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.

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.