I suspect that archaeology in our country does not record many similar grave finds…

 It does happen, but it is certainly not very common. I am aware of a very similar 16th-century child’s grave from the excavation of the cemetery surrounding the medieval church in Báta (Tolna County). Based on the observations made there, the excavator concluded that the coffin had been sealed with a padlock. In Visegrád, however, there was no coffin. Here, it seems the symbolic role of the padlock is even more pronounced. Apart from this, there are only very unreliable 20th-century observations and reports of finds suggesting that padlocks were occasionally found in certain medieval graves here and there as a means of warding off evil, but it is now impossible to verify the authenticity of these claims.

How significant was the international response to the discovery? 

This news reached other countries mainly through professional contacts; colleagues from Poland and Italy, in particular, expressed an interest. Similar graves have also been discovered in Italy, but the interest from Poland comes as no surprise, given that numerous tangible artefacts relating to medieval vampire beliefs have been found there. In Polish cultural history, folklore and literature, the vampire known as The presence of the blood-sucking spectre is much more prominent than in Hungarian folklore; but in general, the „vampire” as such is primarily characteristic of Slavic and Balkan folklore. Most archaeological parallels also originate from Poland. We are referring primarily to individual graves, but there is also a known cemetery outside a church (i.e. on consecrated ground) which was used specifically for the burial of people who had been excommunicated for one reason or another in the 16th and 17th centuries. Among these burials in unusual circumstances, we find quite a few in which the bodies were mutilated in some way, buried face down, impaled, had sharp, pointed objects (e.g. a sickle) placed on their necks, stones or bricks placed in their mouths, or the body was padlocked, typically at the feet. The role of the padlocks in these cases is therefore clear: they served to keep the dead confined to their graves. This was the first obvious approach, drawing a parallel with the Visegrád finds, and this is one of the reasons why international interest and consultation are so important. Of course, it is always worth examining more general phenomena in the light of the specific characteristics of the area in question.   

Please tell me, apart from that, in the vast majority of cases when you’re not actually finding vampire graves whilst excavating a church, what areas do you specialise in? 

My research focuses primarily on the archaeological remains and sites of Visegrád from the late Middle Ages and the early modern period – the Turkish era – specifically within the area of the former 14th–15th-century town, as well as the Upper and Lower Castles. I am particularly interested in the 18th century, a period which has previously been little studied using archaeological methods, and for which there are numerous outstanding sites in Visegrád. Within the field of archaeological finds, I specialise primarily in animal bone remains and medieval worked bone and antler artefacts. The former, for example, are important for reconstructing the fauna of the time, the history of domestic animals, hunting, diet and meat consumption, whilst the latter have very interesting implications for the history of crafts and industry. More recently, from a national perspective, I have become interested in so-called legal archaeological research – that is, the architectural and material remains of the legal system and the administration of justice in the past, particularly places of execution. The initial impetus for this came from a remarkable collection of finds at Visegrád. Back in the 1980s, during an excavation led by Júlia Kovalovszki in the area of the Árpád-era village within the castle grounds, the remains of a female skeleton were unearthed, buried in a disused grain store, alongside the carcasses of six dogs. It was only later that the possibility arose that this might be a medieval execution site and that the victim had been executed and humiliated even in death; and it was in connection with the investigations that began that I started to delve deeper into the subject. Last but not least, I would like to mention the architecture, local and industrial history, and artistic works of my beloved hometown, Salgótarján, which have come to the forefront of my interest in recent years. Studying and collecting these can, in fact, be seen as a hobby stemming from a kind of emotional attachment, as urban planning, modern and postmodern architecture, and the fine arts are not my areas of specialisation; but I always find it fascinating to discover entirely new fields of study.

When did you decide to study archaeology, where did you study, and who had a major influence on you? What was your original specialism? 

My interest in archaeology – and, in particular, in human skeletons – first emerged when I was a small child. (My other big favourite at the time was the vacuum cleaner.) I loved drawing skeletons, and when I was 8–10 years old, my first „skeleton” book was István Kiszely’s *Graves, Bones, People*. It contained some superb excavation photographs and drawings, although I didn’t understand much of the anthropological text. It was a real treat when, in the mid-1980s, my parents took me to the Museum of Fine Arts’ newly opened permanent exhibition on Egypt. There, I was able to see real mummies. Another source of inspiration was that, thanks to my grandparents in Visegrád, I spent a great deal of time here every summer. Of course, the ruins of the Royal Palace, Solomon’s Tower and the Citadel always held plenty of exciting things to discover from the time of the great kings of old. Not to mention the Palace Plays, which began in 1985 and which I attended enthusiastically from the very start. And, of course, I loved reading, especially the legends of the Hungarian conquest and the Middle Ages, as well as young adult novels set during the Ottoman occupation or the Kuruc era.

