July 2004: Hungary and Slovakia |  print |
Tokay: In midsummer, the town of Tokaj appears to be fast asleep, the prosperous houses of the vintners shuttered and silent in the fluttering shadows of the birch avenues that line the main street. But, as ever, appearances can be deceptive and as I entered the Rakoczi Pince (cellars), four very pretty Hungarians girls miraculously appeared out of the dark recesses of the cellar shop and attentively asked how they could be of assistance.
"Well, I would like to find out a little bit about how Ferenc Rakoczi financed his rebellion through the sales of his wines," I replied.
"Rebellion?" said Linda, who had been appointed spokesperson on account of her excellent English. "You mean, of course, freedom fight."
With no chance to apologise, I signed up to a tasting tour and was marched off to the entrance of the cellars, which are hewn into the volcanic rock of the Kopasz (bald) Hill, the great landmark of the Tokaj vineyards. Having successfully negotiated the steep descent into the hundred foot long barrel-vaulted cellar known as the Knight's Hall, I was enthralled to learn that it was here the Hungarian Diet had elected Janos Zapolyai as King of Hungary in 1526. Imagine the symbolism these cellars must have had in the ensuing fracas between Habsburg and Hungarian over the next two hundred years.
"Was it anything to do with the wine? Did it go to the heads of the Estates?" I ventured. "Surely it was crazy to have two competing Kings of Hungary when the entire Ottoman army was camped on their doorstep!" Linda deferred her answer by producing a selection of six Tokajs for me to sample.
"These come from the Hetszolo or seven estates which have been together since 1502. We'll start with a Hetszolo Tokaji Furmint (2003) with a sugar content of 3.4 grammes per litre." Half an hour and six wines later, the sugar content had risen to 156 grammes per litre courtesy of Dessewffy Kastely Tokaji 6p.Aszu (1996) and my intimate tasting of the wines of Tokaj was at an end, which was providential since I had to drive another 100 miles. The shame was that the 1928 vintage, tantalizingly glimpsed through an iron grill, was not on offer. Linda mumbled something about anything over 5 years old being unsuitable but I knew she was sticking to her script.
Back on the sun-baked street, the scene reverted to one of a French village overcome by the stupors of summer, not a sound to be heard, the only movement that of an old lady silently travelling from bench to bench on her long slow journey home. I looked at the Rakoczi Pince handout: "The Rakoczi Cellars are….one of those special places where dreams and reality actually meet." I'll second that and, no doubt, so did Ferenc Rakoczi when he dreamt about the reality of financing his dream of a rebellion – no, fight for freedom, silly me.
Sarospatak: The road north to the town of Sarospatak from Tokaj is one of stark contrasts: to the right lays the flat, scrubby plain of the Bodrog valley, to the left the eastern foothills of the Zempleni mountains, trailing their ranks of vines down to the edge of the river, their ridgelines hinting at a dark afforested interior. The approach to the town, which is discretely tucked away on a bend of the river, is unprepossessing, some modern apartment blocks heralding little of interest. But imagine a Cartier watch wrapped in a brown paper parcel and this is the role of Sarospatak's suburbs in masking the Kastely Patak, ancestral home of the Rakoczi family and architectural gem of the Renaissance.
It was late by the time I managed to find a room at the Zlaty Bazant (golden pheasant) in Retel utca, an old coaching inn that overlooked the lazy river, agreeably full of water to the delight of the fifty or so swimmers splashing around on its banks. The innkeeper, Gabor, discussed breakfast, heavily hinting that supper was unavailable. Since it was advertised in a faded dusty box outside the entrance as hamburgers and pizzas, this came as a relief and I soon discovered a little restaurant on the river bank, Vaar Vendeglo, which boasted carp, catfish and frogs' legs served up in all manner of gastronomique concoctions. Looking out across the river to the Red Tower of Kastely Patak, I wondered just how involved Ferenc Rakoczi I had been in the Magnates' Conspiracy.
