Seeds of Separation – From Szatmar To Satu Mare (The Lost Lands #13)

The more I learned about Satu Mare in the 20^th century, the more I believed it had suffered from a terrible run of luck. The dreadful situation Satu Mare found itself in on multiple occasions seemed unique. Surely this was the only time in Satu Mare’s history that it found itself repeatedly in the crosshairs of history. When I took a deeper dive into the city’s history, I discovered that Satu Mare had been through other tumultuous times, one of which occurred with alarming frequency. Learning this taught me just how much upheaval can be found in history if you are willing to dig deep enough.

Szatmar Castle – Island fortress

Invasive Species – Wave After Wave
The violence and chaos that occurred in Satu Mare from 1918 to 1945 was exceptional, but not unprecedented. There have been other calamitous times in the city’s history. In some of those cases Satu Mare was the target, rather than collateral damage. Invasions led to devastation and occupation. Such cases are not well known for a simple reason, they occurred hundreds of years ago and are obscured by more recent cataclysms. Satu Mare’s deeper past led me to wonder why it was prone to upheaval on numerous occasions. First and foremost, the city is not unique in the annals of Eastern European history. The region has suffered wave after wave of invasions by outside forces attempting to assert control. The invaders had a habit of sweeping all that stood before them. The Hungarians were successful in doing this at the end of the 9^th century. Three and a half centuries later, they were on the receiving end of another rampaging horde.

The Mongol Invasion in 1241-1242 stormed across Hungary, killing half the population. Along the way it obliterated Satu Mare. This was the beginning of a recurring trend, where Satu Mare (then known as Szatmar) was threatened by invaders from all points of the compass. Germans from the north and west, the Ottoman Turks from the south, and Soviets from the east. Satu Mare, much like the rest of Eastern Europe, does not have easily defensible frontiers. This leaves it open to attack. The Carpathian Basin is exposed from all sides. In military terms, it is always best to hold high ground. Those who inhabit basins are at a disadvantage. Armies have repeatedly found Satu Mare a target too good to pass up.

Satu Mare also suffered at the hands of invaders due to its location on a regional fault line during the 16^th and 17^th centuries. The city was located at a tripoint where the border of Royal (Habsburg) Hungary, Transylvania, and Ottoman occupied Hungary collided. This fact has been lost to all but history. So much time has passed since then that it is easy to forget just how violent these borderlands were four hundred years ago. The border between the Ottoman occupied areas and Hungary-Croatia stretched for a thousand kilometers. A vast and lawless no man’s land where banditry, massacres, and slave raiding were rife. Skirmishes, battles, and full-scale wars were fought along the border. These bitter struggles were marked by depopulation and despoliation of the landscape.

Keeping the powder dry – Szatmar Castle

Collision Course – Szatmar Castle
For any place to have a chance of survival in such a brutal environment it had to be heavily fortified. Satu Mare used to have one of the strongest castles in Eastern Europe. The reputation of Szatmar Castle is such that even today, it warrants numerous mentions in Hungarian museums. For the longest time, I wondered where Szatmar Castle was located and if it could be visited. That is impossible since it was destroyed in the early 18^th century. What a sight Szatmar Castle must have been. The castle was surrounded on several sides by the Somos (Szatmar) River. The marshy terrain and stout defensive works made it extremely difficult for enemy armies to take it. That never stopped them from trying to subdue it on multiple occasions. Those efforts sometimes met with success. The prize of holding such a strongly fortified work at an important strategic junction made it worth an attempt. This was an opportunity few armies could pass up.

During the 16^th and 17^th centuries, Hungary was caught in a life-or-death struggle for its existence not only with the Ottoman Turks, but also the Habsburgs who took it upon themselves to help Hungary’s cause by taking a large swath of it under their control. The three-way fight between Hungarians, Habsburgs (with a sizable proportion of Hungarians aligned with them), and the Turks put Szatmar Castle at the center of the military fight for supremacy. Though west of the Carpathians, Szatmar Castle guarded the entrance to Transylvania which was autonomous during this time. Battles for the castle ensued between the Habsburgs, Turks, and Hungarians (both from Upper Hungary and Transylvania). It was also of prime economic importance because the lucrative salt trade from the nearby mine at Deskana flowed through Szatmar.

Military forces clashed multiple times as they battled to take the stronghold. The most intense period occurred from 1645 to 1691. On at least nine occasions Hungarian, Turkish, Habsburg, and Polish military forces were involved in attacks on Szatmar Castle. The castle changed hands five times during that period. Only when the Habsburgs emerged as the final victors in the early 18^th century did Szatmar find peace. By that time, tens of thousands had lost their lives. The 20^th century was a terrible time for Satu Mare, the latter half of the 17^th century matched it.

Minaret mimic – Fire tower in Satu Mare (Credit: Zsolt Balog)

Staking Claims – Depopulation & Repopulation
Hungarian territory was so depopulated by perpetual warfare during the Ottoman occupation (1526 – 1686) that after it was reconquered, the Habsburgs settled Swabians, Serbs, Slovaks, and Romanians throughout the Kingdom of Hungary. The percentage of Hungarians compared to other ethnic groups was irreparably altered. This would come back to haunt Hungary in the Treaty of Trianon when those groups were able to claim a share of Hungarian territory. The seeds of separation for the lost lands of historic Hungary were sown by the interminable fighting over places like Szatmar. Hundreds of thousands of Hungarians died fighting for their soil in the 16^th and 17^th century. The upshot was that in the 20^th century other ethnic groups would take it. This history goes some way in explaining how Szatmar became Satu Mare.

Click here for: Dreams & Nightmares – The Journey To Berehove (The Lost Lands #14)

A Disastrous Precedent – Medieval Hungary: The Battle of Lechfeld (Part Two)

History does not often repeat itself, at least as much as we might like to believe that it does. It might be better to say that it rhymes, rather than repeats. This was true regarding two distinct battles on the Lechfeld with radically different results. In 955, the Hungarians were returning to the scene of one of their greatest victories. Almost a half century earlier in 910, they had defeated ethnic German forces from East Francia and Swabia, on a flood plain approximately forty kilometers (25 miles) south of Augsberg on the Lechfeld. The victory sent the inhabitants of these German lands scurrying back inside their fortified cities, while the Hungarian forces were free to loot and pillage the countryside.

During the early 10^th century, armies in the Kingdom of East Francia (inhabited by Germans) were unable to cope with the Hungarians’ speed and flexibility. They conducted skilled ambushes followed up with vicious counterattacks. There was also a great deal of disunity, civil wars, and internal divisiveness in German lands. Thus, the Hungarian’s strength had much to do with their opponent’s weaknesses. While they were a formidable fighting force, the Hungarian warriors were also lucky to strike at a moment of weakness. This would not last forever, but while it did Central Europe was at their mercy. As Hungarian forces once again closed in on Augsburg in 955 it looked like the same thing might happen again, but significant changes in the balance of power had taken place in the preceding decades.

