Attila and the Huns — A Reader’s Guide

The Poet's Huns and the Kaiser's Huns

Hutton's introduction is built on a double quotation. He first reproduces Claudian's late fourth-century verses, which depict the Huns as a savage race beyond the Tauris, their 'sustenance is spoil' and their customs include gashing their brows. Then he prints the Kaiser's 1900 address to German troops departing for China: 'Just as the Huns a thousand years ago under the leadership of Attila gained a reputation... so may the name of Germany become known.' The juxtaposition is deliberate. Hutton uses the classical poet to establish a traditional image of Hunnic barbarity, then shows how that image was weaponized by a modern ruler. He notes that the Kaiser's words 'have since been translated into action not only upon the Chinese but upon the body of Europe,' referencing Belgian and French suffering. This opening strategy signals that the book will treat historical narrative as a tool for political commentary, not as an end in itself.

The Limits of Historical Knowledge

Hutton is candid about the fragmentary nature of his sources. He writes that 'we know so little of the Huns of the fifth century' that it is impossible to assert or deny a direct link to modern Prussians. He dismisses Gibbon's theory, taken from De Guignes, that the Huns were identical with the Hioung-nou of Chinese records, though he offers no alternative origin. Instead, he classifies them as a 'Turanian race,' grouping them with Finns, Bulgarians, Magyars, Croatians, and Turks. This broad categorization relies on nineteenth-century ethnology rather than modern genetics or linguistics. Readers should note that Hutton's argument about Prussian racial origins—citing Quatrefages to claim that Prussia's population is 'essentially Finno-Slavian'—is used to undermine German claims of racial unity. The historical evidence for Hunnic origins remains thin, and Hutton's assertions are shaped by his polemical purpose.

The Embassy of Pope Leo the Great

The later excerpt describes the famous meeting between Attila and Pope Leo I in 452. Hutton emphasizes that Leo did not go alone: with him were 'two illustrious nobles, the Consul Gennadius Avienus... and the Prefect Trigetius.' They met Attila on the Mincio near Mantua, at a place called the Campus Ambuleius. Hutton describes Leo's vestments—'the golden mitre, a chasuble of purple with the pallium'—and reports that Attila saw 'the mighty figures of S. Peter and S. Paul' in the sky and bowed his head. Yet Hutton immediately complicates this miraculous account. He notes that the treaty involved 'an annual tribute to the Hun' and that Aetius and Marcian were 'probably indirectly responsible' for Attila's retreat. The Pope's success, Hutton suggests, was not solely divine: Roman armies and Byzantine threats played a role. This balanced treatment shows Hutton weighing hagiographic tradition against strategic reality.

Attila's Homecoming as Failure

Hutton's final excerpt presents Attila's return to Hungary as a catalogue of defeats. 'He had struck first the East and perhaps ruined it, but he had failed to take Constantinople. He had struck Gaul and left its cities shambles, but he had not destroyed the armies of Aetius. He had desired Rome for his plunder and his pride, but Leo had turned him back.' The repetition of 'he had... but' structures the paragraph as a litany of unfulfilled ambitions. Hutton concludes that Attila 'returned to his wooden stockade in the heart of Hungary with all his hopes unfulfilled, all his achievements undone, a ruined man.' The language is stark and judgmental. Hutton adds that Attila's failure to realize his own ruin 'is but to emphasise the fact that he was a Barbarian.' This moralizing verdict fits the book's broader argument: that barbarism, whether Hunnic or Prussian, ultimately leads to self-destruction.

Hutton's Attila and the Huns is a work of its time: a First World War polemic that uses fifth-century history to comment on German militarism. Readers will find a narrative that moves from classical poetry to contemporary politics, from ethnological speculation to dramatic set-pieces like Leo's embassy. The excerpts show Hutton's willingness to acknowledge historical uncertainty even as he advances a strong thesis. For a first reading, pay attention to how he selects and frames his evidence—the quotations, the asides, the moral judgments—and consider how the 1915 context shapes his portrait of Attila.

I remember my first glimpse of Francis I, that restless king who seemed to embody France's old chivalry, in A Popular History of France from the Earliest Times, Volume 1 — Reading Companion. Reading Hutton's account of Attila's pause before the gates of Orleans, I felt the same quiet astonishment—how borders hold history for a moment, then let it spill through.