The male line of the house of ÁrpÁd became extinct by the death of Andrew III. His only daughter, Elizabeth, retired to a convent, and the nation was once more called upon to exercise its ancient right of electing a king, and three candidates, a Czech, a German, and an Italian, at once came into the field. Each of these claimants had a party in the country, and not until the strength of the nation had been wasted by internal strife and warfare during a period of eight years did the Italian party succeed in placing on the throne Charles Robert, who became the founder of the Hungarian Anjous. It will be our task now to relate how the newly elected ruler, taking the reins of government into his own hands, introduced into the country the glorious era of chivalry. Under the reign of the Anjous we shall see the culture and customs of Western Europe gradually taking root in Hungarian soil, the name of Hungary becoming the object of respect and admiration abroad, the boundaries of the kingdom extended by a powerful hand, the crown of a brave and chivalrous neighbor, the Polish nation, placed upon the brows of the Hungarian king, until, at last, as the Hungarian poet Bajza sings, “the shores of three seas formed the frontier walls of the kingdom.”

At first the Czech party was victorious. Wenceslaus, the aged king of the Czechs, who, through the female line, was related to the house of ÁrpÁd, not feeling equal to the task of governing Hungary himself, offered to his party, in his place, his son and namesake, who was but thirteen years old. On the 27th of August, 1301, at Stuhlweissenburg the sacred crown of St. Stephen was placed on the head of young Wenceslaus; but his reign was of short duration. The curse of the Church of Rome was pronounced against his partisans, but the citizens of Buda were little affected by this interdict, and caused the curse to be hurled back on the anathematizers by their own prelates. Yet the party of the boy-king grew so weak that his father deemed it advisable to recall him home. Wenceslaus the elder entered Hungary, pillaged the wealthier cathedrals, and expressed but one wish concerning his son—to see him for once attired in the royal Hungarian robes. His adherents complied with the wish of the old king, and, dressed in the royal robes and bearing the crown on his head, young Wenceslaus proceeded homeward, surrounded by his soldiers and under the protection of armed body-guards.

The Italian party, intent upon avenging this affront, invaded the territory of the Czechs, and by frightful massacres made the people atone for the abduction of the king. The fierce Kuns, or Cumans, throwing Czech children, strung together by means of holes bored through the palms of their hands, across their saddlebows, wildly tore through the land, devastating every thing. Very soon Albert, emperor of Germany, with Otto the Bavarian, came to the rescue of Wenceslaus, who, grateful for their assistance, delivered the crown to Otto.

The German party, in their turn, were now victorious, and obtained possession of the crown of St. Stephen, the most sacred relic of the nation. Otto marched into the country, but under the auspices of a bad omen. The crown was, through some accident, lost on the road, although his attendants discovered it afterwards, buried in the mire. Otto, whose vanity prompted him to display, marched in a procession through the capital, Buda, adorned with all the paraphernalia of royalty, and from that day on, every king succeeding him has, after the coronation, repeated this special pageant. Otto was as much the shadow of a king as Wenceslaus had been before him. In order to consolidate his power he asked in marriage the daughter of the most powerful Hungarian lord, Ladislaus Apor, the vayvode of Transylvania. Receiving a favorable reply, he hastened, full of hope, to Transylvania, but on his arrival was thrown into prison by the wily vayvode. After his liberation, which took place soon afterward, he turned his back for ever upon Hungary, and was satisfied with the empty title of King of Hungary. The crown, however, remained in the possession of the vayvode.

The Italian party were now left masters of the field. The most obstinate and uncontrollable oligarchs were by this time tired of the disorders prevailing in the country, and all combined with a hearty good-will to place Charles Robert, of Anjou, upon the throne of ÁrpÁd. On the 27th of August, 1310, Charles Robert was crowned for the fourth time, but in this instance with the sacred crown, which had been at length obtained from Apor. Charles was now the lawful king (1309-1342), and could, without interference, set about the task of restoring order in the country, a work to which he proved fully equal.

The king had many difficulties in his way. The ruler de facto and de jure could call but a small portion of the kingdom really his own. The endless dividing up of the territory, which was characteristic of Germany at the close of the last century, was to be found in miniature also in Hungary. The disorders prevailing under the rule of the last ÁrpÁd, and of the two kings succeeding him, had encouraged the lawlessness of the marauding nobles. Every one appropriated as much territory as he could, and exercised royal or princely authority in the domains thus acquired by him. While so many had become the possessors of large estates, the king was without any personal patrimony. These little kings had to be reduced, one by one, to submission, and deprived of the usurped lands. The most powerful of them was Matthias CsÁk of TrencsÉn, and his subjection gave the greatest trouble, and consumed the most time.