The answer was provided the next day by Dr. Tamas Edit, the resident historian of the Rakoczi museum. I had thought that Ferenc had been on the margin, merely providing through his marriage to Ilona Zrinyi a link for Wesselenyi to the crucial Croatian faction. But, here, at Sarospatak, the story is one of much greater involvement. After Wesselenyi died in 1667, Ferenc summoned a meeting of the remaining conspirators: they gathered at Sarospatak in the first floor Rose room where I am now standing. In this little rounded room with its painted ceiling of nine vaulted ribs, decorated with flowers, vines and cherubic faces, a desk once stood in the centre of the floor of red hexagonal tiles. Under the painted rose motif on the ceiling, hence the "sub rosa" epithet attached to that day, Ferenc sat at the desk and addressed the assembled company of Petar Zrinski, Ferenc Nadasdy, F.K.Frankopan and Ferenc Bornis.
First he reminded them that, as a child, he had been chosen by the Transylvanian Estates to succeed his father as Prince of Transylvania. Then he recalled how he and his mother had 're-embraced' the Catholic faith in 1661 when they returned to Sarospatak after the death of Prince Gyorgy at Oradea and how in turn this made him the de facto temporal leader of the Catholics of northern Hungary. Now to the deal. If his fellow conspirators would support him in his claim to the Principality of Transylvania and urge the Estates to elect him, in return he would acknowledge the primacy of the Hungarian Reform (protestant) church in the new independent state of Hungary and thereby guarantee the compliance of the Catholic population. This was the substance of the Sarospatak document signed in 1669.
So Ferenc Rakoczi I was in it up to his neck.
Regec: You need to develop a certain mentality to live in a castle in northern Hungary for you spend your days and nights astride a precipitous crag, looking down on the world below like a buzzard inspecting his territory. Var Regec guards the western entrance to the Zempleni mountains, high above the red roofs of the little farming village of Mogyoroska. To the east I can see over the plain, past the Hernad river, for nearly fifty miles; to the east, across an endless range of hills clad in a velvety green cloak of oak and beech, almost thirty. Save for the village far below, there is no other castle or house in sight.
It was to Regec that Ilona Rakoczi nee Zrinski came in 1676 (it had belonged to the Rakoczis since 1644), after the death of her husband, bringing with her two small children. She was no stranger to this aerial life: born in a mountain-top castle in Croatia, married in a hill-top castle at Zbovo, she had spend relatively few of her years at ground level, mainly at the kastelys of Borsa and Patak overlooking the meadows of the river Bodrog. And it was here that the extraordinary story of her love affair with Imre Thokoly began.
Even in high summer a lively wind scurries around the towers, curling through the empty window frames like a fast moving invisible snake. Silence has replaced the cries and shouts that once echoed around these stone corridors, relaying orders to keep this great rock engine in working condition. Tufts of wild flowers and tussocks of grasses poke through the crumbling mortared joints of the precarious piles of stone, all that remains of the castle home where Ferenc Rakoczi II spent the first five years of his life.
Fuzerradvany: I am probably mistaken in identifying the Fuzerradvany estate directly with Sandor Karolyi but it had been a part of the Karolyi family properties since the 17th century. It was the politician Ede Karolyi who commissioned Miklos Ybl to design the magnificent late 19th century neo-renaissance mansion that stands here today. Poor Ede died two years later but his son and grandson, both Laszlo, continued to live there and both contributed to the superb arboretum that still flourishes on the gentle slopes of the eastern Zemplenis.
A luxury hotel in 1938, Fuzerradvany is no longer lived in and cries out for a tenant to bring it back to life for as a museum it is well and truly defunct.
Castle of Patak: The Kastely of Patak has seen many changes since Gyorgy Rakoczi acquired it through marriage to Zsuzsanna Lorantffy in 1616. Attacked, burnt, partially demolished, confiscated, neglected, restored, remodelled and now cherished, the original fort – the Red Tower – stands curiously out of place, bereft of its roof and curtain walls; it finds itself attached to a quadrangular neo-Gothic court rather than the other way round. During the tenure of various Austrian princes (1711-1945), much of the external Renaissance stone ornamentation was taken down and displayed inside the house, where it awkwardly remains today.
