The story of Hungary

by Ármin Vámbéry

Meanwhile the marriage of Mary and Sigismund had taken place. The latter, in order to collect an army with which he should be enabled to oppose the advancing enemy and defend the rights of his royal spouse, hypothecated a portion of the country to raise the necessary funds. This ill-timed transaction increased the chances of his opponent, for the nation saw with indignation that Sigismund, in the capacity of “the guardian of the realm” only, without possessing any royal rights, began his guardianship by thus disposing of Hungarian territory. Such a disgraceful transaction was unknown in the history of the country, and it was not long before Charles could enter Buda, without let or hindrance; disguising, however, even then, his lawless aspirations, by pretending to have only come to make peace between the nation and her queen. But Charles was not long in showing his true designs. On the 31st of December, 1385, the cathedral of Stuhlweissenburg witnessed a most moving scene. The coronation of the usurper Charles was to be solemnized; the church was crowded, to its remotest corner, with sumptuously dressed lords. The widowed queen and her daughter Mary were also in attendance. The customary question was asked of the magnates of the land, by the Primate of Hungary, whether they wished Charles to be their king. The enthusiastic acclamations of assent became, at the Primate’s third appeal, feebler and feebler as the piteous sobs of the two queens, who had sunk upon their father’s and husband’s grave, resounded in the church. The coronation proceeded nevertheless, and whilst the archbishop sent up his prayers of grace to heaven, the widowed queen was silently vowing desperate vengeance at the grave of her husband. Bad omens followed the pageant; during the solemn procession the banner of St. Stephen split into pieces, and as the new king entered the gates of his palace at Buda, its walls were shaken to its very foundations by a tremendous thunder-storm. Charles had occupied the throne thirty-nine days only, when he was summoned by the widowed queen, residing under one roof with him, into her presence to settle some grave matters of state. The king obeyed the summons, and was humbly received by Garay the palatine, Blasius Forgách the lord cup-bearer, Thomas Szent-Györgyi, the ban of Croatia, and the other lords present. The council had hardly commenced when, at a hint from the palatine, Forgách got behind the king and struck him on the head with his pole-axe. The blow inflicted a mortal wound and the king fainted away. The assassins had made careful preparations for the bloody event. Whilst Forgách was doing away with the king in the council-chamber, his Italian soldiers, in the palace, were disarmed by Garay’s men. Charles was taken to Visegrád, where he was thrown into prison and afterwards strangled.

The news of the king’s assassination stirred up fresh discontents in Croatia, where his party had been most numerous. Garay imagined he could quell the rebellion again by appearing amongst them. The two queens approved of his scheme, and proceeded, in his company, to Croatia. This time, however, their going to Croatia was to prove fatal to them. The queens, travelling with a small escort, were surprised by John Horváthy, one of the rebels, near Diákovár, and a mortal struggle ensued between the rebels and the queen’s escort. Garay and Forgách fought with exasperation in defence of the queens. Garay, pierced by arrows, set his back against the coach, valiantly selling his life, and not allowing the enemy to approach his royal charges except across his dead body. All this heroism was wasted in the face of the overpowering number of the rebels, and the dreadful spectacle was soon presented to the queens of having the heads of their faithful defenders cut off before their very eyes. The queens themselves were placed in confinement at Novigrad, on the sea-shore. The long series of deaths by violence, which appeared to persecute the Anjou race like a curse, was destined to have one more added to it at Novigrad. The widow of Louis the Great was, after a short imprisonment, strangled by one of the rebels before the eyes of her unfortunate daughter.

The disorders had now reached their climax; one of the crowned rulers of Hungary, Charles, had been assassinated, the other, Mary, was a prisoner at Diákovár. The rebels were preparing to bring the son of the usurper Charles into the country, while another party had cast their eyes upon Ladislaus Jagello, the husband of Hedvig, as an available aspirant to royal honors. The Prince of Servia was arming to attack Hungary from the south, and Poland was preparing to invade the country from the northeast, whilst the princes of Wallachia and Moldavia, vassals of Hungary, declared their independence. So many disasters demanded a prompt remedy, and the nation, in their distress, decided to accept as their ruler Sigismund, the queen’s husband. He was acknowledged as king, and the crown of St. Stephen was placed on his head by Benedek, the bishop of Veszprém, in March, 1387, and his reign lasted until 1437. To these melancholy circumstances did Sigismund, of the house of Luxemburg, owe his elevation to the throne of Hungary. It was a heavy burden that he had taken upon his shoulders, the task of bringing order into the affairs of the distracted country. His first and foremost duty was to liberate his august wife from her imprisonment, but it must be reluctantly admitted that he exhibited little zeal in the accomplishment of this. While he was travelling leisurely from place to place without seemingly heeding the danger of delay, Venice came to the rescue. The statesmen of the city of St. Mark had watched with jealousy the union of Naples and Hungary in the hands of one ruler, and to obviate this danger to their own city, they sought the friendship of Sigismund, and sent vessels of war against his rebellious subjects. John Palisna, in whose charge the imprisoned queen had been placed, readily delivered her up to John Barbadico, the captain of the republic, stipulating only for himself the right of leaving without molestation. In July, 1388, husband and wife met near Agram (Zágráb), and Sigismund made up for his former laxity by sumptuously rewarding the Venetians who had liberated his queen.