The power and territory of Matthias CsÁk extended from the Northwestern Carpathians to the Theiss and Danube. The castle of TrencsÉn was the seat of this petty king. From this fortified castle on the VÁg, built on a rocky eminence near the commercial road leading from Silesia to Hungary, he was in the habit of sending his marauders to devastate the neighboring country. He pounced like a bird of prey from his rocky nest upon the unwary merchants who were passing with their ships below, and the poor traders esteemed themselves fortunate if they got safely off by leaving a portion of their wares in the freebooter’s hands. The plunder thus got together enabled him to display royal pomp, and such was the dazzling sumptuousness and luxury exhibited at his castle that, compared to it, the king’s palace seemed to be but a poor hut. CsÁk had his own palatine treasurer and other officers of high rank, and when he went about he was attended by an escort of several thousand armed men. It was only after a good deal of solicitation that CsÁk consented to receive the Pope’s legate, Cardinal Gentilis, and even then the legate had to meet CsÁk at the place specified by the latter, who wished this church dignitary to understand that he should feel highly honored by being permitted to shake his hand.

In the beginning, CsÁk seemed to submit to Charles, and, swearing fealty to the king, he consented to be represented at the third coronation. In order to win CsÁk’s friendship and support, Charles made him the Guardian of the Land. But this new honor did not prevent him from very soon becoming weary of his subordinate position, and when a law had been passed ordering the restitution of the royal castles and domains which had come into the possession of subjects or strangers, his wish to be independent became even greater than before. An armed contest soon ensued between the king and his powerful subject. It was preceded, however, by a papal excommunication of CsÁk and his adherents, extending even to the dead, but the impious rebel retorted by laying waste the lands of the neighboring high prelates. CsÁk’s power stood at that time at its height. He was the master of a domain containing over thirty fortified castles, which, to this day, is called by the people, after him, Matthias Land, and it was quite natural that the king was reluctant to beard the lion in his own den. The king’s troops first entered the territory of Szepes, hoping to find there the weak point of the antagonist, but they were compelled to retreat before the captains of CsÁk. The decisive battle took place in 1312, north of the town of Kassa. The engagement was sharp and bloody, and terminated in the defeat of CsÁk’s men. The ancestors of the BÁthorys, TÖkÖlyis, Drugets, and SzÉchenyis, who were amongst the most powerful families in Hungary, fought on this occasion by the side of the king. Although humbled, CsÁk’s power was not greatly impaired, for we find him, a few years later, strong and bold enough to attack John, king of Bohemia, and take from him the fortified castle of Holics.

Charles Robert then turned his attention to his other rebellious subjects, reducing them to submission, one by one, leaving CsÁk to be dealt with by Providence. He had not, however, to wait very long, for in 1321 this great lord died. The manner of his death is described to have been frightful. Worms generated by his own body consumed him slowly. There was no one after his death to inherit his vast estates and with them his great power. Matthias Land was divided up in smaller sections, and distributed amongst the king’s favorites. The subjects of CsÁk, amongst them his palatine Felician ZÁch, submitted at once to the king.

The king’s attention was too much engaged by this domestic warfare to allow him, while it lasted, to display the energy which marked the subsequent years of his reign, an energy which was destined to make Hungary an influential power in Central Europe. During these days of civil strife he had his seat in TemesvÁr, and his household was so little befitting royalty that its poverty frequently elicited the complaints of the higher clergy. But matters quietly changed when Charles transferred his residence to VisegrÁd, the royal palace to which cling so many fond and sad national memories, and which in our days still, though in ruins, looms up on the right bank of the Danube as a monument of Hungary’s ancient power and glory. Charles was full of ambitious schemes to raise his family to the greatest possible power, and the extension of the power of Hungary was deemed by him to be the readiest means of accomplishing this aim. First of all he stood in need of money and soldiers, but his genius enabled him to procure both. He exploited the rich mines of the country, and raised the commerce and industry of the realm to a flourishing condition, and the wealth of the people increased to such an extent that he felt warranted in levying direct taxes, a mode of taxation which had before been entirely unknown in Hungary. The manner in which he created an army bears witness to his ingenuity. The county system had become so loose and disorganized that no soldiers could be expected from that source. He had to look for them in another quarter. Charles knew, very well, the chivalrous disposition of the nation, which, in the matter of display, had still preserved its Oriental character; he knew, too, from history, that those who appealed to the vanity of the Hungarian were never disappointed, and he laid his plans accordingly. He transplanted into Hungary one of the graceful institutions of Western Europe, that of chivalry. Knights there were in the country, but they were not numerous and had not proved to be enthusiastic adherents of the king. Charles understood how to win the affections of the great lords; he distributed coats-of-arms and founded orders. In the wide courts of the castle of VisegrÁd, knightly tournaments became frequent, and the new knights, with their fresh heraldic devices, had an opportunity of meeting each other in armed combat in the presence of their foreign king. The king’s court came to be the resort of noble youths, and boys of noble descent became the playmates of the royal princes. In order to rouse the warlike spirit of his great nobles, he allowed those of them who joined in a campaign with a certain number of soldiers, to lead their men under banners bearing their own armorial devices.