Fighting to the finish – The Battle of Lechfeld on an illustration in a medieval codex (Credit: Hektor Mulich)

Fortifying the Kingdom – A Family Affair
In 919, Henry I (also known as Henry the Fowler) who was already the Duke of Saxony became King of East Francia. He now ruled over the German lands that the Hungarians had ravaged for the past quarter century. In 926, he decided to pay a tribute to the Hungarians which was to keep them bound to a truce for the next nine years. He then put into motion military reforms that proved important to strengthening his kingdom’s defenses. Henry created a strong infantry force of soldier-farmers to staff a series of fortified strongholds that the inhabitants could retreat to in time of war. This defense in depth system would make incursions much more difficult to conduct. The Hungarians would discover this in 933 when they invaded after Henry refused to keep paying the tribute.

Henry’s forces used the fortified strongholds to mount attacks from which they devastated smaller raiding parties of the Hungarians. Then Henry baited their main force into attacking and fighting his heavy cavalry. This led to the Hungarian’s defeat at the Battle of Riade. Most were able to escape, but now they had second thoughts about mounting attacks in East Francia. Their raids of plunder came to a temporary halt, but they were far from over. Henry’s reforms would benefit his son and successor Otto I who came to power in 936.

Like his father, Otto had to contend with the Hungarian menace. An ominous warning of that ever-present danger occurred in 954 when the Hungarians pulled off a raid of incredible scale and duration. It was a steppe nomad version of the Grand Tour of Europe. Starting in Bavaria they struck out to the west, crossing the Rhine, marauding into Lorraine, and making their way as far as northwestern Europe. They then moved south by cutting a wide swath of destruction across France, moving down into northern Italy before heading home by recrossing the Alps. The Hungarians did not realize it at the time, but this was to be their last far-flung foray deep into western Europe.

Otto the Great – Depiction on his 10th century seal (Credit: Otto Posse)

Perfect Execution – A Counterattack & Calamity
In 955 the Hungarians put Augsburg under siege. The garrison would not be able to hold out long against a sizable force of Hungarian warriors. The leaders of Augsburg issued a call for help answered by Otto, who had become a formidable military and political figure. He had been in power nineteen years and had proven to be a unifying force. He moved quickly with a mixed force of Bavarians, Swabians, Franconians and Bohemians numbering approximately 8,000 men. When the Hungarians realized what was happening, they lifted the siege and prepared to fight Otto’s army. The latter decided to avoid open ground where the Hungarians could enjoy their usual tactical advantage. Broken ground made it difficult for the Hungarians to employ their hit and run tactics.

The Hungarians started the battle with their usually successful stratagem of feigning a frontal attack. At the same time, a large detachment made their way around one of the flanks of Otto’s army. They then proceeded to attack and rout the Bohemian force guarding Otto’s baggage train. The Hungarians followed this up by attacking the rear. Otto moved swiftly to fend off this attack by sending a Franconian legion to assist his beleaguered Swabians on his left wing. The Franconians unleashed an attack of such ferocity that it turned the tide of battle. This sudden turn of fortune shocked the Hungarians. Adding to their woes, heavy rain had rendered their bows useless.

Otto ordered his entire battle line to make a concerted frontal assault on the Hungarians who were lightly armored. The heavily armored German force pressed its advantage and broke the Hungarian lines which fled in disorder. Over the coming days, the Germans would hunt down the Hungarian warriors. Otto I had astutely ordered Bavarians to guard the river fords and not allow the Hungarians to cross. The Lech was swollen by heavy rainfall. With the river at flood stage, the Hungarians found themselves trapped. They were subsequently slaughtered in piecemeal fashion. The main prizes were three Hungarian chiefs brought to Augsburg and executed by Otto’s forces.

A river too far – The Lech River near Augsburg

Putting Them In Their Place – A Decisive Conflict
Otto I’s victory was a turning point in Central and Eastern European history. Seven years later, he became the Holy Roman Emperor. Meanwhile, the Hungarians retreated to the Carpathian Basin which would become their permanent home. Their raids in German lands were now history. The Battle of Lechfeld decided the Hungarian’s geographical situation in Europe. A location they continue to inhabit up through today. The Battle of Lechfeld was one of the most decisive battles in European history. It was the first of many fateful losses to come for Hungarian military forces, a trend that would continue all the way into the 20^th century.

 

Taking It to The Limit – Medieval Hungary: The Battle of Lechfeld (Part One)

The history of Hungary is replete with military conflicts. The battle and wars Hungary lost are viewed as more notable – by both Hungarians and foreign history buffs – than those that it won. The prominence of such battles in the national psyche is apparent to those who study Hungary’s conflicted history. Anyone who has even a superficial sense of Hungarian history is still likely to have heard of the Battle of Mohacs in 1526. It is noteworthy as the seminal military disaster in Hungarian history and one that had long lasting demographic ramifications. The focus on battlefield defeats, including the siege and surrender of Przemysl in World War I and the Don River campaign in World War II, continues in more recent times. A number of these battles – Mohacs excepted – occurred outside of historically Hungarian lands. They provide cautionary tales on the limits to Hungarian military prowess and expansion of power beyond the Carpathian Basin. These defeats, along with a couple of revolutions in 1848-49 and 1956 that failed at least in part due to losses on the battlefield, are frequently referenced by Hungarians.

The heat of battle – Artistic depiction of the Battle of Lechfeld from the 19th century (Credit :Michael Echter)

Turning Point – Marking the Historical Moment
Historians and cultural commentators have noticed that Hungarians often dwell upon these defeats to the point that they have become an unhealthy passion. As if they need another historical downer, the Hungarians can look back to their earliest history in Europe and find yet another lost cause. One of the most decisive and historic defeats in Hungarian history is also one of the least discussed. Few people are likely to have heard about the Battle of Lechfeld in the year 955 which occurred 550 kilometers west of Hungary’s current western border. That is a shame because this was one of the great turning points in the history of both Hungary and Central Europe.

It marks the moment when any hope Hungarians may have had to extend their conquests further westward ended. It also marked the end of a half century where the Hungarians roamed at will across Central and Western Europe, ravaging the countryside while gaining a ferocious reputation. The battle still occupies a place in medieval history books, but mostly dealing with the Germanic peoples involved and the rise of Otto I who would come to rule over the Holy Roman Empire. The Hungarian defeat almost seems an afterthought. At the time, it was quite the opposite. Lechfeld is a battle that deserves a wider audience.

