Caught In The Middle

I am currently writing an article for the Magyar Szó on Paul Erdős as part of the series, Famous Hungarians. Before I started researching for the article, I knew next-to-nothing about him, other than he was Hungarian and had something to do with mathematics. What a truly fascinating character in turned out to be! First of all he was born at the end of what I think was the most fertile, prosperous and extraordinary time in modern Hungarian history, perhaps matched by the glory of Mathias reign in the 15th Century. That time was of course the decades after the Compromise of 1867 and outbreak of World War I. These nearby forty years produced many of the greatest minds of the twentieth century such Edward Teller, John von Neumann, Leo Sziliard, Andre Kertesz, Frank Capa – the list goes on and on. Nearly of these individuals were born in Budapest and many were Jewish. For some reason the creativity and intelligence found fertile ground in Budapest at this time. Erdős was born into this great circle in 1913.

What is remarkable about his early life is how protected he was by his Mother – no doubt spurred by the loss of her two daughters to scarlet fever a few days before Erd&;#337;s was born and that her husband was a prisoner of war for nearly six years. She did everything for Paul apparently. He didn’t tie is own shoes till 14 and didn’t know how to butter toast at 21! Amazing. Throughout his life he never bothered with the mundane, the ordinary, the everyday tasks of like such as cooking, washing clothes, learning to drive, having a bank account, cooking a meal, mowing the lawns, getting a mortgage… you get the picture.

Erdős was always looked after by a wide circle of friends who found him stimulating to be around. Thus he always had people to take care of such things. But he was an extraordinary generous man. Once when a student sought to repay a $1000 that Erdős that given to him so that he could go to Harvard, Erdős refused to accept the repayment. But what should I do with the money, the student asked. “What I did with it”, came the reply.

I always try to finds the Hungarianness in such people, even after they invariably leave Hungary. Erdős, like many Hungarians loved language and word-plays. His use of English was consistently quirky as with many Hungarians. He was also concerned with becoming senile and he fretted constantly about old-age. he combined his love of language and his neurosis when he parodied some lines from Pétőfi’s famous poem, One Thought/Egy gondolat bánt engemet.. when he wrote, ‘One thought disturbs me, that I may decease/In slowing progressing Alzheimer’s disease.’ A particularly amusing example of his peculiar use of language was when he mother, who began to learn English at the age of 84, asked him, “Pálko, what is the English word for ‘szilva’ [plum]?”. “Plimm, mother, plimm.”, was his reply. Anyone who has heard a Hungarian speak English with that ‘quirkiness’ they seem to possess, will appreciate how funny that must have sounded.

I am not all qualified to judge is contribution to mathematics but his output was prolific – some 1500 papers – over his long life-time. Indeed it lead to the development of the concept known as “Erdős Number”. This is used by mathematicians, and other scientists too, to measure their ‘collaborative closeness to having worked on a paper with Erdős. For example, if you co-authored a paper with Erd?s you had an Erdős number of 1, if you co-authored a paper with someone who had an Erdős number of 1, then your Erdős Number was 2. And so on. Naturally his own Erdős number was 0! Mathematicians in particular treasure there Erdős number as a badge of honour. Those with a number of 3 or less are considered notable in their own right. Needless to say, a goodly number of these are Hungarians. But not only mathematicians are measured by their Erdős number. If you look at Nobel Prize winners in Physics, Chemistry or even Economics you see many with a Erdős Number of 2, 3 or 4. Albert Einstein as an Erdős number of 2 and even Bill Gates of Microsoft fame has an Erdős number of 4.

A wonderful man and another Hungarian genius! I’ll post the full article once it is published in the Magyar Szó.

We have recently commemorated, and celebrated, the fiftieth anniversary of the 1956 revolution ^[1] . It is appropriate therefore that we start our survey of the month of June in Hungarian history by looking at the life of Imre Nagy, who was not only born in the month of June, but died, and was reburied, in June.  His reburial in Budapest on 16 June 1989 more than any event symbolises the end of communist regime and the beginning of the “change of system” that followed a few months later.  Imre Nagy found his life’s meaning in the events of October 1956. Up to that point he had been, let’s be honest here, a committed and long-time Communist.  Born on June 7, 1896, into a peasant family in Kaposvár, he joined the joined the Russian Communist party after being captured during World War I. He joined the Red Army and became a citizen of the Soviet Union.   He spent 15 years in exile in Moscow following his role in the abortive Béla Kun government. While in the Soviet Union he was rumoured to be a spy for the Soviet secret police.   On his return to Hungary and the new Communist regime, he enjoyed a certain amount of popularity as Minister of Agriculture for his avuncular, homely manner. He remained a prominent and enthusiastic supporter of a Communist Hungary, despite suffering at the hands, like so many others, of Rákosi.