An event, however, of most tragic issue, which has furnished a fruitful theme to Hungarian poets and artists, almost overthrew the effect of the king’s wise policy and endangered his life. The scene of the occurrence, which took place on the 17th of April, 1330, was the magnificent palace of VisegrÁd. The former palatine of CsÁk, Felician ZÁch, had become one of the king’s chief councillors, and he, with his daughter Clara, one of the queen’s maids of honor, a lady of extraordinary beauty, resided in the king’s palace. Casimir, the King of Poland, and the queen’s brother, was at the time a guest at VisegrÁd, and during his stay there, behaved improperly towards Clara ZÁch. The infuriated father, on learning this, broke in upon the royal family sitting in the dining-hall, and intent upon avenging the affront offered to his daughter, threatened every one in his way. He fell with sword drawn upon the royal children and their parents. The children remained unhurt, but the king was seriously wounded, and the queen had four of her fingers cut off. John CselÉnyi, the queen’s treasurer, finally rushed to the rescue and felled the exasperated father with his bronze pole-axe to the ground, and the alarmed servants, who had meanwhile hastened to the hall, gave the miserable man, in presence of the royal family, the coup de grace. A frightful and most cruel punishment was inflicted, for her father’s bloody act, on the unhappy Clara and all the members of the ZÁch family. The maiden’s ears, nose, lips, and hands were cut off, and in this condition she was tied, together with her brother, to a horse’s tail, and dragged through the land until both died a miserable death. The ZÁch family were exterminated to the third degree, and the remoter kinspeople doomed to slavery. Such a sentence upon those who had committed no crime was a most vindictive and savage one, and the people saw the avenging finger of God in the results of the unhappy campaign of that year against the Wallachians. One of the chronicles, referring to the disastrous issue of the war, says: “The king had hitherto sailed under favorable signs, and cut, according to his heart’s desire, through the stormy waves with the ship of his fortune. But changeable fortune had now turned her back upon him. His army had been defeated, and he himself is suffering tortures from his gouty hands and feet.”

Ban Michael BazarÁd, then the ruler of Wallachia, dared to ignore his dependence on the crown of Hungary. Charles eagerly seized the opportunity to punish the traitorous vassal, and hoped, at the same time, that the indignation of the people against him for his cruelty would subside at the news of a victorious campaign against the Wallachians. Declining the offers of peace made by the repentant ban, Charles boldly advanced, with his spirited knights, over the impassable and unfamiliar roads of Wallachia. He had penetrated so far into the land that his further advance was rendered impossible by the absence of any road, and he was determined to retrace his steps. The Hungarian army was led astray by the Wallachian guides, and in retreating found itself quite unexpectedly hemmed in between steep and towering rocks from which there was no outlet. A shower of stones descended on their heads; the Wallachians who occupied the heights sent down dense volleys of rocks and arrows upon the doomed Hungarians. Charles himself owed his escape to the generous devotion of Desiderius SzÉcsi, one of his men, with whom he changed dresses. This brave warrior sealed his devotion with his life. The enraged Wallachians, mistaking him for the king, attacked him from every side, and after valiantly resisting, he finally fell on the battle-field. His sovereign escaped in safety, and Wallachia maintained her independence.

Charles, upon his return home, once more busied himself with the carrying out of his ambitious schemes for the aggrandizement of his family, and the results of his efforts gave ample proof of his political sagacity. He acquired for his family both Naples and Poland, although as yet on paper only. Poland became only under his son Louis the undoubted possession of the Hungarian king, while Naples never came under his control. In 1335 VisegrÁd resounded incessantly with the din of feasting and merrymaking; never before nor afterwards were so many royal guests harbored within its stately walls. There were Casimir, become King of Poland, the last descendant of the Piast family; John, the adventurous King of the Czechs, who subsequently died the death of a hero on the field of CrÉcy; his son Charles, the Margrave of Moravia, and subsequently Emperor of Germany; three knights of the first class belonging to the order of German Knights; the dukes of Saxony and Liegnitz, and numerous church and lay magnates. The entertainment of so many distinguished guests constituted a heavy draft on the royal treasury. A contemporary chronicler states that “fifteen hundred loaves of bread and one hundred and eighty flasks of wine were needed daily for the court of the king of Poland.” Whilst the guests were feasting, Charles employed all his ingenuity in shaping the destinies of Eastern Europe. His negotiations with Casimir, the King of Poland, resulted in an agreement that Poland should descend, after his death, to Louis, the son of Charles. Two years later Charles had the satisfaction of learning that the Polish nation had confirmed the private arrangement, and had acknowledged the right of his son’s succession to the throne of Poland. One of the finest monuments of Hungarian mediÆval architecture, the cathedral in Kassa, owed its completion to this welcome news. Queen Elizabeth ordered it to be completed in her joy at the elevation of her son Louis. Charles had also tried to secure Naples for his son Andrew, by having him betrothed, at the age of six, to Joanna, the grand-daughter and heir of the king of Naples. In July, 1333, the young prince proceeded to Naples to take possession of his kingdom, as his father thought, but in reality, as subsequent events proved, to the place of his destruction. Charles died at a not very advanced age, having brought most of his plans to a successful issue in his lifetime.