Initially, however, I didn’t start studying archaeology; instead, after my A-levels, I applied to study history at the Faculty of Humanities at ELTE. However, by my second year at university, it became clear that I didn’t want to be a teacher. But that meant I needed another degree, so I started looking around. Alongside history, I dabbled in political science and attended a few lectures at the Faculty of Law; eventually, I ended up choosing museology as my second degree, which was a big step towards the world of museums. But it’s interesting that, despite all this, I didn’t consider archaeology for a long time. The real turning point came with my first excavation experience, in September 1998 at the Roman fort in Gizellamajor. The work was led by Péter Gróf and Dániel Gróh, and a great group of young people had come together. One of my friends from the group rang me to say there was an opportunity to work as an excavation labourer – would I like to join them? I could even top up my scholarship.  Right from the very first day, I was captivated by the „spirit of the place”, the excellent atmosphere, the realisation of just how much the earth conceals, and the realisation of how much physical and mental labour is required to excavate each site. I decided that very same day that this was what I wanted to do, and the following year I applied to the Department of Archaeology at ELTE. I borrowed the exam materials I needed to prepare from Péter Gróf, and my regular consultations with him were also a great help. So I was eventually accepted, and this became my third degree programme. At the department, I initially began specialising in Roman provincial archaeology and the Migration Period, before switching to the Middle Ages. Along the way, I took up archaeometry and archaeozoology – more specifically, archaeological zoology and osteology. Alongside my studies, I made a point of taking part in every excavation at Visegrád from the very beginning – from the Castle Gardens and St Andrew’s Monastery, through the Franciscan monastery and numerous urban sites, right up to the watchtower at Lepence. I was thus in the fortunate position that, over the years, under the guidance and supervision of every archaeologist who has excavated at Visegrád – Gergely Buzás, Péter Gróf, Dániel Gróh, Mátyás Szőke – and under their guidance, to learn from one another at sites of completely different types and ages, and to master different working methods and approaches at each one. This was an incredible opportunity, and the wide-ranging experience I gained during those years proved extremely useful later on at other sites. For example, when, at the invitation of a very dear fellow student (who has since become not only my colleague but also my wife), I was able to work on Gabriella Nádorfi’s excavation at Szabadbattyán, helping to uncover the late Roman palace there.  

At university, László Bartosiewicz, then head of the Department of Medieval and Early Modern Archaeology, made a particularly strong impression on me. He is an internationally renowned scholar of Hungarian archaeozoology who taught at ELTE, as well as in Edinburgh and Stockholm. Alongside his vast knowledge, he was an extremely approachable and very modest man, with an unrivalled, one might say sparkling, sense of humour, with which he conveyed even the highly descriptive nature of bone anatomy with playful ease. I must also mention the distinguished medievalist Professor András Kubinyi and Professor of Archaeology József Laszlovszky; from whom I learnt an immense amount at the Visegrád excavations and during university seminars and colloquia, ranging from source criticism to material analysis (at that time, ELTE’s medieval excavations took place every summer at the Franciscan monastery next to the palace). Alongside my studies in archaeozoology, the encouragement of Professor Bartosiewicz and Gergely Buzás led to the opportunity for me to join the Hungarian archaeological mission led by Balázs Major in Syria for three excavation seasons. It was an experience of a lifetime.   

When and how did you end up at the Visegrád Museum?

I have already mentioned that, even as a university student, I tried to get as involved as possible in the museum’s work, within the limits of what was possible. I wrote my dissertations (in both history and archaeology) on topics relating to Visegrád. However, there was little prospect of a permanent post, however much I might have liked one. Although Mátyás Szőke, the museum’s director at the time, did his utmost to pull strings, even he could not conjure up a permanent position for me. So, for years, I worked on the Visegrád excavations on temporary contracts – first as an excavation labourer, then as a technician, and even as a porter for a few months. Then, completely out of the blue, one of my colleagues handed in their notice and their post had to be filled at lightning speed. It really did happen from one day to the next; all of a sudden, they told me in the office that I’d have to start straight away if I was still serious about the Visegrád Museum. I was serious about it, so one Friday (1 July 2005) I started straight away. It will be twenty years ago this year.

