A History of Hungarian Literature/Chapter 4
IV
THE RENAISSANCE
Hungary was one of the first countries to be stirred by the Renaissance. For this she was indebted to one of the greatest men of that great age, King Matthias Corvinus, who was born in 1443, and who reigned from 1458 until his death in 1490.
Matthias, who had been brought up by eminent humanists, was a thorough Renaissance monarch, like his Italian contemporaries, Lorenzo the Magnificent, and the rulers of Urbino and Milan, Federigo Montefeltre and Lodovico Moro. They were all passionately fond of the new artistic luxury, and highly prized every relic of classical times, fragments of the glorified Greek age, as well as the elaborately illustrated vellum books, some of which cost more than a picture by Raphael. Italy was then the centre of culture, so King Matthias endeavoured to create a channel through which that culture might make its way to Hungary. In view of that effort we may call King Matthias the first modern Hungarian. All that was most eminent and characteristic in his father, John Hunyadi, is suggestive of the Middle Ages, white Matthias is a new type—the Renaissance ruler; between him and his father there is the gulf which separates one historical epoch from another. Naturally, even in Renaissance times, there still persisted elements belonging to the Middle Ages, just as with the rosy light of dawn there is mingled something of the darkness of night; so in the character of Matthias we may discern features which link him to a bygone age. It was the same with the men who were his spiritual kindred, Lorenzo the Magnificent or Alfonso of Arragon; but like them Matthias was essentially a man of the Renaissance. Italy herself could not show us a more striking type of the new genus. It is not only that he surrounded himself with the very best works of art of that period, but his whole personality showed that he had drunk deeply of the waters of that enchanting stream which reached Hungary earlier than other countries. His character and education, his tastes and prejudices, his imagination and temperament, were all rooted in the soil of the Renaissance.
Great vitality and uncurbed emotions are frequently to be found linked with a sense of beauty in the typical man of that age; but his lively imagination and his manifold abilities were often mingled with craftiness and rhetorical volubility; he admired the classical world in an intellectual way, and yet was not entirely free from superstitions; finely turned wit and indomitable energy existed side by side in his nature. All those features appeared in Matthias. His imagination was powerful and undisciplined. Gigantic plans seethed in his mind like precious metals in a furnace, rich, yet mingled with dross. At one time it was the crown of Bohemia which he attempted to seize, at another it was the German imperial title. He dreamed of reconquering the territories near the Danube, chasing the Turks back to Asia, or converting them to Christianity. Later on, he found a wild pretext for laying claim to the throne of the Sultan, on the ground that an aunt of his had been carried off to that monarch's harem.
The Renaissance developed, to a very great degree, the consciousness of individuality in Matthias's contemporaries; no longer were they merely subordinate parts of some vast machine, they felt themselves free as air. At such a time there were many who, in the intoxication of their newly found freedom, would brook no restraint of their passions or ambitions, and so we meet some very strong personalities and some very violent ones. The effect of this new development upon political life was to create autocrats and tyrants. Italy was full of despotic rulers in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.
The same unbridled strength appeared in Matthias, and often led him to extremes. For instance, in defiance of popular opinion, he bestowed the title of Primate of Hungary on a handsome, seven-year-old Italian boy, so that from Ferrara people sent the Primate toys; he imprisoned his own uncle; he suddenly raised his friends to the highest posts and, if it pleased him, as suddenly hurled them down.
Notwithstanding, he possessed features which distinguish him from all the other tyrants, and raise him to the level of the "great Italians" of the age. He never failed to select the necessary means to achieve his end. In politics, as in all else, his plans were on a grand scale, and covered the whole political stage of his time, the Holy Land as well as Bosnia, Bohemia and Turkey, Brandenburg and Venice. They were all as pieces on his chess-board, as also were France, Spain, and the Pope.
The subtle threads of his diplomacy stretched from the Court of Burgundy to Teheran. He was in touch alike with Turkish dignitaries and with the Czar. He threatened the Turks with the Pope; the Pope, again, with the Turks. "If the Holy Father does not comply with my wishes, I swear by the sacred Cross that I will help the Turks to enter Italy," he declared to the Nuncio. He might have said, with the Latin poet, "Si flectere nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo."
His fertile and vehement imagination, and his far seeing, calculating intellect, combined in effecting his purposes. He flattered and threatened, he implored and commanded, he convinced or conquered or bribed his enemies. If he did not attain his ends by his logic and persuasive eloquence, or by his princely gifts, with swift dexterity he resorted to force. But if violent methods did not promise success, he forgot his former plan and once again became tranquil.
As a statesman, then, as in other respects, he was typical of the Renaissance. His cunning in design, his vigour in execution, the grand scale of his plans, and his indifference to the means, so long as the ends were achieved, made him seem like a pupil of the great Machiavelli, though long before Machiavelli's time. It is characteristic of the Renaissance politicians that they enlarged the stage for their combinations by involving one European country after another, and this feature may be seen in Matthias. His mind, his fertile imagination, and his feverish energy were typical of the fifteenth century. In respect of certain wild but majestic features in him, he had something in common with the famous lions which he used to keep in an enclosure of his palace, and which are mentioned by the poet Janus Pannonius.