Six days after his death the crown of Hungary was placed upon the head of his son Louis, afterwards surnamed the Great, who was then seventeen years old (1342-1382). The young king immediately proceeded on a pilgrimage to the tomb of St. Ladislaus, the most popular Hungarian king, at Grosswardein. There at his grave he made a sacred vow to govern the Hungarian nation after the example of his great predecessor. From Grosswardein he proceeded to Transylvania to receive the oath of fealty of the son of Michael BazarÁd. Hardly returned to his palace at VisegrÁd, the young king received depressing news regarding his brother at Naples. The young Hungarian prince was looked upon with jealousy by the numerous Italian dukes at the Neapolitan court, who tried by every means to hinder his accession to the throne. His mother, the Hungarian queen, at once hastened, laden with treasure, to Naples, to rescue her son from the machinations of his enemies. The Hungarian money had its due effect at the papal court, whose vassal Naples was at that time. Queen Elizabeth obtained the assurance that her son Andrew would be crowned, but she returned to Hungary before the ceremony of coronation had taken place. At her departure her mind was filled with evil forebodings, which were but too well justified by coming events. The queen’s departure was the signal for fresh intrigues at the Neapolitan court. Philip and Louis of Taranto, the sons of Catharine of Valois, openly insulted the young prince. Joanna wickedly turned from her husband and sided with his enemies. At length the day of the coronation was approaching. Andrew, relying on the power he was soon to wield, warned his enemies that he would avenge the affronts that had been heaped upon him. His enemies were seized with terror upon seeing, at the tournament which took place shortly before the coronation, the axe and noose depicted beneath the arms of Andrew, floating on high on his banner. The imminent danger rendered the intriguing dukes desperate, and they at once determined to put Andrew out of the way. His assassination was resolved upon, and, Joanna giving her assent to the nefarious plan, the young prince was doomed.

On the 18th of September, 1345, the whole court, and amongst them Joanna, proceeded to Aversa, to indulge in the merry pastime of the chase. Andrew was accompanied by his faithful Hungarian nurse, Izolda, who, poor creature, little dreamed that her ward was to be the object of the chase. In the evening the whole company took up their quarters at the convent of St. Peter. Andrew had just retired to his chamber when a familiar voice called him into the adjoining room, in order to discuss some grave questions. The unsuspecting youth, anticipating no evil, left his chamber, but no sooner had he crossed the threshold when the door was locked behind him by his secretary. The assassins lying in wait fell upon their victim at once and strangled him; his cries for help remaining unheeded. His dead body they then dragged to the balcony and precipitated it into the garden below. Whilst this bloody scene was enacted, Joanna slept soundly, undisturbed by the scuffle at her door, and cries of distress of her husband. She afterwards gave the explanation that she had been put under a spell by a witch.

There was mourning at the castle of VisegrÁd at the sad tidings. Louis swore dire vengeance, and the nation enthusiastically took up arms to support him. From abroad there arrived but voices of sympathy. The Italian princes offered his armies free transit through their territories; Louis, the excommunicated German Emperor, entered into an alliance with the king; Edward III., the King of England, while condoling with him, spurred him on to revenge; the Pope alone maintained an ominous silence. This time, however, the desire for revenge proved stronger with the king than his reverence for the Pope, and in 1347 the Hungarian army was ready to march. To punish a faithless woman and not to conquer Italy was the object of their expedition, and the Italian princes were glad to afford the king’s army every facility to reach the proposed goal.