Patak was never a happy home for the Rakoczis. In 1651, the marriage of Zsigismond Rakoczi and Henrietta, daughter of Frederick V, Elector Palantine of the Rhine and King of Bohemia, was staged in the castle grounds; it was the wedding of the year, attended by hundreds of guests from all over Europe. Within a year, they were both dead. Zsuzsanna died here in 1660 and her son, Gyorgy, never made it back from the siege of Oradea. His widow, Sofia Bathory, and heir, the 16 year old Ferenc, came here from Transylvania but were never happy as Catholic converts in this stronghold of Calvinism. Ferenc went on to spend the first years of his marriage at the castle but was then forced to leave after his role in the Magnates' conspiracy had come to light.
In 1683, Imre Thokoly, by now married to Ilona, captured Sarospatak, only to lose it two years later to Imperial forces. Ferenc Rakoczi II came here in 1694 with his new bride but his political honeymoon with Vienna abruptly came to an end when the Emperor had him arrested and dragged from his sick wife's bedroom in the middle of the night. When the rebellion started in 1702, Imperial forces demolished much of the castle. Ferenc returned alone in 1703 – for his wife was stranded in Vienna – only to witness the outbreak of a fire which destroyed the greater part of the building and its contents. During a later visit in 1707, Ferenc was appalled at the terrible conditions he found his former home in and finally left it forever on 10 December 1710 on his way to exile.
Today the castle hosts a comprehensive and meticulously captioned exhibition, "The Glorious Era of the Rakoczis", complete with dummy straw-stuffed Kurucs. The splendid collection of paintings, many on loan from the Hungarian National Art Gallery, includes a copy of a 17th century portrait of Ilona Zrinski. The original, I am told, hangs in Longleat House in Wiltshire.
There is still unfinished business at Sarospatak. The Budapest Times reported on 5th July 2004: "Russia and Hungary will promote each other's culture next year….(However) an agreement could not be reached on the repatriation of artwork and valuable books taken from the library at Sarospatak during the Second |World War." Given Ferenc's friendship with Peter the Great, let's hope this matter is soon resolved in favour of the castle of Patak.
Kezmarok: There was a lot of hammering, chopping and sawing going on when I arrived at the 13th century Saxon town of Kezmarok, giving it a flavour of preparing for a Medieval fair. Flimsy wooden gates half-barred the entrances into the square, while broad-chested foresters knocked up timber framed stalls along the Stary Trh that led down to the castle. I had come to find the tomb of the kuruckiraly, Imre Thokoly, Grand Bailiff of Arva and hereditary Count of Kezmarok, whose family had owned the town from 1579 to 1687.
I started my search down at the castle when he had once been the castellan but when I found myself lassoed into a large herd of Slovak tourists destined for a 60-minute tour (Slovak language only) I broke ranks and, after making a few enquiries in pigeon Slavonic, found Imre at rest in a large neo-Byzantine church just outside the town walls. It is a quite extraordinary building by the Viennese architect Theofil von Hansen, faced in russet red and apple green, consisting of a dome over the altar and a tall Italianesque campanile alongside the main entrance. Built in 1894, the original plan was to have two campaniles but the money ran out!
Thokoly's remains arrived here on 30 October 1906, in time for the millennium celebrations of the arrival of the Hungarians in the Carpathian Basin. He lies in a magnificent marble sarcophagus in a small vaulted side chapel, draped in wreaths tied with ribbons in the Hungarian national colours of green, white and red. It is as if he is still lying in splendiferous state, contrasting sharply with the stark simplicity of the tope-coloured undecorated walls of the Lutheran church his chapel is attached to. A group of middle-aged ladies filed silently past, affording him the same reverence as a Saint.
Muran: After trekking up a steep track for five miles through ancient beech woods, I reached the top of a precipitous limestone escarpment, where the ruins of the Castle ('hrad' in Slovakian, 'var' in Hungarian) of Muran lie scattered, its remaining bastions and tower now entwined by creepers. It was a dramatic moment for not only was the view across the Muranska and Rimava valleys stupendous but the fresh tracks of wild boar on the carpet of copper leaves and the occasional grunt from a close-by thicket were thankfully no longer in evidence. I admit that I had been busy picking 'climbable' trees for the last mile or two!