How did the Germans and Hungarians in Visegrád in the 18th century the book of that title? How long have you been researching the settlements of the Maria Theresa era? 

My maternal grandparents and part of my family are of deep-rooted, multi-generational Swabian descent from Visegrád. Thanks to German children’s songs, nursery rhymes and, of course, the family lore – according to which our ancestors arrived from somewhere in Saxony back in the time of Maria Theresa – I already had a basic understanding of the period of immigration. Then, as a young researcher, one of my first excavations was a small section of the 18th-century cemetery stretching across the primary school playground back in 2005. This cannot be regarded as research without any precedents, as it had been known since the 1950s that a late-period burial ground stretched across the area. Not only were the graves of the first and second generations of the German-speaking settlers discovered here, but also countless artefacts relating to folk piety, primarily devotional objects. Moreover, this period is particularly rich in written and visual sources, which essentially complement the archaeological findings. In essence, I have been collecting data relating to this period ever since. The museum has supported research in this field from the very beginning, and it has also been significant that, over the past 20 years, very important artefacts from the Baroque period have come to light, such as the mill excavated in the Lepence area, or the sanctuary and sacristy of Visegrád’s first modern-era church, discovered in the old school building.

Eventually, the collected results were published in a small book. In 2019, Tamás Mikesy, director of the Mátyás Király Cultural Centre, was the driving force behind the publication and subsequently took on the tasks involved in this and the editing process. Visegrád Town Council, the German Ethnic Minority Local Government and the Public Foundation for Visegrád’s Sports and Cultural Facilities provided financial support for the volume, which was finally published in 2020.

What did Visegrád look like, according to our current knowledge, during the period between the Battle of Mohács and the 18th-century resettlements? Let us imagine a completely deserted, forest-covered area, with the ruins of a castle towering above the trees on a hilltop?

Broadly speaking, yes. However, as far as we know, it was completely uninhabited for only a few years – at most a decade – roughly between 1687 and 1696. However, the population of medieval Visegrád had been declining steadily and significantly since 1526, following the Battle of Mohács, and within a decade or two of the Turkish occupation in 1544, the settlement was permanently depopulated. According to Turkish censuses, by 1564 there was no longer any Christian tax-paying population in the area of the former royal seat and residence, whose buildings had also suffered severe damage during the successive military campaigns of that period. Until the wars of reconquest at the end of the 17th century, only the areas of the Upper Castle and the Lower Castle remained inhabited; where the marauding forces in the pay of the Ottoman Turks were concentrated, and where the rural settlements of the Christian population – mainly of Balkan origin – were also situated. Between the 16th and 18th centuries, the abandoned palace and the larger stone buildings in the town gradually fell into ruin, but these ruins remained visible for a long time. This is confirmed not only by travellers„ accounts but also by pictorial depictions. Edward Brown’s ink drawing from 1673, for example, depicts walls standing a storey high and without roofs in the vicinity of the former royal palace. More than 60 years later, Sámuel Mikoviny depicted the ”sad ruins of Visegrád’ in Mátyás Bél’s 1737 description of the country. This authentic engraving depicts a vast expanse of ruins covering the entire town, but also shows the buildings erected by 18th-century settlers. Amongst these, the church, the manor inn and the Chapel of Our Lady on the banks of the Danube can be identified. In Robert Townson’s engraving from the late 18th century, however, there are no longer any ruins (with the exception, of course, of Solomon’s Tower and the Citadel); on this basis, it can be assumed that over the course of approximately 100 years, the majority of the former medieval buildings were rebuilt, altered, concealed or, as we know, in some cases demolished. In other words, the environment had been completely transformed by the early 19th century. New houses were built on the foundations of the medieval ones, making use of the late medieval road network, plot layout and significant details of certain buildings. This is how the single-street, ribbon-development settlement structure – clustered in certain areas – came into being, a pattern which persisted until the second half of the 20th century and, in some cases, remains to this day; the proximity of the Danube remained a defining factor throughout this period. There were areas (e.g. the southern half of what is now Széchenyi Street, or Újtelep) which remained undeveloped at that time, where hayfields, cleared land and meadows stretched out. Further north, in the vicinity of Salamontorony Street, there were no houses either; here, the landscape was dominated by the residential tower and the remains of the valley-closing walls connecting the tower to the Upper Castle. And, of course, the forest, which, according to all consistent accounts from that period, was very dense and extensive, stretching in many places as far as the banks of the Danube.  The English traveller William Hunter, for example, gives a vivid account of this when he visited Visegrád in 1799; according to his account, he had to hire a local guide, without whom he would scarcely have been able to find the path leading to the Upper Castle on a hillside completely overgrown with trees, thickets and thorny bushes.