All the great lords of the realm rallied round the king. A large black flag was carried in front of the Hungarian army and on it was depicted the pale face of Andrew. On two occasions they were led by the king against Naples, and each time he was accompanied by the most distinguished Hungarian families. Michael Kont, Andrew and Stephen Laczfy, with Dionysius, the son of the latter, and a host of others, brought with them their armed trains, by whose mighty blows both Aversa, of mournful memory, and proud Naples were soon reduced. Queen Joanna, with her second husband, Louis of Taranto, escaped beyond the sea. Louis of Durazzo, one of the intriguing dukes who was suspected of having been an accessory to the murder, expiated his crime by being killed after a gay carouse and thrown down from the same balcony which had witnessed the foul deed of the conspirators. Four other dukes were carried to Hungary as prisoners. King Louis himself was always foremost in battle and received grave wounds on more than one occasion. But his chief desire—to punish Joanna—was not gratified and at length he entrusted the Pope with the sentence to be pronounced against her. The Pope, however, declared her innocent of the crime of murder, imputed to her, but mulcted her in a fine of 300,000 ducats as a restitution of the expenditures of the campaign. The chivalrous king spurned the blood-money and left the punishment of guilty Joanna to a more upright judge—to Providence. And Providence dealt more severely with the queenly culprit than the successor to St. Peter’s see had done. Charles of Durazzo, called also Charles the Little, son of Louis of Durazzo, having conquered the throne of Naples, ordered Queen Joanna in 1382, thirty-seven years after the commission of her crime, to be thrown into prison, where she met her death by strangling.

During the Italian campaign Hungary was also called upon to meet another enemy in the East. Roving populations were making constant inroads on the eastern border, harassing the Hungarian inhabitants, who had by this time become accustomed to the peaceful avocations of the husbandman and tradesman. The victorious arms of King Louis soon put an end to those lawless incursions. But one of the most beautiful legends of Hungarian history is connected with one of the campaigns against these marauding populations. Kieystut, the Prince of Lithuania, after having been defeated several years before, broke into Transylvania with an army considerably swelled by the accession of a numerous body of Tartars. The king sent Louis Laczfy, the vayvode of Transylvania, against him, and the brave SzÉkely people followed in his train. But the Hungarian army was small and the issue of the battle remained for a long time doubtful. The legend tells that the news of the peril threatening the Hungarian arms reached Grosswardein, where St. Ladislaus lay buried, and that the heroic saint, leaving his grave, bestrode the bronze horse of his own statue, which stood in the centre of the public square, and hurried off to the relief of his distressed countrymen. The Tartars were struck with the apparition of a warrior “who towered over them head and shoulders,” and above whom was visible the holy Virgin Mary, the patroness of Hungary. The pagans were seized with terror at this sight, and the battle ended in a brilliant victory for the Hungarians.

The arms of the king were no less successful in Servia where he was about “to kindle the light of faith.” But the most glorious of his wars was the one carried on against proud Venice, which continued during the greater portion of his reign. Her enemies, especially Genoa, willingly sided with the king of Hungary, and the ultimate result was the utter humiliation of the city of St. Mark. At last, in 1381, one year before the king’s death, peace was concluded between the two belligerents, a peace of which the Hungarians had every reason to be proud, for by its terms Dalmatia was unconditionally annexed to Hungary, and Venice herself had to send the Hungarian king, annually on St. Stephen’s Day, the 20th of August, a tribute of 7,000 ducats. As an indication of the high esteem in which the name of Hungary was held at that time, it is interesting to learn that foreign rulers sent their children to the Hungarian court to be educated, and the inference is not a strained one that the court of Louis must have been a centre of the European culture and refinement of that day. The spouse selected by the king, Elizabeth, the daughter of Stephen, the Prince of Bosnia, had herself been sent to the court to be trained in courtly accomplishments. At the Hungarian court also, Charles IV., the Emperor of Germany, wooed Anna, the Duchess of Schweidnitz, his future empress. These two rulers were united by ties of close friendship, until the discontent of the Germans with “the stepfather of their country,” as they called Charles IV., ripened a scheme to transfer the German crown to the Hungarian king. Although King Louis refused to accept the crown proffered to him, the sting remained, and his imperial friend became his deadly enemy. The emperor persisted in indulging in his unfounded suspicions of the king’s good faith, and so far forgot himself as to speak insultingly of the king and his exalted mother. The Hungarian ambassadors at the emperor’s court, incensed at the affront done to their master, challenged the emperor to mortal combat. But he cravenly declined to accept the challenge, whereupon they declared war in the name of their king. Louis, who almost worshipped his mother, approved of the proceedings of his ambassadors, and sent the emperor an insulting letter, in which he declared that nothing better might be expected from a drunkard. Very soon a large army of Kuns devastated Moravia, until, at length, after a warfare of several years, the humiliated emperor begged for peace, obtaining the Pope’s intercession in his behalf. Peace was at last concluded, and matrimonial alliances were to make it doubly sure. Sigismund, the emperor’s son, was betrothed to Mary, the king’s daughter.