The habit in this part of the world of erecting castles on mountain tops stemmed directly from the horrors of the Mongol invasion of 1241, for death and destruction on such a catastrophic scale had never been visited on Hungary before. From now on, there was no question of a nobleman living in a comfortable fortified wooden house overlooking a river with plentiful stocks of fish and within easy reach of granaries and livestock: the exact reverse applied as the nobility installed their wives, children and chattels in draughty stone towers sited on 3,000 ft strategic heights, out of harm's way with a sheer drop of a few hundred feet all round.
Purpose-built in 1271 as a impregnable refuge, Hrad Muran remains as remote and isolated as ever; I had passed two people all morning – a young couple embarked on the Herculean task of pushing a baby buggy up the hill - although the information sign in the village advertised the Hrad as one of Slovakia's most popular castles. This is what must have appealed to Wesselenyi as he began to orchestrate the Magnates' Conspiracy. No spies, no unexpected guests, no unannounced visitors; messengers could be despatched under cover of darkness and return likewise. When the principals, after four or five day's hard ride, gathered here to discuss their plans, the meetings went unobserved. But all the security afforded by the seclusion of Hrad Muran was to no avail for the conspirators themselves were lax; careless talk ultimately cost them their lives.
From my vantage point high over the sun-filled valleys, from where one can almost touch the scudding puff-ball clouds, looking down on the swathes of wooded hillsides and fertile plains of former northern Hungary, I can share the Magnates' anger and frustration with Leopold's pusillanimous expediency at the Peace of Vasvar. Why give the Ottomans such favourable terms and allow them to retain over half of the ancient kingdom of Hungary, when they were in fact on the run? As I prepared to set off back to the village, the buggy complete with small passenger came over the crest of the hill propelled by exhausted parents. We exchanged greetings and it came as no surprise to me to learn they were Hungarian for it was these qualities of determination and tenacity which finally restored nationhood to their country. Now if Hercules had been a Hungarian…..
Eger: For nearly two hundred years, this town was pivotal to the Habsburg defence against the voracious ambitions of the Ottomans in the sixteenth century: if Eger and its sister fortress at Vacs fell, the route to the rich gold and silver mines to the north lay open. According to a lively playlet I watched, enacted on a platform in the town square, Eger didn't fall, thanks to its womenfolk. Judging from the performance – the lines were delivered in Hungarian, which left me prone to utter confusion – the soldiers were drunk and were replaced by the fairer sex who then won the day against the Turks. With this rosy version of events top of mind, I went in search of a room in the old town.
The early 18th century Offi-Haz Hotel on Dobo Istvan ter is a veritable treasure: not only does it have one of the best cellars of Eger wines but it also offers a superb table. Dinner that night deserved at least one Rosette:
Libamajjal toltott gombafejek egri martassal, rizzsel
Button mushrooms stuffed with goose liver, served with rice and Eger sauce
Szuzerem baconban, mogyoro burgonyaval kapormartassal
Medallions of pork in bacon with noisette potatoes and dill sauce
Somloi habos galuska
Hungarian sponge cake (for which read five layers of alcohol sodden sponge, stuffed with nuts and dried damsons and drizzled in a pale chocolate sauce)
The Egri 2000 Bikaver from the Thummerer Pince is a delicious blend of five reds, dominated by Cabernet Sauvignon and Franc, with a subtle burnt toast aroma. If this is what the town's defenders had been drinking, I'm not surprised they overdid it for I certainly did. It was only in the clear light of a cloudless dawn the next day that the details of Eger's various sieges became to reveal themselves to me as I gazed blearily across the city from the battlements of the Var.