Finding their way – Hungarian raids in the 9th & 10th century (Credit: Csanády)

Dark Ages – Shedding Light on the Shadows
The Battle of Lechfeld is named after a geographical feature, the flood plain of the Lech River south of Augsburg in Bavaria. The name is revealing since geography, along with climatic conditions played an outsized role in deciding the battle. The location and date of the battle provides an indication of why it gets less notice as a historical turning point in Hungarian history. The battle took place deep in Bavaria at a location that today is closer to Berlin than Budapest. What were Hungarians doing fighting a battle so far west of the Carpathian Basin? At the time, Hungarian lands were still quite fluid. During the first half of the 10^th century, the Hungarians swept across most of western Europe, raiding as far afield as northern Italy, southern France, and Spain. These raids were a product of their rapacious desire to plunder. The Hungarians were pagans who saw Christian parts of Europe as an opportunity to pillage with impunity. Leaders in these far-off lands also used the Hungarians against their enemies. Calling them in to cause calamity among domestic foes.

The date of the Battle of Lechfeld serves to obscure, rather than stimulate interest in what occurred during August of 955 in the Bavarian countryside. To an American such as myself, medieval might as well mean ancient history. Lechfeld took place over five hundred years prior to Europeans setting foot in North America. The battle took place just fifty-nine years after the Magyars (the Hungarians name for themselves) entered and conquered the Carpathian Basin. There is a lack of diverse primary source documents. The two most reliable accounts, one from a Prince Bishop involved in the battle and the other a Saxon chronicler are both told from a Germanic perspective. The lack of sources is revealing.

The early Middle Ages were also known as the Dark Ages for good reason. The main one is that scholars have compared the economic, political, and cultural decline of this age to other historical periods that were more enlightened. There is another reason this age was dark. The written sources, especially when compared to other historical eras are comparatively rare. There are gaps in knowledge that have yet to be bridged. Myth and legend often fill the void where information is lacking. Even the specific location of where the Battle of Lechfeld took place is still open to conjecture. This means that trying to decide exactly what happened is still open to speculation. The general outline of the battle is known, anything beyond that falls into a historical vacuum. This makes the battle still something of a mystery and intriguing for historical detective work. Trying to discern what happened and where is more than just a novel enterprise, it also can help tell the story of one of the most important battles of the Middle Ages.

Raising the standard – Lithograph of the Battle of Lechfeld

Lightning Speed – Closing in On The Enemy
It is hard to understand just how feared the Hungarians were in central and western Europe during the mid-10^th century. Their cavalry, often in small groups, would move with lightning speed across the landscape burning villages and taking anything of value they could carry away on horseback. At a time when long distance communication was virtually nil, the Hungarians would suddenly arrive and attack before their victims could organize any resistance. There seemed to be nowhere in western Europe that was off limits to these steppe nomads who harnessed a combination of horsepower and deadly accuracy as archers to sweep away all resistance. Just how far west they would go was still an open question. The only thing that could stop them was a formidable army or conditions beyond their control. They would eventually run into both on the Lechfeld.

Click here for: A Disastrous Precedent- Medieval Hungary: The Battle of Lechfeld (Part Two)

A Disastrous Precedent – Medieval Hungary: The Battle of Lechfeld (Part Two)

Stairways To Heaven In Gdansk & Eger – Scaling The Heights (Northern Poland & Berlin #50)

We had only been in Gdansk a few hours and the prospect of St. Mary’s Church was already looming before us. The largest brick church in northern Europe would a tough task for two men suffering from sleep deprivation. Jet lag was starting to take hold. Both of us were in a dazed, dreamy state. We stumbled from one street to the next. Too much daylight was left for us to try and sleep. Despite our sleep deprived status, there was no getting around the shock effect of being confronted with St. Mary’s Church (Basilica of St. Mary of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Gdansk) for the first time. St. Mary’s is spiritualism on steroids.  Stepping inside, we spent time wandering around its cavernous interior. That was when we were confronted with an unexpected challenge.

Off to one corner of the church was a cashier selling tickets for those who wanted to climb the church tower. I felt a pulse of energy run through my body. The tower would offer an unforgettable introduction to Gdansk, all we had to do was traverse 400 lung bursting, knee busting steps. We would then have an unsurpassed aerial view of the city and its surroundings. I had never begun a visit to a European city by looking down on it from above. This was an opportunity almost too good to pass up, but we decided to wait. The reason was obvious. Neither of us were in a mental or physical state that would have been conducive to stair climbing. I do not doubt that we could have done it, but there is only so much energy anyone should expend when they have not slept in 24 hours. Scaling the heights of St. Mary’s Church would happen, but not on our first day in Gdansk. The decision was a relief. I knew from experience just how exhausting such climbs can be under the best of circumstances.    

Daunting challenge – St Mary’s Church in Gdansk (Credit: Marcin Daddy)

Spiraling Upward – An Eternal Swirl
The first time I climbed to the top of a sacred structure was in Eger, Hungary a decade ago. The Eger Minaret is the northernmost historic artifact of the Ottoman Empire in Europe. Eger and the Ottomans are synonymous. The city is famous for its successful resistance to the Ottomans during the Siege of Eger in 1556. This is famously portrayed in Geza Gardonyi’s novel Eclipse of the Crescent Moon, which is required reading for every Hungarian student. Another crescent moon used to hang over Eger, the one that topped the 40-meter (131 feet) tall minaret. Today it is surmounted by a cross.

I first spied the minaret from the castle. The attraction was magnetic. I made the minaret my next port of call. After paying to enter the stairwell – which consists of 97 steps leading to a viewing at the 26-meter mark, – I realized that this would be no ordinary climb. The conditions were claustrophobic in the extreme. It is rare that I get up close and personal with 400-year-old masonry, but on this occasion that was a given. I rubbed elbows with the sandstone walls. The minaret’s age was so apparent that I could close my eyes and sense it.

Take me higher – Eger Minaret in 1935 (Credit: Foto Fortepan/Ebner)

Bottom To Top – Step By Step Process
Scaling all 97 steps took concentration. Round and round the stairwell ascended to dizzying effect. It spiraled upward into what seemed like an eternal swirl. Vertigo was induced long before I got anywhere near the top. Each step became more difficult. They were as steep as anything I had ever climbed. Lung bursting and knee busting, there was no give to any part of the minaret’s interior. This was a structure that had been built to last. I imagined that all 17 minarets constructed during the period of Ottoman rule (1595 – 1686) in Eger were much like this one. The difference was that the Eger Minaret managed to outlast all the others despite the best efforts of post-Ottoman authorities to pull it down. Their most notable failed attempt involved 400 oxen and a rope in a massive heave ho. The minaret did not budge.

I used the minaret’s durability as leverage to help make my way to the top. Scaling it was more than just an insidious exercise in stair stepping. Going ever upward in head spinning circles was best done by burying a shoulder into the sandstone wall. This provided much needed support. I tried not to look down. One slip, trip or fall could turn into a deadly experience. Fortunately, the stairs had been constructed in such a way that falling seemed possible, but not probable. All I really had to do was keep lifting my legs while focusing on the next step in front of me. This was easier said than done because the steps were much higher than any I had ever climbed before. Each required me to lift my knees to waist level. This was particularly exhausting. I was using my thigh muscles to save my knees from buckling.