As the events of the revolution began to unfold on 23 October he did not at first grasp the meaning of these events. Like the entire leadership was carried along by the tide.  But somehow through the events of the following ten days he grasped the true meaning of October ’56: the fight for an independent Hungary. By the time the Soviet tanks rolled into Budapest on that grey November morning, Nagy had become much more of a Hungarian and much less of a Communist. It is that we should remember him for.  He remained staunch in the face of his nemesis Janós Kadar, refusing the recant his actions or ask for clemency, and paid the ultimate price.

Imre Nagy was hanged at dawn on 16 June 1958.  His body was originally buried in the prison grounds but his, and other victims’ bodies, were transferred to the far corner (plot 301) of the Budapest Municipal Cemetery. Their bodies were buried face down, as if consigned to the dustbin of history.  It is a delicious irony that Nagy’s re-burial 31 years later to the day was followed a few weeks later by the death of Kádár and shortly thereafter the end of the very regime Nagy had been such a vital part of.

Throughout this series on Hungarian history, the treaty of Trianon has been referred to regularly.  This most catastrophic event whereby Hungary lost two-thirds of her territory and 60% of its population was signed at the Grand Trianon Palace at Versailles, France, on 4 June 1921.  On that day church bells tolled all over Hungary, black flags flew over buildings, traffic came to a standstill, newspapers appeared with black borders, and funeral services were held in churches.

Many will recall the popular response of Hungarians to Trianon: “Nem, nem, soha” which translates as “No, no, never”, meaning that the treaty would never ever be accepted.  From what I can gather, this phrase originates from a corruption of the  word “Tria-non” being ‘trios’, French for the number three, and ‘non’, the French word for no, hence, ‘three times no’.

The Treaty would come to dominant Hungarian political and social thinking for the decades, and not unnaturally enough, played a leading role in the life of Admiral Horthy, Regent of Hungary from1920 until 1944. He was born on 18 June 1868 in Kenderes, a small town in the middle of the Great Hungarian Plain (Alföld).  Horthy had commanded the Austro-Hungarian fleet in World War I and following the chaos of post-WWI Hungary, entered Budapest on a white horse in 1920 and declared himself ruler of Hungary.  He and his government sought to undo Trianon and restore Hungary’s borders, leading him to form an alliance with Germany.  He managed to survive the inevitable defeat and was even a witness at the Nuremberg war-crimes trials in 1946. He later settled in Portugal where he lived until his death a few months after the 1956 Revolution.  In his will, Horthy asked that his body not be returned to Hungary “until the last Russian soldier has left”.  Thus in 1993 his body was returned to his place of birth and he was buried in Kenderes.

June marks the passing on a number of Hungarians who have made significant contributions to the cultural and artistic life of Hungary.  The great ceramist Margit Kovács died on 4 June 1977.  Her folkloristic works are distinctly Hungarian in approach and are instantly recognisable.  They all seem to tell a story. They have a life, a character, and energy of all of their own. The museum in Szentendre where she lived and worked is a popular spot for tourists to visit.

The painter of the famous work depicting the Hungarian conquest, Árpád Feszty, died on 1 June 1914.  This massive work is some 1800 m² in size was commissioned for the 1000^th anniversary of the conquest in 1896. Painted as a cyclorama (a panoramic painting on a curved wall designed viewed by a central spectator), this work can be seen today at Ópusztaszer National Memorial Site.

June has marks the rather bizarre death of the actor Zoltán Latinovits.  He was the greatest actor of the modern generation and was known as the “king of actors”. His film and poetry readings have a power and resonance few can match. He embraced life and lived with passion. But he was a troubled man. He became obsessed with the life and work of the poet Attila József ^[2].

Such was his obsession that he ended up committing suicide, on 4 June 1976, in the same manner as his hero; by lying on the tracks in front of an on-coming train, in small town on the southern shores of Lake Balaton.

As with many Hungarian heroes Latinovats’ death does not always mark the end of their impact or memory in Hungarian consciousness.  In 1989, in the same year that Imre Nagy was reburied, Janós Kádár died and the democracy was restored to Hungary, Latinovits was posthumously awarded a Kossuth Prize, Hungary’s highest award for achievement.

