It was very late when I arrived in Budapest, but a consolation to be in a hotel close to the Danube. To me, there is something sacred about rivers. I dropped my bags in my room and went there straight away to gaze upon the same flow that was once viewed by Attila the Hun, St Stephen of Hungary and Raoul Wallenberg. In the darkness, the reflections of promenade lamps shimmered gold upon the surface of Europe’s second longest river as it stretched lazily through the capital, as broad and as beautiful as the Thames in London and presenting the same metaphorical passage of time.
I returned there in the morning to see fresh reminders of what happened to Wallenberg and to the Jews of this city, who a little more than century ago comprised almost a quarter of its population. On the embankment by the Parliament are 60 pairs of old-fashioned shoes and boots sculpted in iron by Gyula Pauer. It is a memorial to Jews lined up there in 1944 and forced to remove their shoes before they were shot by the fascist militia of the Arrow Cross Party, their bodies falling into the river.
The monument last year became the focus of one of several ugly spats between Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán and President Volodymyr Zelensky. The Ukrainian leader, himself a Jew, is furious that the country on his western border will neither permit the passage of military hardware to Kyiv nor agree to tougher sanctions against Russia, and he sarcastically invited Orbán to honour the Ukrainian war dead at that site.
There are many in the West who, like Zelensky, hate Orbán, and spit out his name with the vitriol usually reserved for Putin or Franco. In their case, however, it is mostly because of his determination to protect the country’s Christian heritage from new and destructive ideologies and its lands from the unfettered immigration upon which so many European states feed like opium to offset their collapsing birth rates. I confess that I rather like him. There is wisdom and courage in his “family friendly” policies that have seen his country’s fertility rate rise from the lowest in Europe to above the EU average in a decade, while marriage rates have nearly doubled. It is an example of good government, in contrast to the feeble government to which we are inured.
Szabadság tér, or Liberty Square, is a short walk away. The presence there of both the Soviet Army memorial and the US embassy, where Cardinal József Mindszenty was given sanctuary for the 15 years that followed the failed 1956 uprising against Communism, serve as stark reminders to the Hungarian people of what it means to be free.
The people here have historical memories of life under totalitarianism and cannot be blamed for not wanting to return to it. They are right to resist the madness of globalist authoritarians who threaten them with expulsion from the EU because their policies, in the words of France’s leader Emmanuel Macron, are not “not in line with our values and what Europe is”.
Soon I will leave for Veszprém, the 2023 European capital of culture, and a city of tremendous religious, cultural and historical significance, yet very much off the tourist trail. I will visit a restoration project involving 18 historical buildings within the precincts of the castle and the 11th-century romanesque Cathedral of St Michael that was founded by Blessed Gisela, the Bavarian queen of St Stephen.
I am particularly looking forward to St George’s Chapel, a building so ancient that it was considered old even in St Stephen’s day a millennium ago. It was once a major pilgrimage destination because it housed the head of St George, given to King Stephen by the Byzantine emperor as a reward for his victory over the Bolgars.
The fate of the relic makes an intriguing story. An American historian called Kenneth Setton spent decades scouring Europe for it before concluding that what remains of the cranium is hidden away in a monastery in Venice.
Those of you who have read The Beast of Bethulia Park, which will turn one on September 30, might guess I have a fascination for relics. They also play a key role in the sequel, which, all being well, will be published next year. It has essentially the same cast – Fr Calvin Baines et al – and tells the story of a ruthless art thief racing to uncover the biggest treasure haul of his criminal career as lockdown and the mistakes of his past and present threaten to overtake him disastrously.
Simon Caldwell is associate editor of the Catholic Herald. His debut thriller The Beast of Bethulia Park (Gracewing, £20) is out now. Click here to order your copy.
Areas of Catholic Herald business are still recovering post-pandemic.
However, we are reaching out to the Catholic community and readership, that has been so loyal to the Catholic Herald. Please join us on our 135 year mission by supporting us.
We are raising £250,000 to safeguard the Herald as a world-leading voice in Catholic journalism and teaching.
We have been a bold and influential voice in the church since 1888, standing up for traditional Catholic culture and values. Please consider donating.