The newly elected king had on the very threshold of his reign a twofold difficulty to face. He had to quell the rebellion, which in the southern part of his dominions was still active, and to arrest the encroachments of the Turkish power. He succeeded in putting down the rebellion. He marched into Croatia and Bosnia, pursuing the rebels to their mountain fastnesses, and after many years of varying fortunes of war he reduced them to obedience. The survivors of the scattered rebels sought refuge in the wild forests of Syrmia. A small band of thirty men rallied round Stephen Kont of Hédervár, the son of the famous palatine Michael, a man noted for his bravery. Sigismund charged Vajdafy, one of his trusty men, with the reduction of this band. He found it, however, impossible to get near them, and finally resorted to a stratagem. Vajdafy promised them a free pardon from Sigismund if they surrendered and came up to Buda with him. The thirty-one warriors accepted this proposal, but on their way the treacherous Vajdafy ordered them to be placed in chains. They were so incensed at this disgraceful treatment, that they determined not to do homage to the king when brought into his presence. They refused to bend their knees before him. The king did not reflect long, but ordered the thirty-one gallants to be taken to St. George’s Place in Buda, where they met their death at the hands of the executioner. Kont was the last to lay his head on the block. His faithful page Csóka burst into tears at the bloody sight. Sigismund comforted the youth, telling him he would be a better master to him than Kont was. “I shall never serve thee, Czech hog,” was the boy’s reply, a reply which cost him his life, for he was immediately executed. This barbarous and illegal act of the king would no doubt have provoked, in ordinary times, a rebellion in the country, but the general attention was just then absorbed by the encroachments of the Turks.

Servia had already become a vassal state of the Turks, and was compelled to swell with her army the power of the mightiest foe to Christianity. The last victory won by the Servians over the Turks was in 1387, when they mowed down two thirds of the Turkish army, numbering 20,000 men. Sultan Murad invaded Servia in 1389 to avenge the disgrace of defeat. He was met in June by Lazarus, the last independent Prince of Servia, on the Kosovo (blackbird) field, called in Hungarian the Rigómezö. The engagement was a bloody one, and disastrous to the rulers on both sides. Sultan Murad received his death wound from the dagger of a Servian soldier, whilst Prince Lazarus was delivered by his own son-in-law, Vuk Brankovitch, into the hands of the Turks and into the jaws of certain death. With Lazarus was lost the independence of Servia, and his scattered army fled in dismay from the ill-fated battle-field. This victory had brought the Turks one step nearer to the borders of Hungary, and added further to the fear of their victorious arms in that Bajazet, the successor of Murad, surnamed the “Lightning,” was known to be eager for new conquests. Two years after the battle of Kosovo we find the Turks already on Hungarian soil. Sigismund tried, at first, negotiations. Viddin, Nicopolis, and Silistria, which belonged to Hungary under Louis the Great, had recently fallen into the hands of the Turks. Sigismund sent an embassy to Bajazet calling upon him to surrender these cities to their rightful owner. The sultan received the embassy at Brussa, and, conducting them into a hall ornamented with arms and weapons of every description, he pointed at these, saying: “Go back and tell your king that, as you see for yourself, I have a good enough title to these lands.” Sigismund rightly understood this to be a declaration of war. He at once summoned the chivalry of Europe to take part in a crusade against the infidels, and entered into an alliance with Manuel II., the Emperor of the East. Many knights from England, France, and Italy responded to the call.

Meanwhile, Mary, the wife of Sigismund, died in 1395. It was to her that Sigismund owed his throne, and now that she was no more, there was nothing to keep up the ties of affection between the people and their restless and inconstant king. Sigismund hoped to dazzle the nation by the glory of a successful war. In 1396 he marched the assembled crusaders to Nicopolis against the Turks. The king, surrounded by the chief captains of the army, was merrily feasting when the news was brought that Bajazet, the “Lightning,” was approaching. Both armies were eager for the contest. The French knights, in spite of Sigismund’s protests, claimed the privilege of the first attack. Ignorant of the Turkish system of fighting, which consisted in sending the weakest and least-disciplined troops to the fore, to bear the brunt of the first attack, the French rushed with their united strength upon the enemy. The attack, as usual, was favorable to the French arms, but hardly had they dispersed the inferior troops when they found themselves face to face with the serried ranks of the Spahis and Janissaries. The hot-blooded Frenchmen were no match for these incomparable soldiers, and a large portion of them fell on the battle-field while the remainder were taken prisoners. This discomfiture had a depressing effect on the other crusaders, and their army scattered in disorderly flight. Sigismund, himself, escaped only with great difficulty, and took refuge on a ship on the Danube which brought him to Constantinople.