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Footnotes

1. This article was originally published in the Issue #87 of the Magyar Szó in March 2007. Back to post
2. YouTube link of Latinovats’ reading Attila Jozséf’s poem, Mama. Back to post

January 6 is an important day in the history of the Székely people. The Székelys, also known as Szeklers, came into Transylvania either with or before the Magyars. By the 11th century, however, they had adopted Magyar speech and they later formed one of three privileged nations of Transylvania, the others being the Magyars and the Saxons. With their own military and civil organization, Székelys enjoyed autonomy under the Hungarian crown and were, regarded as of noble birth; and therefore exempt from taxation. Sometime in the 13th century the kings assigned them the role of guarding the Transylvanian borders of Hungary and today this part of what is now Romania is known as Szekler Land (Székelyföld)

On that January day in 1764 several hundred Székely women and children were massacred by Austrian troops in the village of Madéfalva (Siculeni). This came about as a result of an order by Habsburg queen Maria Theresa who decreed that the male Székely population was subject to recruitment to serve as border patrols under the command of the Habsburg military authorities. This draft meant between eight and twelve years military service and was, not unnaturally, actively resisted. Many young Székely men fled to neighbouring Moldavia, then a Romanian province. After the massacre at Madéfalva entire Székely villages left the country and settled in Moldavia and Bokovina where they can still be found today. They called themselves csángós which is the Szekely-Magyar word for refugees. Each year their descendants make the pilgrimage back to Madéfalva to remember that tragic January day and sing the Székely Himnusz: “Such sorrowful a past – our millennia of misfortune, /The ravages of Tatars and Turks, and Austrian yoke.”

An equally tragic event is also commemorated in January. The Battle of the Don began on January 12, 1943. The Hungarian 2nd Army, along with other Axis armies, held the Don-front as the German army retreated from the relentless Soviet army. Their position, near the city of Voronezh, was at the eastern edge and most exposed of the front. The various divisions that made up the 2nd Army were poorly equipped, especially for fighting in a vicious Russian winter. The Soviet Army with vastly superior equipment and reserves sensed this was the weakest point and attacked accordingly. By the end of January the Hungarian army, with a total strength of 200,000 had lost some 100,000 dead, 50,000 wounded, many of whom were taken prisoner. Many of those were not even carrying weapons as they were members of forced labour groups conscripted into the army. No nation lost as much blood during World War II in such a short period of time, and in numerical terms it was the worst ever defeat inflicted upon Hungarian armed forces.

However the greatest tragedy of the Battle of Don was that throughout the Communist era the bravery of those left lying in unmarked mass graves in the Soviet Union could not be commemorated; it was forbidden. Today the battle has been restored to its rightful place in Hungarian history and there is a permanent exhibition in the Army Museum.

January sees the birth of a number of notable Hungarian painters. One of my favourites is István Sz?nyi born on January 17th, 1894. He was first a pupil of Károly Ferenczy, then that of István Réti after the war. His early works show that he was in search of the unity of dramatic expressiveness and atmospheric plein air. His works were of great influence on his contemporaries.

In the late 1920s, he settled down in Zebegény where his interest was attracted to atmospheric problems. Based on the Nagybánya tradition, he created a style of his own with sunny colours, soft tones and passive meditative lyra. His style was a typical product of the post-Nagybánya school between the two world wars. His works show a real sense of humanity and a keen sense of nature. Working in Zebegény, he painted pictures of people of the village and those of the Danube-bend. such as “An Evening in Zebegény” (1928), and “Evening” (1934). From the 1940s he was an art teacher and one of his last works was a fresco in the Csepel post office. He died in 1960 in his beloved Zebegény.

Gyula Benczúr was born on January 28, 1844 and was a fine exponent of “historicism” so typical of much of Hungarian art in the latter half of the nineteenth century. This can be seen in the very title of his works: The Farewell Of László Hunyadi and The Baptism Of Vajk After spending his many years abroad he returned to Hungary where he became head of the masters department at the School of Modelling where he exercised a predominant influence over Hungarian art.

Perhaps his most spectacular painting is the monumental The Recapture of Buda Castle painted in 1896 for the millennial celebrations of that year. It can be seen today by visitors to the National Gallery as they ascend the stairs to the first floor. Measuring 3 and half metres high and seven metres wide it shows enormous attention to detail and is one of the finest works of its type.