Matthias was a consummate artist, with all the artistic intuitions of his age, but his art was politics, as that of Giovanni Dalmata was architecture, and that of Benedetto de Majano sculpture. In his great plans he generally counted upon two weaknesses in human nature, vanity and love of money. He lavished appreciative words as well as gold upon those whom he wished to impress. The age of the Renaissance was the age of rhetoric, and Matthias was a true representative of it in that respect. If his plans required it he used refined rhetoric and artistic periphrases, to which his perfect courtesy lent effect. Polished manners were a new thing in his day, though they had been generally adopted by the Italian nobility. But in spite of his suave methods Matthias sometimes found his politeness thrown away and his plans threatened with failure, and then his vehement nature would burst out with uncontrollable fury. "He got into a passion," says an Italian ambassador, "like a raging lion." When the king was angry it seemed as though "flames burst from his eyes and mouth and nostrils."
But above all, it was his great love for art that made Matthias so thorough a representative of the Renaissance. He endeavoured to transplant the new culture into Hungary. He invited the most prominent humanists and the best artists from Italy, and when they could not come themselves he brought their works, at least, to his country.
He collected antique treasures and founded a fine library, the so-called Corvina library. He adorned his palace in Buda with choice Italian works of art; he commissioned statues, pictures, books, and furniture from Italy, and especially from Florence, the home of the new art. Outside Italy no man in Europe was a better judge of works of art and of literature. His liking for the new ideas may be explained by three circumstances: in the first place, he had been educated by eminent humanists, who taught the impressionable youth to admire the classical world; when he became king, the most influential men of his Court and amongst the clergy had nearly all studied in Italy and brought home the ideas of the new cult; and, furthermore, the direction taken by his tastes was largely influenced by his marriage, his Queen Beatrice having been brought up at the Court of Naples, where knowledge and art were enthusiastically beloved. Her grandfather, the noble Alfonso, was the best connoisseur of art of his time. Her father, though harsh and crafty by nature, was endowed with much artistic taste; he founded a scientific academy, and zealously collected books. It must be remembered, too, that in the middle of the fifteenth century, there was a constant intercourse between Hungary and Italy, for not only did merchants and pilgrims pass to and fro frequently, and in large numbers, but also scholars, students, and painters. Filippino Lippi, Verrocchio, and Caradosso could not accept the King's invitation to his Court, but their works were well represented there. The artist who worked for Matthias the most, and who spent the longest time at his Court, was Giovanni Dalmata. All his works in Hungary were destroyed by the Turks, but it is well-known that he executed a great number for the King, who conferred upon him a title equivalent to knighthood. On the death of the King he left Hungary. He was one of the most refined sculptors of the Renaissance, and possessed something of the graceful Attic spirit, which is only to be observed elsewhere in works of the early Florentine Renaissance. His works represented historical Hungarian personages, such as John Hunyadi and his son Ladislas (then recently beheaded) as well as mythological characters. The statues had a curious fate. Half a century later they were in Constantinople, among the ruins of the Byzantine Emperor's hippodrome, carried thither by the victorious Turks. And the statues, relics of Hungarian Renaissance times, stood there side by side with other interesting objects. Next to them was the famous brass serpent and the golden tripod, which the victorious Greeks erected at Delphi to commemorate the siege of Thebes. There too were the Egyptian obelisk of Theodosius the Great and the triumphal column of Constantine. All the nations whose victories had been celebrated by these monuments were then beneath the Turkish yoke.
A great hurricane of historical events had swept the wrecks of the golden age of Egypt, Greece, Byzantium and Hungary into one heap. Such is the irony of fate—relics reminding us of Thothmes III., of the conquerors of Salamis, of Theodosius the Great, and of Matthias Corvinus, stood on the site of the circus which the Turks used as a stable. The statues taken from the palace of the Hungarian King were destroyed in the sixteenth century; some of the other relics are still to be seen among the ruins of the Hippodrome.
Among the artists of the early Renaissance who worked for Matthias was Andrea del Verrocchio, the creator of the finest equestrian statue in the world—the Colleone statue in Venice. Later, the Prince of Milan, Lodovico il Moro, commissioned Verrocchio's great pupil, Leonardo da Vinci, to paint a Madonna for King Matthias, adding that "he is able to value a great picture as few can."
Filippino Lippi could not accept the King's invitation, but painted two pictures for him in Florence (due tavole molto belle, says Vasari). One was a portrait of Matthias, and the other the Lord's Supper.
It was probably the famous Caradosso who made the masterpiece of Renaissance goldsmith's work, the Calvary at Esztergom, for the king, which was afterwards given to the Primate Bakócz by the king's son, John Corvinus.
The most talented Italian artist at the Court of Matthias was the young Benedetto da Majano, afterwards the architect of the splendid palace belonging to the Strozzi family.