Vertigo inducing – Climbing the Eger Minaret

Stepping Up – Leap of Faith
After several minutes of what amounted to a rapid-fire workout, I arrived at the top. Stepping onto the platform surrounding the minaret, the city looked like a tiny set piece. There was not much between the balcony and a calamitous fall. I immediately discerned that the Eger Minaret may have been a tourist attraction, but it was not built for tourists. I could not imagine what the balcony would have been like with a crowd. There was very little space. The entire time, I kept at least one shoulder up against the minaret. Taking photos was stressful. The Eger Minaret was not for the faint hearted, but that is understandable. Medieval and Renaissance era towers were built with function rather than form in mind. That climbing up the Eger Minaret is still vivid in my memory over a decade later. I imagined that the tower at St. Mary’s Church could not have been more daunting than the minaret. On our first day in Gdansk, neither my friend nor I cared to find out. Scaling St. Mary’s Tower would have to wait, but not for long.

Click here for: Dreams & Disappointments – Climbing St Mary’s Church Tower in Gdansk (Northern Poland & Berlin #51)

A Steeple Floating In The Sky – St. Martin’s Church In Feldebro: The Joy of Rediscovery (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #21)

Two quotes I always keep in mind while traveling around Hungary have come from a couple of my favorite travel partners. They came from my wife and mother in law. My wife once said, “there is something to see in every town and village in Hungary.” To my pleasant surprise I have discovered this to be true on innumerable occasions. Even the most downtrodden village almost always has a church or monument worth visiting. If nothing else, there are the atmospherics of the village with the cock’s crow echoing down dusty streets throughout the day and the sound of bicycle wheels spinning as the villager’s slowly traverse broken pavement. When it comes to travel within Hungary, my wife’s mother sees things very differently.

Though she is quite proud of my interest in Hungarian history, I have often driven her – quite literally – to distraction while traipsing around the countryside in search of some obscure historic site that she feels could not possibly be worth the bother. It was such a journey along country highways in Hungary that caused her to exclaim in frustration, “he stops and looks under every bush.” This was said after we got lost three times in search of a county boundary line. It was a backhanded compliment that I now wear as a badge of honor. I am sure much of my mother in law’s frustration comes from the fact that I have been known to go off course on a trip at the slightest hint of a historic site. Such a side journey brought us a memorable visit to the village of Feldebro and its Aprad Era (11^th-12^th century) church in the Tarna River Valley located in north central Hungary.

A Steeple Floating In The Sky – St. Martin’s Church In Feldebro: The Joy of Rediscovery

A Historic Treasure – Going Back In Time
The journeys usually start with a castle. I scour the map of northeastern and north-central Hungary for any castle within driving distance of my mother-in-law’s home in Debrecen. This has yielded fantastic day trips to castles in Sarospatak, Fuzer, Regec, and Holloko, among other places. The more we do these trips, the less castles there are to visit in these regions. Somehow, I always manage to find another castle that I overlooked. This was how I found Sirok Castle, a magnificently evocative pile at the eastern extent of the Matra mountain range. Getting there was not nearly as difficult as it had been in traveling to some of the other castles in mountainous areas of Hungary. We took the M35 and M3 motorways west from Debrecen, then took an exit to a rural road which led us northward through several villages and towns that seemed to run from one right into another. Along the way we passed through the village of Feldebro (pop. 1000), but I was so focused on Sirok I did not notice anything special about the village. The opposite was true on our return journey.

After visiting Sirok Castle we went back to the town of that same name where we enjoyed a late lunch at a lively restaurant. This respite gave me a chance to pursue my favorite pastime, studying my Cartographia Hungary Classic road map. It showed a red star next to Feldebro, meaning there was a monument, building or church of historical interest in the town. I fixated on that red star. At the very least it was worth investigating the side streets in Feldebro to find out what the red star denoted. Sure enough as soon as we got to Feldebro, I noticed a tall steeple back off the main road. The steeple rose above the village’s cube houses with rust red shingles. I turned us off the main street onto a side road that would take us in the direction of the steeple. I could see my mother in law already frowning. Here I was looking under another bush, but this search yielded a treasure of truly historic proportions.

A historic treasure – St. Martin’s Church in Feldebro

Positively Medieval – Medieval Hungary Between East & West
We pulled in front of St. Martin’s Church, a structure that looked positively medieval because it was. There was the stone church and a unique sub church. The former had been imposed upon the latter. The sub church was recognizable by the stones climbing a quarter of the way up the church’s façade. They had a different coloration. This part of the church had been part of the original Arpad Era structure. It was one of the few that had managed to escape complete destruction during the Mongol invasion in 1241. On this day, the church was closed. Unfortunately, we had no luck finding anyone who could open it to let us see inside. It would have been awe inspiring to view the medieval frescoes that still adorn the walls. Nevertheless, we were able to walk around the church. I snapped a series of stunning photos showing the church from several angles in the mid-afternoon light.

The church was made more dramatic by the fact that the immediate area around it was clear of foliage. Its situation gave the church a dominant presence, dwarfing the viewer. It was a humbling experience to stand outside those walls with the knowledge that the church’s founding went all the way back to the early days of Christianity in Hungary. Uniquely, the church was laid out in the style of a Greek cross. This signifies Eastern Byzantine influence. The tug of war for the spiritual soul of Hungary between East and West plays out in the architecture of the church. The sub-church being subsumed to the rest of the church. This could be seen by the metaphorically inclined as the sub-Church being a stand in for eastern Christianity and the rest of the church as an imposition of western Christianity. Architecture like art, ultimately reflecting history.

Seeing is believing – The sub church visible as part of St Martin’s Church Feldebro

Beating The Bushes – Steeple Chase
The church also has a fascinating historical importance due to one of Hungary’s earliest kings, Samuel Aba (reigned 1041 -1044) having once been buried here. This added gravitas to an already weighty history. The Aba family’s extensive landholdings included Feldebro. The church was used for family burials. Of course, time changes everything, including the history of an area. Feldebro was for one shining period at the heart of Hungarian royalty. Now it was a provincial backwater, a typical Hungarian village, but with one asset that had lasted the test of time. St. Martin’s Church was worth every bit of the time we spent there. It proved what my wife had said about there always being something to see in every Hungarian village. All you need to do is look under a bush or in the case of Feldebro, for a steeple floating in the sky.

Click here for: The Tour Less Taken: Nadasdy Castle In Nadasladany (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #22a)

Journey Into The Unknown – Arpad Era Church At Karcsa: Mapquest (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #14)

The possibilities seemed endless because they were. We left Sarospatak in northeastern Hungary on a dreary winter day. Snow was falling, but not sticking on the roads. Visibility was down to a half mile before it blended into an all consuming grayness. The sky was hidden beneath a cloak of perpetual gloom. This was not the most auspicious beginning for a journey eastward. We had no idea where to go or what we were looking for. Thankfully, my wife was up for an adventure. I was restless after our successful visit to the famous Library at the Sarospatak Reformed College. We still had part of a morning and all the afternoon to travel around the countryside. The weather was problematic, but this did nothing to defeat my ambition to see something of historical value.