Well established in Buda since 1541, the Ottomans began to flex their military muscles and with the capture of Vac in 1543 and Hatvan the next year, it was only a matter of time before Eger appeared at the top of their wish-list. In 1552, the pasas Ahmed and Ali, each commanding an army, headed north from Arad and after taking Szolnok on 4 September, arrived outside Eger on the 11th: they had come, announced Ali, "to kick down the sheepfold". After carefully siting seven artillery batteries around the Var in order to concentrate his fire on the weakest bastions, Ali gave his 60,000 troops the order to assault.
The Hungarian defenders, including women and children, numbered just 2,012. It should have been a 'no contest' but for the inspired leadership of Istvan Dobo, who dramatically shifted the odds away from the favour of the Turks. Through good intelligence and energetic construction of new defences, including underground barracks, casements and tunnels complete with ventilation shafts, Dobo and his men were fully prepared for a six month siege.
Standing on the walls of Eger today, it is hard to visualize the waves of Ottoman infantry moving relentlessly forward to the clashing of cymbals and the rhythmic pulsating sounds of the massive camel-borne kos or kettle drums of their mehterhane band. Suddenly a terrifying war cry would reverberate across the battlefield as the 100-strong serdengecti assault units were unleashed by their officers. But it is easy to imagine the defenders dashing down the underground tunnels, rushing to reinforce the bastions under immediate attack. This ability to concentrate his forces out of sight of the enemy, who actually overlooked the Var, gave Dobo a decisive advantage. For 38 days the defenders held out. On 18 October, the Ottomans abandoned the siege. Short of supplies, ravaged by disease and faced with plummeting camel-killing temperatures, the greatly depleted Army of the Divine Light ignominiously retreated in humiliation to its winter quarters.
The Hungarian casualties amounted to over 300 dead and 200 seriously injured but they were a small price to pay for a victory that resounded across the nervous courts and churches of Europe. Dobo and his handful of troops has proved that, 26 years on from the fateful battle of Mohacs, the Sultan's armies could be stopped in their tracks and sent packing.
The devastated Var Eger was quickly repaired and partially improved by Italian military engineers between 1553 and 1580 – budgets permitting - but it was a very different Ottoman army that appeared outside the city on 20 September 1596. Led by none other than the Sultan, Mohamed III in person, the attackers numbered nearly 100,000 shock troops with over 120 pieces of ordnance. In comparison, the 3,400 defenders, mainly German mercenaries, had seven artillery pieces all told. With his options strictly limited, Pal Nyary, the commander of the Var, abandoned the town on the 23rd and by 4 October the outer bailey had fallen. Maintaining a fierce bombardment above ground, the Ottomans began to sap under the defences and a vicious underground battle erupted between miners and counter miners.
On 8 October, despite the German drummers diligently waiting for the peas on their drum skins to bounce to the sound of enemy tunnelling below, an Ottoman mine exploded under the South East bastion, killing Christopho Stella and his countermine team. Some reports tell of the defection of an English trumpeter to the Ottomans at this critical moment, providing them with crucial intelligence about the state of the defences. Be that as it may, for he has never been identified, the decision to surrender was taken by Pal Nyary on 12 October and the next day, Sultan Mohamed made his triumphal entry into the Var. It was to remain in Ottoman hands for the next 91 years.
Thokoly's nemesis, General Carafa, retook Eger on 17 December 1687. The Turkish garrison departed unmolested, leaving several hundred of their kin behind, who had requested leave to stay on! By 1702, the costs of upkeep of the garrison and maintenance of the old system of defensive forts made closure of some inevitable: the Imperial court ordered the fortress at Eger to be destroyed on the basis it was no longer economically viable. The outer bailey was duly demolished but then work stopped. Someone had calculated that the cost of demolition exceeded that of keeping it as a going concern!
Thus it was indeed fortuitous for Ferenc Rakoczi and his kurucs when Count Forgach persuaded the Imperial commander to surrender it more or less intact on 2 February 1703. Rakoczi invested a large amount of his limited and precious financial resources in keeping Eger as a key base throughout the rebellion but ultimately it was a futile gesture. On 1 December 1710, his commander, Miklos Perenyi, surrendered his garrison to the Imperial forces after an unbreakable stranglehold siege. Little is mentioned about this ignominious capitulation today. Such are the currents and tides of the history of Eger.