If you had to choose, in which historical period would you most like to live in Visegrád, and what would you most like to be? 

That’s a very difficult question, because, to be honest, I’d love to travel back to each of those periods, if only for a day or two; it would make interpreting each archaeological site so much easier. But if I had to choose specifically, I’d be most interested in the first half of the 14th century, during the reign of Charles I of Anjou. This was, generally speaking, a very prosperous and peaceful period, when Visegrád became the country’s de facto capital, trade and economic life were flourishing, major construction projects were underway, and the royal congress took place – the most significant diplomatic event of those decades. The wealth and variety of archaeological finds, as well as the sheer volume of luxury goods that arrived here via long-distance trade from Venice and German and Czech territories, all support this picture of general prosperity and well-being. During this period, I would be an average townsperson – a craftsman or merchant – living in one of the stone houses excavated somewhere around the market square, with my own plot of land and probably my own workshop too, say, as a bone carver or coin maker. The proximity of the royal court would have provided a sense of security and, particularly during this period of growth, would have enabled a generally peaceful and tranquil way of life. But I might just as well mention the 18th century, at the beginning of which harsher conditions prevailed, by the middle of the century, institutions had become firmly established, the conditions for farming had been created, and all the frameworks that would prove decisive right up to the 19th and 20th centuries had taken shape. At that time, the settlement led the quiet, uneventful life typical of market towns. Perhaps this is the most appealing aspect of this period.

You could, of course, say more, but which excavations or projects have had the greatest impact on you so far in your career? 

For me, one of the most important projects was the excavation, in 2016–2017, of the 18th-century church uncovered at the school and the cemetery of a similar age situated in the courtyard. Incidentally, some very significant medieval stone buildings were also unearthed in the area.  In the „old building”, which was originally a 600-year-old medieval house, it was possible to pinpoint exactly which classroom might have housed the 18th-century church sanctuary based on Baroque floor plans and designs. It was fascinating to discover that, barely 50 cm below the current floor level, right in the centre of the hall, lay the original brick floor; the whitewashed plaster was still there, and the high altar, along with two side altars, had been unearthed. Furthermore, on the initiative of András Félegyházi, the mayor at the time, the plans were amended so that significant details of the sanctuary – including one of the altars – remained visible even in their excavated state. This was a fine example of how to respectfully preserve the uncovered remains of the past within a space serving a function entirely different from the original. Not to mention that we managed to establish perfect cooperation between the contractors, investors and the various institutions involved in the works.

I could also mention the excavation of the plot at 4 Rév Street, which also lasted two years, the investigation of the medieval church unearthed on Fő Street, the mill at Lepence, and many other sites. I have many fond memories of each of these. A great many young people, university students and, more recently, volunteers have taken part in these fieldwork projects. There are those who have been returning regularly for several years or even decades and have chosen the same profession. Students have become colleagues – outstanding professionals with recognised research achievements. Their careers, as is often mentioned in our friendly conversations, began in the same place and in the same way as mine: in Visegrád.

What do you get up to when you’re not working? What hobbies do you have? 

My love of reading has remained unchanged. In this respect, I’m an omnivore, when it comes to both prose and poetry. Perhaps I’m reliving my second childhood, but I’m particularly fascinated by myths, legends and mythology. I collect these too; from Hungarian folk tales to the gems of European medieval folklore, through Germanic, Celtic, Greek and Roman sagas, right up to Far Eastern or North American creation myths – anything goes. I love computer games, especially the classics from the 70s and 80s. But I’m generally a big fan of all things retro. When the weather’s fine, I love getting out into nature and going for walks, particularly in the Nógrád and Pilis regions.