An incredible discovery – The Reformed Church at Karcsa

Mysterious Days – Plotting A New Dream
To plan our journey into the unknown, I was armed with a trusty Magyarorszag (Hungary) Classic map by Cartagraphia purchased earlier at a MOL (Hungarian Oil and Gas Public Limited Company) gas station. Every MOL station has racks filled with Cartagraphia maps for sale. The choices on offer include not only maps of Hungary, but also many of the surrounding countries. I have purchased a number of these through the years. They are invaluable aids for dreaming up new travel adventures across Eastern Europe. The Magyarorszag Classic covered the basics in four languages (Hungarian, English, German and French). Looking over the map was a stimulating experience as I could plot out potential discoveries or retrace old travel routes. I was especially enthralled with the small symbols shaped like castles. These denoted famous castles, as well as minor ruins for those who wanted to seek out more obscure sites.

I also could not help but notice the small red stars scattered across the map. These denoted other “tourist sites.” One site in the general vicinity of Saraspatok caught my attention. Just off Highway 381, beside the town of Karcsa, was a red star. This would be easy for us to access by taking a nearby rural highway.  While I had never heard of Karcsa, I found the idea of visiting the mysterious, red starred site marked on the map intriguing. Besides the red star, there was no hint of what exactly could be found there. For all I knew, it could be a misprint. Nevertheless, Karcsa was worth an investigative journey. This was a mystery we would have to solve for ourselves.

Depending upon one’s perspective, the internet’s vast database of information either illuminates or spoils. A search for Karcsa on my phone revealed that there was an Arpad era (1000 – 1301) church still standing in the town. Most Romanesque churches in Hungary were either destroyed or sustained irreparable damage during the Mongol invasion of 1241. Most of these were not rebuilt and those that were morphed into styles quite different from their previous selves. The Romanesque churches that I had visited in Hungary were all quite famous and could be found in the western part of the country at Jak, Lebeny and Zsambek. Each of these had managed to escape the Arpad era relatively unscathed. To find a Romanesque church still standing in northeastern Hungary was a rare find, one well worth exploring.

Mapquest – The route to Karcsa

Outlier – The Knights of St. John in Hungary
The snow did not let up during the half hour drive to Karcsa. The landscape was covered in a wet whiteness that left everything sodden from the half melting snow. As soon as we arrived in Karcsa, we saw a sign on the highway that directed us to the church. My first impression of Karcsa was a lasting one, an oversized village with modest homes lining quiet streets. I got the distinct feeling that change was something that happened only gradually in Karcsa and sometimes not at all. The latter was true of the Reformed Church at Karcsa, which we found amid the town. It was an outlier, a structure that was literally ancient in comparison to everything around it. It was built of brick and stone, materials that were made to last. How else to explain that the church had survived for over nine hundred years in one form or another. Its first iteration, dating all the way back to the 11^th century, consisted of a brick rotunda which still stands today. Round churches were common during the Romanesque period in Hungary and the rotunda of the church at Karcsa was a perfect circle. Unlike most other examples in Hungary, this one was constructed entirely of brick.

Architectural historians have pondered whether the church at Karcsa has more in common with similar examples in the Caucasus (Armenia and Georgia) or those found in western Europe, such as France. Oddly enough, the church at Karcsa is an outlier that may not be related to churches in either region. One scholar has stated that its antecedents may lie in the Balkan region of the Byzantine Empire during the High Middle Ages. The church later underwent two major revisions that added on to the existing structure. These give the church much of its current configuration. The renovations kept the rotunda as a sanctuary, but extended the church with a stone nave, quadrangular chambers, and chapels. These alterations have a great deal in common with French and Italian sacral architecture during this time. It is likely that French and Italian craftsmen were working in the area. They were employed by the Knights of St. John who research has shown were responsible for the two later versions of the church. I was astonished to learn about their involvement. What I found even more fascinating was that this is the only structure left in Hungary associated with the Knights.

Rounding into form – The Reformed Church at Karcsa

Obscure Wonder – An Incredible Find
Because the church was closed, we were unable to go inside of it to view the interior spaces. Instead, we inspected the church’s architectural and aesthetic merits while walking all the way around it. What I found most fascinating about the church had little to do with its structural history. Instead, it was the fact that the church had managed to survive for so long in a region that had experienced wave after wave of transformative change. While the town of Karcsa slowly modernized over the centuries, the church was frozen in time from the late Middle Ages right up through today.

Survival and preservation of the church at Karcsa is an achievement in and of itself, serving as an important reminder of the role that chance and fate play in historic preservation. It was also chance and fate that had brought us to the church. We traveled to Karcsa to solve a mystery through the act of discovery. We discovered not only the church, but a tangible connection to an age in Hungarian history that is all too often obscured by a lack of physical evidence. The church at Karcsa was an incredible find. One that sent me back to the Classic Magyarorzseg map in search of other obscure wonders awaiting discovery in rural Hungary.

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Brought to Ruin – Zelemer: Remnants of Gothic Greatness (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #13)

Going home to Hungary, means going to Debrecen. My wife and I often travel back to her hometown so we can spend time with her family. These visits offer the opportunity to relax. Debrecen is the very definition of laid back. Hungary’s second largest city is the equivalent of urban valium. The traffic is light, the sidewalks uncrowded and the locals quietly go about their business. The only problem with Debrecen is that it can drive a restlessness man to madness. After a couple of days, I begin to feel an innate sense of restlessness. This means it is time to travel. My restlessness has spawned a series of day trips from Debrecen to places both near (Hortobagy National Park, Nyirbator, Tokaj) and far (Gyula, Sarospatak, Regec Castle).

Anywhere we can go by car and return to Debrecen on the same day is fair game. This has led to an exhaustive series of adventures to sites of mild historical interest. I have now begun to worry that one day we will run out of places in the area to visit. This fear manifested itself to the point that we journeyed to the village of Zelemer and an obscure, but important piece of Hungarian history. According to what little I could find online, Zelemer had once been the home of a large medieval church. The only thing left of that church today was a partial ruin. That was good enough for me. On a fine late summer day, we went to see what was left in Zelemer. It was certainly worth the effort.

That lonesome whistle – Train Schedule in Zelemer

Spectacular & Mundane – Worth Waiting On
I had never heard of Zelemer before, but it was surprisingly close to Debrecen, requiring only a twenty minute drive north of the city. Locating the Zelemer church ruin proved more difficult than I imagined. After leaving the main highway, we took another road that led to the village. There was only one problem with this, the church ruin was not in the village of Zelemer, but on its outskirts. I did not realize this until we drove around the entire village several times. We finally found the church ruin by the railway station. The term “railway station” only loosely defined the one at Zelemer. The station looked like it had not been open since the 20^th century. The door was locked, and windows sealed shut. Anyone wanting to take the train waited at a nearby siding where a schedule was conveniently posted. Twelve different trains stopped here each day, many of which went onward to Debrecen. While villagers waited on the train, they could look up at the ruined church which stood on the other side of the tracks.