In the latter half of the fourteenth century Christianity in Europe was threatened by a new foe. The warlike followers of Osman had, by the capture of Adrianople firmly laid the foundations of their powerful empire in Europe. Youths, forcibly taken at a tender age from their Christian parents, and educated afterwards in implicit obedience to the behests of the Sultan, were rigorously trained as soldiers after the most approved fashion of the day, and the troops thus obtained were destined to become the most formidable aid in the building of the Ottoman power in Europe. The Eastern empire had sunk too low, at that time, to be able, single-handed, to resist such a power, and she lost her strongholds, one after the other. In this strait her ruler resorted to one of those deceitful devices characterizing the policy of the Eastern court. John PalÆologos, the Eastern emperor, proceeded to the court of the king of Hungary, at Buda, and, promising to give in his adhesion to the Western Church, he asked the aid of Louis against the savage enemy. The “Banner-bearer of the Church,” as the king of Hungary was styled by the Pope, deemed it his duty, under these circumstances, to come to the rescue of the distressed emperor, and shortly afterwards the two kindred nations, the Turks and the Hungarians, met in hostile array on the banks of the Maritza. This was the first warlike contest of the two nations. It resulted in the victory of 20,000 Hungarians over a Turkish army four times as large, a victory commemorated to this day by the treasures and appropriate inscriptions still to be seen at the church of Mariazell in Styria.

Casimir, the last Polish king of the house of Piast, died on the 5th of November, 1370. His death was caused by an injury contracted in falling from his horse during the chase.

On the 17th of the same month Louis was crowned King of Poland, at Cracow, by the Archbishop of Gnesen. At the very moment when he was about to reach the goal of the highest ambition of his predecessor, and of himself, Louis seemed to waver, and to doubt the expediency of accepting the crown. He could not help reflecting that governing two nations, which were united by no other tie except his own person, and defending them against their enemies, might prove a task to which one king was not equal. He nevertheless accepted the crown, but his sinister presentiments were fated speedily to be confirmed. The Polish lords were not used to an energetic rule. The nobles of Little and Great Poland were eager, each for themselves, to secure the offices of state, but both equally hated the queen-mother sent there to rule. The country soon fell a prey to internal dissensions and strife, compelling the queen to fly from the land, in which a new pretender had appeared. This pretender to the throne was a kinsman of the late king of Poland, and had retired to a convent in France in the lifetime of Casimir. His ambition made him exchange the cassock for armor, and a large portion of the people of Poland very soon acknowledged him to be their king. But his royalty was of short duration; the army of the adventurer was scattered by the adherents of King Louis.

The Lithuanians, whom we have before mentioned as being driven back by Andrew Laczfy, now took advantage of the disorders prevailing in Poland, and succeeded in securing such a foothold in that country that one of their dukes, Jagello, who was converted to Christianity, and subsequently married Hedvig, the daughter of King Louis, became in the course of a few years the founder of a new Polish dynasty, the Jagellons, a dynasty of mournful memory in the history of Hungary.

The last days of Louis were embittered by the disorders in Poland. He who had succeeded everywhere else failed there. Disappointment shortened his life; upon returning to Tyrnau on the 11th of September, 1382, from attending the Polish diet convened in Hungary, he was taken ill, and breathed there his last. The Hungarian nation lost in him one of their greatest kings. His reign was stormy but glorious. The Hungarian banner floated always victoriously on his numerous battlefields, and he humbled the enemies of the nation. In spite of his many wars, Louis found leisure to devote his time to the cultivation of the arts of peace. He gave laws to his country, which secured her permanence, and remained in force up to the most recent ages. He brought order into the affairs of the Church, and into the administration of justice. He was a zealous patron of learning, and established a university at FÜnfkirchen (PÉcs). His court, the seat of which he fixed at Buda, was brilliant; the Western customs, brought over from Italy, prevailing there. In times of peace magnificent tilts and tournaments at home took the place of the bloody game of war abroad, and the distribution of arms and knightly distinctions introduced by his father continued during his reign on even a larger scale. On all occasions Louis showed himself to be a brave, wise, and pious king, whose long rule is described by an eminent Hungarian historian as proving “a continued blessing” for his nation.

