, a
proud nation even in their misfortune, were so incensed against these
fugitives for having preferred a cowardly flight to a heroic death,
that they were scornfully nicknamed the _Melancholy Magyars_, and
condemned to servitude. Even their descendants wandered about through
the land as despised beggars.
A tradition has survived amongst the people to this day, about the
death of Lehel and his reputed ivory bugle-horn, upon which there
are carved representations of battles. It is true that archæological
inquiry has proved its sculpture to be of Roman workmanship and that it
was a drinking-cup rather than a bugle. The legend, however, as still
current amongst the Hungarians, deserves to be told for the sake of its
romantic character.
Amidst the confusion and wild disorder incident upon the disastrous
battle of Augsburg, Duke Lehel found no time to give thought to his
battle-horn. His horse had been killed under him, and whilst he lay
buried beneath it the trusty sword was wrenched from the hand of the
hero before he could pierce his own heart with it. Taken prisoner he
was led captive into the presence of the victorious Otto.
Princely judges sat in judgment on the princely captive and condemned
him to death. This sentence caused Lehel no pain; he felt he had
deserved it, not, indeed, for having given battle but for losing it.
Yet it hurt him to the soul to see the rebel Conrad seated amongst his
judges, the traitor who had invited the Hungarians to enter Germany,
and who, by his defection, had caused their defeat. The success of his
dastardly desertion had, however, conciliated the victors and restored
him to their confidence.
Lehel begged but for one favor, and that was to be allowed to wind the
horn, his faithful and inseparable friend, once more, and to sound on
it his funeral dirge. The horn was handed to him. He sounded it for the
last time; and, as he drew from it the sad strains which sounded far
and wide and were mournfully re-echoed by the distant hills, the dying
warrior on the field of Lech lifted up his head, eagerly listening to
the familiar bugle, and the soul which had come back to him, for one
instant, took wings again as soon as the sad strains died away. The
dying music, plaintively quivering, told the tale of an inglorious
death terminating an heroic life. The very henchmen were listening with
rapture.
At that moment Lehel broke away from his place, and, seeing Conrad
before him, felled him to the ground, killing him with a single blow
from the heavy horn. “Thou shalt go before me and be my servant in the
other world,” said Lehel. Thereupon he went to the place of execution.
There is discernible on Lehel’s horn, in our days, a large indentation
which posterity attributes to the event just narrated.
Not only in Germany but also in the southeast of Europe the marauding
Hungarians experienced more than one disaster, and it may be properly
said that in 970, when they attacked the Byzantine empire and were
defeated near Arcadiopolis, their long series of irruptions into
the adjoining countries was brought to a conclusion. They became
convinced that while they themselves were steadily decreasing in
numbers and wasting their strength in continuous wars, the neighboring
nations were becoming every day more formidable by dint of their
unanimity, organization, courage, and skill in warfare, and that, in
consequence, the Hungarian name inspired no more the terror which
the first successes had earned for it. They saw that if they went on
with their inroads, as hitherto, they would thereby but bring about
the dissolution of the empire from within, or that they might provoke
on the part of foreign nations a united attack which they would be
unable to withstand. For this reason they renounced those adventurous
campaigns which began already seriously to menace their existence and
their future in Europe.
They were strengthened in the wisdom of this course by Duke Geyza, who
succeeded his father in 972, and reigned until 997. Baptized during
the life of his father at Constantinople, and having married Sarolta,
the mild-tempered daughter of Duke Gyula, of Transylvania, he became
very early awake to the necessity of refining the rude manners of his
people. His disposition became much more apparent when, after the death
of his first wife, he married the sister of Miecislas, the prince of
Poland, a lady famous for her beauty, and also conspicuous for her
energy and masculine qualities, for she vied in riding, drinking, and
the chase with her chivalrous husband, upon whom she really exercised
an extraordinary influence. Extremely severe in his rule, it was Geyza
who began to transform the manners and habits of the Magyars. They
began to show greater toleration towards foreign religions, and were
really on the eve of changing their Asiatic manners and habits into
those of Europe. More than a hundred years had passed since their
migration from the ancestral steppes. Historical events, difference of
climate, and, above all, the separation from their Asiatic brethren
had carried into oblivion very many features of that political and
social life which, originating in Asia, could not be well continued
in the immediate neighborhood of, and in the continual contact with,
the Western world. The great crisis in the national career appears to
have arrived at its culmination during the reign of Duke Geyza, and to
have found its ultimate solution in the conversion of the Magyars to
Christianity, a most important act in the national life of the people,
which deserves consideration in a separate chapter.
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