The setting for the Zelemer church ruin was both spectacular and mundane. The railway line was within a stone’s throw of the church. At any moment, a train might come roaring by. By way of contrast, there was a large corn field on the other side of the ruin. A similar rural landscape must have existed here during the Middle Ages. What little was left of the Zelemer church stood high up on an artificial mound. Once I saw the ruin, it was almost impossible to take my eyes off it. Part of the tower was still intact. It rose 18 meters above the surrounding area. At one time, it would have soared as high as 30 meters. The church would have been an impressive sight for those traveling through the area. It would not have been the only one. The first church at Zelemer was constructed in accordance with a decree from Hungary’s first Christian king, Saint Stephen, who ordered that one church should be constructed at every tenth village. The initial iteration of the church at Zelemer was a Romanesque structure that would have been destroyed when the Mongols swept through the area in 1241.

Standing tall – Zelemer Gothic church ruins

Staying Power – A Thousand of Years of Christianity
The ruin that stands at Zelemer today was built in 1310. It was a sizable Gothic styled structure. There was enough left of the church to imagine the awe that it must have inspired. It would have been the centerpiece of not only the village, but the entire area. It was a sign of permanence in a world filled with conflict and caprice. The church was formidable enough that something of it managed to withstand destructive acts in the centuries to come. During the latter half of the 16^th century, the Ottoman Turks pillaged and burned the church. This started a period of progressive decline. Once the church fell into disuse, the locals found that many of the stones could be put to other uses. There is no telling how much of the Zelemer Church is now part of the foundations for houses and rock walls in the area.

One modern addition has been added to the Zelemer Church ruins. A 3 meter tall statue of Saint Stephen stands nearby. It is a reminder of his decisive role in turning Hungary towards western Christianity. If not for Stephen, it is almost certain that Zelemer would never have been graced with a large church. Western Christianity was a unifying force for Hungary and Hungarians. Though over a thousand years have passed since Stephen’s time, Christianity is still a unifying force in Hungary. Zelemer is a prime example of how ruins offer a connection between the past and present. There have been incredible political, economic, and cultural changes in Hungary over the past thousand years, but Christianity remains a marker of Hungarian identity.

The Christian King – Saint Stephen at Zelemer

A Rapturous Effect – Deep Into The Imagination
For me, the most powerful aspect of the Zelemer Church ruins was how much it left to the imagination. Besides the tower, a portion of the northern wall and outlines of the floor plan there was little to go on. The missing pieces sent me deep into the imagination. What must the interior have looked like during the late Middle Ages? I imagined a cool, quiet nave with light streaming through Gothic windows. The sound of chants and a chorus of song emanating among the recesses. The voice of a priest booming from behind a pulpit. Whispers of prayer echoing across the aisles. The overall effect would have been rapturous. Seven hundred years later, without anything to go on other than my imagination, I could still catch a faint whiff of this most distant past. For a moment, the ruin of Zelemer Church was made whole and so was I.

Click here for: Journey Into The Unknown – Arpad Era Church At Karcsa: Mapquest (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #14)

Spiritual Echo Chambers – The Romanesque Church at Jak (Rendezvous With An Obscure Destiny #7)

Let me be clear, I will kick the bucket before I have a bucket list. Call me a contrarian, but the idea of a bucket list – those must see sights before you die – sounds way too efficient and unimaginative for me. It is the kind of idea that sends a traveler to the most popular and predictable places. In my opinion, any place worth seeing is worth more than a single visit. Of course, the idea behind a bucket list is to see anything that induces jaw dropping awe and then move on to the next one. An argument could be made that this misses the best part of travel, which is not only the sights you see, but the people you meet. I mention this because what first comes to mind when I think of the Romanesque church at Jak in southwestern Hungary, is the attendant who sold me and my wife tickets.

He was a middle age ethnic Hungarian originally from the Vojvodina region of northern Serbia. My wife and I struck up a conversation with him or more to the point, I asked questions while she did the translating. The man then proceeded to provide us with impromptu guide services on a beautiful autumn day. He was extremely kind, generous with his time and completely devoted to his job. There was something about the sound of his voice, the way he carried himself, his attention to service, that I found inspiring. In an enchanting setting this man sprinkled magic with his words. And in the process, Jak became more than a church, it became this man and his devotion to history.

A Rarity Restored -Romanesque Church at Jak

Commissioning Greatness – A Man & A Clan
In my estimation, one of the most common travel cliches, “it is about the journey, not the destination”. misses one crucial element of travel. Neither journey nor destination would mean much without the people you meet along the way or upon arrival. Journey and destination are rather narrow limits, whereas people can take you almost anywhere. And therein lies the problem with bucket lists, it is not so much the sights as it is the people you meet. This was the case with the church at Jak. The man we met was as much a part of our visit as the church. Nonetheless, if the church had not been at Jak, I am almost certain we would never have visited the town. For several years I ruminated on a visit. Looked Jak up on maps and built itineraries with imagination. The longing to visit was also stimulated by guidebooks on Hungary, which almost invariably mention the church at Jak as an outstanding sight, well worth the time it takes to travel there. Many of the guidebooks have photos of the church, which is a magnetic way of attracting attention.

The church at Jak also has a powerful marketing tool in one of Budapest’s most visited spots. A replica of the church’s portal is part of Vajdahunyad Castle (also a replica), built in the City Park to celebrate the Hungarian Millennium in 1896. For many, seeing that replica is enough, but it made me want to visit the original church that much more. Imitations of any great work are just that. While they are certainly worth looking at, the viewer loses context when they are the original. It was not until my ninth visit to Hungary that I made my way to Jak. Getting there was easier said than done. Jak is one of those places that is not on the way to anywhere. Fortunately, my wife and I were traveling around far western Hungary and the Burgenland in eastern Austria. That put Jak easily within our reach. The church was built as a Benedictine Abbey. Wealthy landowners often commissioned churches to be built on their landed estates. In this case, a member of the Jak clan, Marton Nagy, commissioned the church.

Rising to the Occasion – Romanesque Church at Jak

A Rarity Restored – The Romanesque In Hungary
The fact that Hungary has very few works of Romanesque architecture still standing, makes the allure of the church at Jak that much more seductive. It is a rare example of Romanesque style sacral architecture. For any building to survive seven and a half centuries in a place as criss crossed by conquerors as Hungary, it must have more than its fair share of luck. It is not a coincidence that the two best surviving Romanesque churches in Hungary (at Jak and Lebeny) can be found in the far western portion of the country. The Mongols swept across Hungary in 1241-1242, but they likely never made it this far west. At that time the church was still under construction, as the building began in 1220 and was not finally dedicated until 1256. The finished product, with some major restoration work done in the late 19th century, is what stands today.