Dark days succeeded the glorious reign of Louis. The Hungarian nation was eager to testify their gratitude to their great king by a concession made to his dynasty—notwithstanding its foreign origin,—which they had refused to make to the glorious dynasty of the native ÁrpÁd family. After the king’s death his daughter Mary was proclaimed queen and the crown conferred upon her. But the crown brought little joy to Mary, for the festivities of the coronation were hardly finished when she was menaced by dangers coming from two sides. The Poles hated Sigismund, to whom Mary was affianced, and insisted also that their ruler should live amongst them. Elizabeth, the queen-mother, in order to conciliate the opposition of the Poles, and not to risk the loss of Poland, offered them, as a substitute for Mary, her younger daughter Hedvig. The Poles agreed to this compromise, upon the condition that they should select a husband for Hedvig, their queen. It was a great trial for Hedvig to part from William, Duke of Austria, to whom she was betrothed, but her choice lay between him and the crown of Poland. The allurements of the latter prevailed, and in February, 1386, the Polish nation celebrated the nuptials of their queen with the Lithuanian duke, Jagello, recently converted to Christianity, whom they had chosen for her husband. This marriage put an end to the union of the two countries, and Poland had once more a ruler of her own.

There was greater danger threatening Hungary from the south. The nobles of Croatia were dissatisfied with female rule. There were some ambitious men who were incensed to see themselves excluded from the royal court, whilst a man of low descent, like Garay, the palatine, took the lead there. They were intent upon destroying the government in order to remove the queen. In Charles of Durazzo, who owed the throne of Naples to Louis the Great, they found a man who was willing to become a candidate for the throne of Hungary. The traitors, however, on the appearance in their midst of the energetic Garay, accompanied by the queen and the queen-mother Elizabeth, kept quiet for a while. But no sooner had the royal party left Croatia, when these men, who all owed their honors to the favor of the late king, resumed their machinations, and prevailed upon Charles of Durazzo to perjure himself and to break the oath he had pledged to the late king not to disturb his daughter Mary in the possession of her throne. In 1385, undeterred by the warnings of his wife, he arrived in Croatia.

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.

The fortunes of war were once more propitious to the Hungarians—in their war against Venice—but for several years afterwards history records nothing but a long series of uninterrupted disasters. The war with Venice was carried on to get possession of the littoral islands and cities. Venice was shamefully beaten, and the peace-suing ambassadors of the proud city of St. Mark had to undergo the humiliation of seeing before their very eyes nineteen of their flags torn to pieces in the streets of Buda. But the new banners of Venice were soon destined to be victoriously planted on the Hungarian littoral territory, and Sigismund was compelled to sign a peace by which the nation lost her seacoast possessions. And while the power of Venice was curtailing the country in the south, the richest towns in the north were being lost through the recklessness of Sigismund. In order to extricate himself from financial embarrassments he hypothecated to Ladislaus, the king of Poland, thirteen of the wealthiest cities of the Szepes country, which was largely settled by German merchants and tradesmen. These places remained hypothecated until the first partition of Poland, 1772, when Hungary was reinstated in the full possession of the mortgaged towns. After arranging these affairs the king went abroad, where he remained for six years. During his absence the country, owing to the despotic rule of Barbara, his queen, became a prey to disorder. It would cover pages unprofitably to give a detailed account of the private affairs of the wanton queen, and, passing over these, we shall accompany her royal husband on his journey to the Council of Constance.

The condition of the Church of Rome was at that period a most lamentable one. The question of reforms within the Church became from day to day more pressing. Wycliffe, the Englishman, had the boldness to assume the rÔle of a heretic. John Huss, the rector of the university of Prague, soon became a zealous propagator of his teachings. The majority of the inhabitants of Bohemia embraced the new tenets, assuming, after their leader, the name of “Hussites.” One of the chief objects of the Council of Constance—1414-1418—was to extirpate heresy, and to exterminate its votaries. Numerous ecclesiastical and lay lords gathered at Constance to advise together under the guidance of the emperor-king, who presided. The attending Hungarian magnates deemed it due to their fame and dignity to indulge in the most extravagant luxury. The emperor-king felt constrained to eclipse his subjects in sumptuous display on such an occasion, and, in order to accomplish this, he had to sell Brandenburg to Frederick of Hohenzollern, and there can be no doubt that through this sale he unwittingly contributed to the future greatness of the present imperial dynasty in Germany. We will not attempt to describe here the Council of Constance, but need only mention that it was the treachery and bad faith of Sigismund which caused the tragic end and martyrdom of John Huss. His disciples vowed vengeance, and Hungary, of all the dominions of the emperor-king, was, during many years, most exposed to their cruel devastations.