Other notable birthdays celebrated in January include Sándor Pet?fi who in typical style was born on the first day of the new year in 1823. His life and works are marked by a freshness and vitality that we all hope marks the beginning of any new year. A few weeks later, on January 20th, 1823, another great figure of Hungarian literature was born, Imre Madách. He would go to write one of the great works of world literature, The Tragedy of Man. Although there is nothing uniquely ‘Hungarian’ about this work, its scope and enormous learning are clearly evident in this profound mediation on the nature of man and his universe. It has been translated into over fifty languages and it is still regularly performed in Hungary today.

Of course as in any month, we also note the passing of many great Hungarians who died in this month. including Endre Ady on January 27, 1919, Seress Rezsó, writer of Gloomy Sunday who died on January 11, 1968, the great actress Blaha Lujza passed away on January 18th, 1926 and Ferenc Deák, ‘the sage of the nation’ and key supporter of the 1867 Compromise, passed away on January 28 1876.

But perhaps the most significant death to occur in January was that of King Andrew III who died on January 14, 1301. He was the twenty-third and last member of the House to Árpád and his death marked the end of the dynasty that ruled Hungary since the founding tribes, led by Árpád, arrived in the Carpathian basin in 896. Henceforth Hungary would be ruled by foreign kings; in the 225 years from the end of the House of Árpád up until the catastrophe of Mohács there would be only one native born Hungarian king, Mátyás Hunyadi and even he, perhaps the most admired Hungarian king ever, was Romanian on his father’s side.

We begin our survey of May in Hungarian history with a look at the life of one of the more controversial figures in twentieth century Hungarian life, Janós Kádár.

May is the month in which he was born, on 26 May 1912 in Fiume, and on 22 May 1988 his long political career ended when, plagued by ill-health and clear signs of senility, he was removed from the Politburo and replaced as General Secretary by the then Prime Minister Károly Grósz. And in between those 76 years, what do we make of his life and career? For many he was the man who invited the Soviets in 1956 and saw to the crushing of the Revolution, including the execution of its leaders, including Imre Nagy. So for many Hungarians he has blood on his hands. Yet I know of more than one Hungarian who liked and respected Kádár. They see him as someone who, the events of 1956 notwithstanding, oversaw nearly three decades of peace, prosperity and a degree of freedom not experienced in other Communist countries. Eventually, life under a Kádár-ruled Hungary was not so bad, they say. A few things are clear about Kádár – he was a life-long Communist who despite the ups and downs of his career never wavered in his ideological beliefs; he led a Spartan, puritan-like life and actively avoided any “personality” politics; and he ruled Hungary for longer than any other leader in modern times. But ultimately he was the victim of the truism “all political careers end in failure” ¹ : the re-burial of Imre Nagy in 1989, the man Kádár had sent to the gallows, signified the end of his regime and all he had stood for. Kádár himself died a few weeks after Nagy’s reburial but by then he was irrelevant to Hungarian life, his legacy at best uncertain.

Turning from politics to more cultural matters, May is the birth month of one of my favourite Hungarian painters, Béla Iványi-Grünwald who was born on 6 May 1867. Initially a pupil of Bertalan Székely and Károly Lotz, he studied in Munich and Paris before joining the Nagybanya artists group.

An example of his early work is Devotion (Ave Maria) showing meticulous drawing and restrained use of colour, Once at Nagybanya his style naturally changed and became much more impressionistic. His “Spring Excursion” is a fine example of the plein-air style and while very close to the French Impressionist style, is still distinctly Hungarian in feel. Iványi-Grünwald eventually settled in Kecskémet where he founded his own artists’ colony.

Another significant figure in Hungarian cultural life, Miklós Radnóti, was also born in May, on the 5th, 1909. He is one of Hungary’s greatest twentieth century poets and his works are the most translated on any Hungarian poet. His poems are of the utmost beauty and have a grace and power born of truly loving spirit. Yet death is a common theme of his poetry – not surprising given that his mother died giving birth to him and his twin brother was still-born; his father died when Radnóti was barely a teenager. It is however the manner of his own death that gives his life and poetry real meaning. As a Hungarian Jew he was not drafted into the regular army but instead was forced to serve in labour-camp service. In late 1944 his squad was forced marched to Abda in north-west Hungary where he along with twenty-two others were shot by their guards and buried in a mass grave. His body has later exhumed and a notebook of poems was found sewn into his clothing. These formed part of a posthumous volume of his poetry known as Foamy Sky (Tajtékos ég) that truly established his reputation as a great poet. His last poem, written a week before his death, Razglednica (4), [Serbian for ‘postcard’] has become perhaps the most famous poem of the holocaust. Only seven lines long, it is worth showing in full here