This unlucky campaign proved a fresh source of trouble to the country, for the king, keenly feeling the disgrace of his defeat, stayed away from Hungary for over half a year. The southern part of Hungary was again in rebellion and many, believing in the false report of the king’s death, were desirous of proceeding to the election of a successor. The king, apprehensive of losing his throne, came back and, in his own fashion, rewarded his friends and punished his opponents.

In order to add to the number of his adherents he distributed amongst them, in defiance of an ancient law, the crown-lands. He filled the highest positions in the state with foreigners. This was more than the Hungarian lords would submit to, especially after the disgraceful defeat the king had just suffered on the battle-field. The impatient magnates, weary of his inglorious rule, entered upon a conspiracy to overthrow the king. On the 28th of April, 1401, a number of the great lords of the land assembled at Buda and requested the attendance of the king, in order to take counsel on affairs of state. The Garays, the unflinching adherents of the king, knew what was going to happen, but did not dare to divulge or oppose the plans of the conspirators. Sigismund appeared among the assembled magnates, but only to find out, too late, that he was, in fact, their prisoner. He was taken to Visegrád and confined in its castle. Another king had now to be elected. Three claimants were on the field—Ladislaus Jagello, William of Austria, and Ladislaus, the son of Charles the Little. It was fortunate, however, for the king that no election could be agreed upon; and, while the magnates were taking counsel with each other, the Garays succeeded in liberating the king and took him to Siklós, one of their own fortified castles. His followers, meanwhile, took up arms in his cause and succeeded in placing him again on the throne, after he had been a prisoner for four months. But before doing so they obtained his promise not to punish or molest the conspirators. Michael Garay was generously rewarded for his exertions on behalf of Sigismund; he received annually a pension of one thousand ducats, and was appointed to the dignity of a palatine. The severe lesson was of benefit to the king. He appeared totally changed after his experience in prison. He faithfully kept the promise he had given, and did not molest the rebellious lords, but rather sought their friendship, and, making union with them, seriously endeavored by legal means to improve the government of the country.

He had hardly seized the reins of government with firm hands, when the cry of battle called him again away. Having no son, Sigismund tried to secure the throne for his daughter Elizabeth. She was affianced to Albert of Austria, and the king prevailed upon one hundred and ten lords to sign a document by which his daughter’s husband would, after the king’s demise, become entitled to wear the crown of St. Stephen. The Neapolitan party was roused into rebellion by this arrangement, and Ladislaus of Naples penetrated into the interior of the country. The primate of the realm, the archbishop of Gran, sided with the rebels and placed the crown of Hungary upon the head of the invading foreigner. Sigismund, who was just then amongst the Czechs, whose crown he coveted, hastened home upon learning the peril with which he was menaced. The followers of Ladislaus were soon put down, and, being assured of the king’s pardon, they all gave in their submission. Ladislaus, fearful lest the fate of his father, Charles the Little, should overtake him, left the country, and henceforth dared not to question the right of Sigismund to the crown. In the course of the years that followed some wise measures were introduced concerning the privileges and franchises of the cities, and regulating the relations of the Church of Hungary to the Vatican. The Pope having been the most zealous partisan of Ladislaus of Naples, a law was enacted putting an end to the Pope’s right of interference in the affairs of the Hungarian Church.

The king formed again new marriage ties, and took Barbara, the daughter of Count Arminius Cilley, the powerful lord of the Styrian castle of Cilli, for his wife. The new queen added but little to his happiness. The king established the order of the dragon in commemoration of his wedding. The insignia of the order were a red cross with a gold dragon who twisted his tail in a circular shape around his own neck. The membership was confined to twenty-four, who bound themselves to defend the Christian faith against the Turks. The king and queen were the first members of the order, the remaining members were selected from among the highest dignitaries of the land. A high distinction fell to the lot of the king of Hungary on the 20th of September, 1410. Ruprecht, who had been elevated to the imperial throne of Germany, after the deposition of Wenceslaus the drunkard (the half insane brother of Sigismund), was now dead. Wenceslaus was now striving to regain the lost dignity, but in this he was opposed by his own brother Sigismund. The electoral princes voted for the latter. This was the first time that a similar distinction had been conferred upon the wearer of the crown of St. Stephen. The nation felt proud of the exaltation of their king, but the nation as well as the king found subsequently ample reason to regret their premature rejoicing. Indeed the fears of St. Ladislaus and Louis the Great, who had declined the imperial crown lest they might, accepting it, be caused to neglect the affairs of Hungary, proved but too well founded. The business of the emperor required his presence elsewhere, and while he was absent for years from the country, matters at home visibly went to rack and ruin. The emperor-king could not spare time to attend to the most important duty of his reign, the driving back of the Turks, and, there can be no doubt, that it was owing less to the civil wars of that period than the lukewarmness of Sigismund in the face of the Ottoman advances during the last years of his reign, that it became possible for the Moslem power to obtain possession, a century later, of the stronghold of Christianity. The signs of the coming life-and-death struggle became already apparent—and once the struggle begun there was no way to destroy the Ottoman power, nor could a favorable opportunity, once missed, return again.