János Szikra
In the sixteenth century, nearly every one of our warriors strove to earn a good name and the honour of knighthood. These two things brought him recognition not only among his own people, but among the Turks as well. Countless contemporary letters attest to how jealously the border soldiers guarded their knightly honour, how determined they were that nothing should tarnish it — for they could endure anything except the diminishing of their reputation and standing in the eyes of Turkish warriors. In many a border soldier's letter we read: "I would sooner have my death than my life, but I will not allow my knightly honour to be shamed. If I have preserved it until now, I shall not disgrace myself hereafter either."
Let us not think that it was mere vanity and boastfulness that spurred our soldiers to seek a good name and knightly honour. The Hungarian soldier was born with the urge to prove that he was as bold and valiant as the son of any other nation! And if ever there was a time to demonstrate this, it was in the face of the Turks occupying the homeland. Thus the contest for martial supremacy was constant. National pride continually drove our men to perform deeds that would even arouse the admiration of the Turks. And so there were knightly duels, daring and incredible adventures, unheard-of feats of bravery — of which the Hungarian chronicles record nothing. It is sad but true that a whole host of insignificant foreigners found their way into our history simply because imperial favour and shortsightedness assigned them a role, while our own finest men were left out — for fortune did not raise them to a higher station, even though they burned and blazed in defence of their country, and sacrificed the greatest treasure of earthly existence — their very lives — for their homeland.
And the further we move from those turbulent times, the stronger oblivion becomes: fewer and fewer people concern themselves with the heroes of the Hungarian age of chivalry. Times change, and so does the thinking of men. In the sixteenth century, fame won on the battlefield and sacrifice made in defence of the homeland were held to be great and glorious. Worthy warriors were celebrated by minstrels and honoured by the garrisons of the border fortresses. Even the warriors of Turkish border forts praised such men and raised a cup to their health. And the songs of valour passed from mouth to mouth in the border castles.
Those who fell in defence of the homeland were accorded great honour. The most eminent warriors were accompanied to their graves by the mourning of the whole nation. Their deeds were carved in marble and a funeral banner placed above their tomb. This banner, known as the burial standard, was the officer's battle flag — thus the herald of his glory accompanied him to the grave. The armour and the chief horse of a fallen hero were taken to the king, who had the armour placed in the imperial collection.
This remembrance, this recognition of merit, was a beautiful thing indeed. Nor did it remain without effect. In our fighting youth, remembrance kindled the desire for glory, the spirit of sacrifice for the homeland, and patriotism. By the example of great men, they too strove to become great.
And many years passed, yet in the sixteenth century the memory of these warriors did not fade into oblivion. Every worthy border soldier spoke of them. Their example fired those who still fought; stories of them were told to children, and they gave comfort to the old men worn out by years of battle.
The fighting people of the sixteenth century firmly believed that the burial standard would fly forever over the graves of heroes who had distinguished themselves in defence of the homeland, and that later generations would forever recall what had been carved in marble. It was a frail belief, a vain hope. The banner-tipped lances soon fell to rags, and the iron tooth of time ground down even the marble memorials. Nothing remained. Nor was there anyone to revive the memories of the past. Perhaps there was no one for whom to do so. For the thinking of men changes in step with time itself. Those who were once considered great are in time forgotten altogether. And the faster time flies, the greater the gulf that opens between the beliefs and thinking of the old world and the new. What past centuries held to be glorious and great, the present barely mentions in passing — if it mentions it at all. Say what you will, the age of heroes has been discredited, and those who once shone as brilliant examples to our youth may perhaps never recover their former lustre. And yet, what no one had anticipated came to pass — the time arrived when we must revive the glorious struggles of the old defenders of the homeland. Our country has found itself in a situation no better — if not worse — than it faced in the time of the Turks. From the ashes of our former glory, we must once again seek out the pearls. We must revive the memory of the great fighters and their struggles in defence of the homeland, so that we may learn and draw lessons from their example. If we wish to see the old Hungarian homeland restored, this is an absolute necessity.
In the mid-sixteenth century, few names were better known across the breadth of Hungary than that of Bálint Magyar. He was spoken of at every turn! He was a mighty, brave, and powerful man — the beating heart of the battles fought in Transdanubia, a seasoned master of personal combat, a supreme example of the true hussar, from whom many a fine warrior drew courage and spirit. He was a contemporary of the great György Thúry, the heroic Markó Horváth, and Miklós Zrínyi, and a sharer in their campaigns. He came close to being the defender of Szigetvár himself. And had he accepted the captaincy of Sziget that was offered to him, we can be certain he would have held the line just as Markó Horváth or Miklós Zrínyi did — for in matters of warfare he too was a skilled and courageous warrior, for he too knew no fear, and he too did not dread death. For a full generation he defended the region of Lake Balaton and fought fierce battles with the Turks for possession of Somogy County. And as long as his arm held strength, the Turk could not call himself master there. Nothing better illustrates his martial renown than the fact that the neighbouring Turkish lords complained of him constantly, challenged him to single combat, and any Turkish warrior who could break a lance with him considered it a matter of pride.