I fell next to him. His body rolled over.
It was tight as a string before it snaps.
Shot in the back of the head – ’This is how
you’ll end.’ ‘Just lie quietly,’ I said to myself.
Patience flowers into death now.
‘Der springt noch auf(*). I heard above me.
Dark filthy blood was drying on my ear.

Translated by Steven Polgár.
(*)”This one might get away yet”

May marks the death of another titan of the Hungarian literary scene, Gyula Krúdy who passed away on 12 May 1933. A contemporary and friend of Ady, Krúdy established his reputation was a writer of class with his Sinbad stories. Here he tells about the adventures, amorous and otherwise, of the timeless, nostalgic ridden Sinbad. No doubt many of these stories have their basis in Krúdy own tremendous love of life and its many pleasures. But he tells these stories in a mystical, sad yet hopeful manner. His prose has a rhythm and a music that draws you into the phantasmagorical, dream-like world of Sinbad and keeps you there. The world he describes is manifestly Hungarian in tone, colour and feel. Fortunately these works are now available in English translation so his works have a much wider audience.

Several other great Hungarian writers departed this earth in the month of May including Jókai Mór on 5 May 1904, Áron Tamási on 26 May 1966, Kálmán Mikszáth on 28 May 1910, and in more recent times the poet János Pilinszky died on 27 May 1981.

If we can return briefly to politics two current political figures celebrate birthdays this month, Katalin Szili, who visited New Zealand recently, turned 50 on 13May and Viktor Orbán celebrated 43 years on 31 May. One suspects with recent political events, it wasn’t the happiest of celebrations.

We will end this brief survey of Hungarian history and personalities with a connection to the month of May with a look at the life of Artúr Görgey, the military leader of the 1848-49 War of Independence, who died on 21 May 1916 at the remarkable age of 98. After playing a key role in some of the early military success of 1848, he was appointed as supreme commander of the Hungarian forces by Kossuth. However differences between himself and Kossuth surfaced as they argued over the conduct of the war, the role of the army and the place of the Monarchy. By early 1849 Görgy was suspected of treason after several of his offices went over to the Imperial side. Nonetheless as the military and political situation deteriorated throughout that year, Kossuth would eventually resign and hand over power to Görgy. A few days later Kossuth wrote to him saying, “I should consider it treason if you were not to exploit every reasonable opportunity to save the nation. I should consider it treason if you begin negotiations, not in the name of the nation but in the name and interests of the army.”

But two months later Görgy surrendered to the Russians at Világos and thus became to many a traitor, “Hungary’s Judas”, and remained so for ever in the eyes of many. He was pardoned in 1867 and lived out the rest of his life in Hungary, vilified by many and humiliated in public. But in his last years and in recent historiography he is seen him in a different, more generous light. History can be both a cruel and a forgiving judge, as the heirs to János Kádár may one day discover.

Footnotes

1. Attributed to the British politician Enoch Powell who said, All political lives, unless they are cut off in midstream at a happy juncture, end in failure, because that is the nature of politics and of human affairs. * Enoch Powell, Joseph Chamberlain (Thames and Hudson, 1977), p. 151. Back to Post

I am thirty-two and wise,/Poem, be a big surprise/pretty/ditty This is the opening stanza of “For My Birthday” composed by Attila József in April 1937. Born the son of a labourer and a washerwoman on 11 April 1905 he would go on to produce some of the finest examples of modern European poetry and give Hungary perhaps their greatest poet of the century, although Ady has at least an equal claim to that title. This year marks the centenarian of his birth and of course his homeland has celebrated him, as it has done so for many years. But his contribution is recognised internationally and this year the 10th International Poetry Festival, held in Cuba, was dedicated to him.

Another great Hungarian literary talent of the 20th century who also shares an 11 April birthday, is Sándor Márai who was born in Kassa in what was then known as Upper Hungary but is now Košice in Slovakia. A wonderful novelist his works have enjoyed a renaissance since the change in the political system in 1989. He refused to allow his works to be published in Hungary while the Communists were in power but he was equally opposed to the fascist regimes of the 1930s. His works are now widely available and read in Hungary and several of his works are now available in English including Embers and Conversations in Bolzano.