The most memorable aspect of the church is the Norman-styled portal. This architectural motif was likely transmitted from northern France to Germany, where Hungarian craftsmen may have seen examples at castles and churches in Bavaria. The portal is adorned with lavish sculptural decoration, which includes Christ and the 12 apostles who occupy niches above the portal. Only the sculpture of Christ and the apostles flanking either side of him are original. While the church escaped destruction from the Mongols, it did sustain damage by the Ottoman Turks.

The interior is structured as a basilica with three naves and three apses. It is an airy space, much larger than I imagined. Only when I walked around the exterior did I understand the church’s sizable proportions. The interior is both austere and grand. In comparison to the portal’s lavish ornamentation, the interior feels minimalistic. The narrow yet spacious confines give the impression of spiritual echo chambers, in the weighty silence one can hear the slightest sounds. I could only imagine the glorious chanting which must have taken place here across the centuries. The church was a monument which could match those moments.

The Ultimate Portal – Romanesque Church at Jak

The Greatest Treasures – Of People & Place
The church at Jak was everything we thought it would be, an astonishing work of architecture that reminded me that a whole other world had been lost in Hungary due to the Mongol invasion. Surviving Romanesque architectural works, such as the church, are much more powerful due to their rarity. Traveling to Jak was worth the time and energy we expended getting there. The greatest treasures in Eastern Europe are often found in remote villages. While the church at Jak is rightfully famous, the man who provided us with a warm welcome and valuable information was entirely unexpected. Proving that it is not just the place, but also the people who make travel so memorable. 

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Written In Stone – St. Elisabeth’s Cathedral: First & Lasting Connections (The Kosice Chronicles #5)

Specific buildings have become synonymous with certain cities. That is as true in Eastern Europe as anywhere else in the world. Think of Budapest and the glittering Hungarian Parliament comes to mind, Vienna and the soaring steeples of St. Stephen’s Cathedral are an inseparable image, Krakow and the grandeur of Wawel Castle are one, if not the same. Cities paired in the public consciousness with their most famous building is just as true in provincial areas as it in more well known ones. In Sopron, Hungary, the Firewatch Tower is the icon of choice and Lviv, Ukraine is unimaginable without the Korniakt Tower just to name but two. One of the best examples of this trend is the towering Gothic pile at the heart of Kosice, St. Elisabeth’s Cathedral.

The first time I saw the cathedral was a memory worth savoring. Despite a cruel and cold wind exhaling its icy breath down the narrow confines of Mlynska street, my eye was drawn into the distance and upward by the sight of St. Elisabeth’s rising above everything else. A couple of minutes earlier I had been standing before the Neo-Gothic Jakab’s Palace, with a sense of wonder and awe. Those senses increased exponentially at the site of the ultimate Gothic high rise, St. Elisabeth’s. Unlike Jakab’s Palace, which was built at the turn of the 20^th century, St. Elisabeth’s was not a derivative work. Instead, the Cathedral had set a new standard upon completion in 1508. Nothing since that time has been built to rival it as a symbol of Kosice.

Written In Stone – St Elisabeth Cathedral in Kosice (Credit: Ingo Mehling)

Wealth Creation – A Free Royal Town
It is hard to know where to start when studying the architecture and history that permeates St. Elisabeth’s Cathedral. That is not unexpected for a building over six hundred years old. Across the centuries it has undergone major alterations and expansions. Little wonder that it is full of eye catching details and structural intricacies. The Cathedral is also massive. As the largest church in Slovakia, St. Elisabeth’s measures out at 13,000 square feet with enough room to accommodate a congregation of up to 5,000 people. The size of the cathedral is symbolic of the power and wealth of medieval Kosice which had cornered much of the salt trade. When construction first began on the cathedral in the late Middle Ages, Kosice had already been given the status of a Free Royal Town with all the special rights and privileges granted to its citizenry. The privileges in turn, had been used by the town’s burghers (property owners who made up the medieval bourgeoisie to advance their own economic interests.

Kosice continued to grow in prominence during the 14^th century. It was the first town anywhere in Europe to be given its own coat of arms, bestowed by King Louis I of Hungary in 1369. Kosice was one of the most important cities in the Kingdom of Hungary. As such, its wealthy burghers, civic minded citizenry and royal sponsors, including none other than Hungarian King Sigismund of Luxembourg, provided funds for building a new cathedral. This took place after the city’s main house of worship burned down in 1380. The exact year when construction began on St. Elisabeth’s is not known, but the work grew in such size, scale and scope that it ended up stretching across three different centuries before completion.

At First Sight – A view of St. Elisabeth’s Cathedral (Credit: Maro Mraz)

A Medieval View – Looking Back Into The Past
Just as I was awe struck after first sighting the cathedral while walking down Mlynska street, the effect must have been similar for traders and travelers coming to the city from afar. Today, modern buildings block views of the cathedral from many places in the city. During medieval times, it was the exact opposite. The Cathedral could be been seen from almost anywhere in Kosice including from well outside the city walls. This would have provided a stunning first impression of the city’s wealth and importance to merchants, emissaries and foreigners who had business to conduct in the city. And though that impression may have changed over time due to various developments, something of it remains today. A first impression of St. Elisabeth’s is a visceral connection between the medieval and modernity. One that I felt just as acutely as those who had come centuries before me.

Confronted for the first time by the sight of St. Elisabeth’s Cathedral, I spent time studying and then attempting to photograph its exterior. Part of the Cathedral’s power lies in the odd symmetry and style of the structure. For instance, its highest point. Sigismund’s Tower (northern tower) tops out at 60 meters (194 feet). While the church is almost completely Gothic in style, the tower was extended after a fire in the late 18^th century and topped with a Rocco copper cupola, an architectural aberration that adds a certain decorative flair to the cathedral’s crowning point. Beside and bit lower down from Sigismund’s Tower stand the shorter Matthias Tower (South Tower) which was never completed. It also sports a stylistic outlier, a metal octagon roof. The towers, along with many other sumptuous details were so photogenic that it was hard to know what to focus my lens upon. It was easy to see how construction on the cathedral took one-hundred and twenty years. That does not count the restorations and reconstructions that had periodically taken place, adding to a highly complex structural history.

Storyteller – The Main Altar of Saint Elisabeth (Credit: Scotch Mist)

Written In Stone – A Timeless Tale
Trying to grasp the entire exterior of St. Elisabeth’s in a single viewing was impossible. Such were the intricacies of its architecture and rich sculptural elements that a person could spend countless hours contemplating the structure. I snapped photo after photo, knowing the whole time that it would never do the Cathedral’s scale justice. One way of comprehending the Cathedral’s sheer size is to consider that its total circumference was said to be equal in length to the outer line of Kosice’s city wall in the 15^th century. A great deal of expense and even greater sums of effort went into its construction. Master craftsman toiled for decades on specific details. This is just as true of the interior as of the exterior.