After an absence of six years, during which Sigismund had visited Germany, France, Italy, and England, he at length returned to Hungary. He found the country unsettled, and menaced on two sides by powerful enemies. Having sent his wife, the cause of the internal disorders, to prison, he led an army against the Turks, who were threatening the southern portion of the country. Before describing the events of that campaign let us cast a rapid glance at the condition of the Moslem world in Europe. A dreadful blow had fallen on the Ottoman empire in July, 1402. Timur, the Central-Asian conqueror, destroyed the Turkish army near Angora, and captured the person of the redoubtable Bajazet himself. The impaired power of the Ottoman empire was still more weakened by the internecine strife between Bajazet’s sons. Mohammed I. emerged at last as the victorious sultan, and in his person the warlike qualities of his ancestors reappeared once more on the throne of the Osmanlis. The rulers of Servia and Moldavia very soon acknowledged his sovereignty. Hervoja, the Bosnian boyar, followed their example. The three captains of Sigismund, John MarÓty, John Garay, and Paul Csupor, marched against the latter. The engagement resulted in the victory of Hervoja. Csupor was taken prisoner, while his fellow-captains sought safety in an ignominious flight. Csupor, years ago, had scoffingly greeted Hervoja, when at the Hungarian court, by bellowing like an ox, and the victor, now remembering the affront put upon him, revenged himself by having the ill-fated captain sewn into an ox’s skin, and telling him: “Now thou canst bellow as much as thou likest; thou hast also the shape of an ox.” He caused him to be thrown into the water, where he was drowned.

Meanwhile Stephen Lazarevitch, the Prince of Servia, became weary of the Turkish alliance, and with a view to securing to his nephew, George Brankovitch, the succession in Servia, he sought the aid of Sigismund, offering to surrender to him several important fortified places along the Danube for his services. The Prince of Servia died in 1428, and Sigismund claimed the possession of the places promised to him. The Servian commander of GalambÓcz, one of the strongest of these fortresses, however, treacherously allowed it to pass into the hands of the Turks. It was to re-possess himself of this fortress, which he could not permit to remain in Moslem hands, that Sigismund marched against the enemy. He had nearly succeeded in capturing it, when news reached him that Sultan Murad II. was approaching. Sigismund did not dare to engage in battle with such overpowering numbers, and having stipulated for himself and his army free passage, he pusillanimously gave up the siege. Yet the Hungarians were just beginning to cross the Danube, when the Turks, breaking faith, attacked them. Sigismund himself was in great danger, and he owed his escape only to the heroism of Cecilia Rozgonyi, the wife of the captain-in-chief, who facilitated his flight in a galley steered by herself. This was Sigismund’s last armed encounter with the Turks, and its issue did by no means add to his laurels.

The remaining years of Sigismund’s reign were taken up with the organization of the defences of the country and with continual warfare against the Czech Hussites in the north. Wenceslaus, the king of Bohemia, died in 1419, and Sigismund endeavored to obtain his brother’s crown. The Czechs hated the executioner of their beloved spiritual teacher, and conceded to Sigismund the Bohemian crown only after a hard and protracted struggle. Hungary had to suffer for the ambition of her king, for, during these struggles, the exasperated Czechs, on more than one occasion, laid waste her territories in the north-west. Sigismund, however, did not allow himself to be deterred from pursuing his aim. Acting upon the principle of divide et regna, he very sensibly conciliated a portion of the Czechs by granting them religious reforms, and whilst the people were desperately fighting among themselves he succeeded in securing the crown of Bohemia.

Sigismund may be said to have reached the goal of all his wishes. He united on his head the crowns of imperial Germany, Hungary, and Bohemia. Yet, on the whole, he was not a happy man. His wife Barbara had regained her freedom and was embittering the last days of the sickly monarch. This ambitious woman coveted the crown of Hungary, and in order to obtain it she was scheming, first of all, to hinder the succession of Albert, the son-in-law of the emperor-king. With this view she entered into negotiations with Ladislaus III., the king of Poland, the purport of which was that he should marry her after Sigismund’s demise, and thus unite the dominions of the king of Hungary with Poland. The arrangement was nearly concluded when these intrigues were discovered by Sigismund. He deprived his wife once more of her liberty, and hastened from Bohemia to Hungary to prevail upon the Estates to accept Albert’s succession, and then to turn his steps towards Transylvania to put down the rebellion that had broken out there. The peasantry of Transylvania, having a leaning towards the teachings of Huss, were exposed to constant persecutions. They were also oppressed by burdensome taxes, and finally, goaded on by their unhappy condition, they rose in arms against their tyrants. The massacred nobility and burning villages bore witness to the exasperation of the peasantry. Fate prevented Sigismund from either meeting the estates or quelling the Transylvanian rising. He was overtaken by death at Znaym, in Moravia, in December, 1437. His dead body and the captive queen arrived in Hungary one week later. His remains were conveyed from Presburg to Grosswardein to be placed there by the side of his first wife, Mary, and at the feet of St. Ladislaus. It is rather saddening to reflect that, after a reign of fifty years, his funeral procession should have been lighted by the glare from the burning villages of Transylvania, set on fire by her own peasantry.