His dairies, especially in his latter years when he was looking after his sick wife display his immense literary talent and are marked intelligence, self-awareness and poignancy. After she died, he retreated further into isolation, eventually committing suicide in 1989, a few months short of the end of the cold war.

April marks the birth of Joseph Pulitzer, the journalist who was born in the town of Makó on 10 April 1847, emigrated to the United States and was an early proponent of what became known as “yellow journalism” or sensationalist reporting. However his legacy has become much more than that and the prizes that he bequeathed in his will that bears his name has come to regarded as the highest honour for print journalism as well as recognised literary achievements and musical compositions.

Another Hungarian who emigrated to the United States and made a great success of himself who Miklós Rózsa, born on 18 April 1907 in Budapest and went on to win 3 Oscars for film scores (Spellbound, A Double Life and Ben Hur). He also composed a significant number of other musical works, including a number with a distinctly Hungarian theme such as Variations On A Hungarian Peasant Song and Hungarian Serenade.

Other notable Hungarians to have a birthday in April include composer Leo Weiner, born 16 April 1885, conductor Antal Dorati, born in Budapest on 9 April 1906 , and the father of the Op-Art movement, Victor Vasarely, was born in Pécs on 9 April 1908. And Franz Lehar, composer of ever popular operettas such as The Merry Widow and Land of Smiles was born on 30 April 1870 in Komárom.

But of course while there is much to celebrate in April for Hungarians, the month also marks some of the more tragic events. We could start with 13 April 1241 and the Battle of Theiss (Tisza in Hungarin) where Béla IV was defeated by the Mongols. At the battle the majority of Hungary’s religious and lay dignitaries were killed. And historians estimate that up to half of Hungary’s two million population at that time were victims of this invasion. The invaders left Hungary the following year only after the news of the death of the Great Khan. For some the Mongol invasion and its aftermath mark a critical phase in the development of Hungary’s sense of isolation and loneliness. In a letter by Béla IV, who had miraculously survived the initial onslaught, complained to the Pope, We have received from all sides … merely words. […] We have received no support in our great affliction from any Christian ruler or nation in Europe. This complaint has been repeated at various times ever since by Hungarians.

Any discussion of April in Hungarian history should include mention of Count Pál Teleki. Prime Minister, along with Count Bethlen, he was on the architects of the Hungary’s post-Trianon government which as been described as one of “conservative democracy” – The country was dedicated to the recovery of Hungarian territory lost in 1921 and for many the best hope of this was by Hungary allying itself with Germany. Teleki tried to steer a middle course, in what became known as the “pendulum policy”, between what he regarded as two extremes; the liberal left, as exemplified by England, and the hard nationalist right, as exemplified by Germany. However the inherent contradictions of Hungary’s position eventually came to a head. In December 1940 Hungary signed a treaty of “eternal friendship” with Yugoslavia but following an anti-German coup there in March 1941, Hitler decided to attack and demanded Hungary assist. Teleki knew that to do so would drag Hungary into the conflict that would ultimately end in disaster for Hungary. It was too much for Teleki to bear and on 3 April 1941 he killed himself. Although a politically futile gesture, Winston Churchill, on hearing his death, said at empty chair would be reserved at the future peace conference.

Teleki was right of course; the conflict would be a disaster for Hungary. But did he, the creator of the anti-Semitic “Numerus Clauses” legislation, envision that nearly half million Jewish Hungarians would be killed in the Holocaust? A controversial question and perhaps explains why the question of erecting a statute in his memory last year, aroused so much fierce debate. To some, he was a facilitating moralist who was responsible for some of Hungary’s worst inter-war policies, while to others he was a tragic patriot trapped in the impossible logic of the 1930s.

Three years after his suicide, in April 1944, Hungary saw the allied bombing of Budapest and other Hungarian cities begin, and the first deportation of Jewish-Hungarians to the Auschwitz death camp. A year later, on 4 April 1945, Hungary would officially be liberated by the Soviet Union and that day would become a national holiday. It remained so until the change in political system in 1989, a reminder that in history yesterday winners are today’s losers.

I can’t resist ending this article on a lighter note with a lovely Hungarian proverb Higgy az asszonynépnek, mint az áprilisi időjárásnak – Believe in women as in the weather in April.