Among the more memorable elements of the interior are no less than ten altars, a double spiral staircase and bronze baptistery. Of these, the Main Altar of St. Elisabeth deserves attention. The altar is an original work done during one of the Cathedral’s last stages of construction in the late 15^th century. Two wings join a central cabinet containing three statues. The Virgin Mary stands in the center holding baby Jesus. To her right, is the cathedral’s namesake, Saint Elisabeth of Hungary. To the left is the biblical Saint Elisabeth, mother of John the Baptist. The altar’s interior portrays the legend of Saint Elisabeth of Hungary. When closed, the altar portrays the suffering of Christ. In all, these stories are represented on 48 Gilded tablets.

The fact that these artistic elements tell such stories goes some way in explaining how the masses, who were mostly illiterate, would have been able to understand these stories and the divine wisdom of God. In a sense, St. Elisabeth’s is one gigantic Holy Book telling a timeless story for all who spend time studying it. The book requires intense concentration and multiple re-readings to understand its weighty symbolism. A person could spend a day or a lifetime comprehending the meaning of St. Elisabeth’s religious iconography. The same could be said of the legends and stories surrounding the Cathedral.

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“So Much Depends Upon” – St. Elisabeth’s Cathedral: Legendary Exploits (The Kosice Chronicles #4)

One of my favorite poems is also one of the shortest. “So much depends upon a red wheelbarrow/ glazed with rain water/beside the white chickens.” So said William Carlos Williams in his short, brilliant poem, “The Red Wheelbarrow.” The imagery in the poem, “a red wheelbarrow” “glazed with rainwater” and “white chickens” are rendered extremely vivid by just a few short words. Yet it is the opening four words that have endured with me the longest. “So much depends upon” is as dramatic, ambiguous and fatalistic an opening as I have come across at the beginning of a literary work. That phrase could apply to many things in the world, but for me it seems particularly appropriate for a legendary story concerning St. Elizabeth’s Cathedral in Kosice.

As the tale is told, medieval stonemasons who built the mighty St. Elizabeth’s made sure that one certain stone, if removed, would cause the entire Cathedral to collapse. This became known as the hollow stone. The masons were the only ones who knew where this stone was located. The idea behind the hollow stone was that if those masons were not paid for their work, the stone could be pulled and bring the Cathedral to ruin in a matter of moments. The story is almost certainly apocryphal, but it also illustrates the importance of unseen forces, whether spiritual or temporal.

Consider how the stonemasons who toiled away for years building this grand edifice are not given a second thought by visitors to the Cathedral. What the hollow stone legend illustrates is that these masons were the ones who really held the keys to the kingdom. Their work was just as important as the artisans whose lavish work has a monopoly on the memorable at the cathedral. The stonemasons who built St. Elisabeth’s might remain anonymous, but they were far from powerless. So much still depends upon their work.

So Much Depends On – Saint Elisabeth Cathedral in the early 20th century (Credit: Tibor Somlai – fortepan.hu)

Eternal Shame – A Very Public Drunkenness
It does not come as a surprise that a building with over six hundred years of history has given rise to numerous legends. The Cathedral may be set in stone, but the tales surrounding it have continued to surface many centuries later. The difference between myth and history at St. Elisabeth’s has been blurred when it comes to certain stories. Many tales get altered in the retelling. Some of these stories are both ridiculous and humorous. One of the most famous involves the Cathedral’s master builder (conveniently unnamed) whose wife was said to be embarrassing him with her public drunkenness.

After she humiliated him in public on numerous occasions, the master builder got his revenge by transforming his wife into a ghoulish gargoyle-like sculpture that seems to be both inebriated and getting ready to imbibe a beverage at the same time. To say that the sculpture comes as a shock is an understatement. The cockeyed, half clothed figure with sagging breasts and a twisted look on her face is sufficiently frightening. The sculpture is out of character when compared to other carvings on the cathedral’s exterior. To the point, that it makes the viewer wonder if the master builder was not also guilty of consuming too much alcohol.

While the drunken wife legend is almost certainly false, it does say a great deal about medieval attitudes concerning proper behavior by women and the eternal shame they might face for stepping out of line. Fear was one of the most powerful motivators during the Middle Ages. Those telling this tale were looking to make a point. They may have been wanting to proscribe the behavior of women in a society that was dominated by men. Ironically, the Cathedral is named after a woman. That fact must have been lost on those telling the story.

Public Drunkenness – Gargoyle woman sculpture at St Elisabeth’s Cathedral (Credit: Dominika Jenčová)

Lighting The Way – Dramatic Displays of Imperfection
One of the more popular legends concerning the cathedral that may have its basis in truth, involves a priest who spilled red wine from the sacrament onto the floor. The liquid was said to then form an image of Christ which some parishioners heard moan. There is little doubt that a priest overturning a communion goblet might elicit strong emotions. Seeing one of the most sacred ceremonies in Christianity suddenly go awry would have been startling. A dramatic display of imperfection before a shocked congregation.

Healing the imperfect or at least freeing them is the subject of another legend, this one regards the Lantern of Matthias Corvinus. It is said that any criminal who stood beneath the lantern would be absolved of their guilt. Unfortunately, the lantern has been moved from its original position on a twisted stone column near the Cathedral’s southern portal to the tower wall of Matthias. Whether or not the lantern can make criminals innocent is something only those who have committed crimes and stood beneath the lantern could answer. For everyone else, it is a story that begs the question of why such a legend persists. Perhaps the creators of this myth saw the lantern’s namesake, Matthias Corvinus (1458 – 90) for what he was, one of the more just kings in Eastern European history.

Some of the stories about St. Elisabeth’s are more than the stuff legends are made of. They are the product of the massive Cathedral’s powerful presence. The tolling of its bell was said to be heard as far away as the city of Eger. This would have been deafening in the extreme, since Eger is 150 kilometers away from Kosice. Most likely, the bell’s ability to shatter silence and be heard far away from the city gave it a powerful reputation that soon became exaggerated. The story illustrates how the power and glory of St. Elizabeth’s extended well beyond Kosice into its hinterland.

A View From Beyond The Walls – Medieval Kosice and St Elisabeth’s Cathedral

Legends Live On – Beyond The City Walls
Another story told in the 17^th century novel The Adventures of Simplicius Simplicissimus, also mentions sound effects emanating from the Cathedral. The title character states that drumming atop the Cathedral’s tower could be heard in the countryside up to two hours away from Kosice. That sound would have accompanied travelers into and out of the city. Even when the cathedral may have been out of sight, it was still within earshot. Its presence loomed over the city as well as the surrounding area, accompanying both citizens and travelers as they ventured forth beyond the city walls. They carried the Cathedral in their hearts, minds and in its legendary tales, also on their tongues. The cathedral was a place where legends lived on. They still do today.

Click here for: Written In Stone – St. Elisabeth’s Cathedral: First & Lasting Connections (The Kosice Chronicles #5)