Matthias would not have been a typical Renaissance ruler had he not been passionately fond of fine vellum manuscripts, adorned with miniatures. He and the Italian princes were rivals in book-collecting, and as he could easily afford it, he used to spend as much as 30,000 golden florins annually on his library, which must have cost, in our money, some hundreds of thousands of pounds. His agents wandered as far as the Levant in order to procure interesting Greek manuscripts. The most eminent Florentine masters worked for his library, and he paid Attavantes for a single manuscript the price usually given for a masterpiece of painting. The miniatures on the parchments of Attavantes combine the fresh beauty of the early Renaissance with the most refined Greek taste.
In that age, love of art went hand in hand with admiration of antiquity. Italian potentates were all eager collectors of antique treasures. People did not always understand the Greeks and Romans, but they always venerated them. Matthias began collecting ancient relics, sarcophagi, tablets, bronze casts of coins, and both he and his favourite writers and artists speak of the Romans with the greatest reverence. "The King," writes a well-known Italian humanist, "reads even late at night in bed. Quintus Curtius' History of Alexander the Great or the works of Livy may be found under his pillow." His conversation and his frequent quotations showed how well read he was in the Roman authors, especially in Virgil, while Queen Beatrice was equally well versed in them.
It is only natural that the men who were engaged in bringing to light and spreading this classical culture should be highly esteemed. Nearly all the monarchs had famous scholars living at their Courts; one prince invited them because of his real interest; another, perhaps, merely because it was the fashion. These scholars used to wander from country to country, as famous actors do nowadays, their contracts with their hosts, the Kings, being for a year or two only, and they were handsomely paid for their visit. When the term expired they left for some other Court. Matthias had a large number of philosophers, cardinals, physicians, orators, philologists, brilliant conversationalists, famous astronomers, astrologers banished from their own country, and chiromancers at the court; in a word, the most as well as the least valuable classes of that singular, yet great age. In 1471, King Matthias wrote to a famous Roman humanist: "Scholars, how happy are you! You strive not after blood-stained glory nor monarchs' crowns, but for the laurels of poetry and virtue. You are even able to compel us to forget the tumult of war."
Let us cast a glance at the polite society of the period, and enter one of the halls in the palace of Buda. It is furnished with all the luxury and artistic taste of the Renaissance. On the walls are wondrous tapestries interwoven with gold, alternating with frescoes representing scenes from Hungarian history. Nature lends her beauty to that of art, for if the guest lift the heavy silk curtains and look through the porphyry-framed windows, he sees the striking panorama of Buda and Pest; below him the Danube, like a silver ribbon dotted with green islets; to the right the hills, and to the left the wide-stretching plain. Then, if he look around him in the hall, he sees beautifully carved tables, glass cases filled with treasures dear to the heart of the connoisseur, Venetian mirrors, golden statues, old bronzes, medals; in one corner a Roman couch covered with brocade; farther on, antique tripod chairs "like those at Delphi." Along the walls are carved bookcases with crimson silk draperies. On the shelves, the literary works of classical antiquity stand side by side with those of the new revival, all of them bound in silk, white the workmanship of their silver clasps and corners is as worthy of admiration as the miniatures to be found inside, which display the rich imagination of the Renaissance blended with that of antiquity—graceful garlands of flowers and fruit, Cupids riding on fawns or playing with rainbow-coloured butterflies, Tritons and nymphs sporting, and, as a border, antique gems, and delicate climbing plants with golden flowers.
Seated in one of the Grecian chairs we see the royal host, King Matthias, the centre and soul of the gathering. His long fair hair falls over his shoulders, his cheeks are ruddy, his forehead high, and his large shining eyes betoken a great mind and a passionate temperament. Near him stands a tall and remarkably handsome ecclesiastic, the King's favourite, and the best Latin poet of the century, Janus Pannonius (John Csezmiczey) (1434–1472). The sadness of this young man's future has not yet cast its shadow upon him; he is still the favourite of the King, who distinguishes him in every possible way, but he was soon to fall into disfavour; his former benefactor became his persecutor, and he was forced to fly in disguise to a remote fortress, there to die young and forgotten.[1] Janus Pannonius belonged to the best class of Renaissance scholars. It is only in that age that we find such ardent admiration of and genuine enthusiasm for everything connected with classical culture. Pedantry and dry scholastic study had not yet made the world tired of the past, and for the Renaissance scholar the classical authors had the dignity of antiquity, together with the zest of novelty.
The Florentine Vespasiano, the wealthiest of the dealers in books and manuscripts, speaks in a pathetic manner of Pannonius, years after he had met him. Pannonius had been educated at Ferrara, where he far excelled all his fellow students in his knowledge of Greek and Latin. When his uncle, John Vitéz, the Archbishop of Esztergom, urged him to return to Hungary, he went, on his way back, to Florence, to see the great men of the day—Cosimo de' Medici, Poggio, the great humanist, and the Greek Argiropolis, the commentator of Aristotle. "Once," says Vespasiano, "there came to me a remarkably handsome youth, of dignified appearance, clad in a crimson robe. I cried out joyfully, 'Welcome here! You are a Hungarian, are you not?' On which he greeted me with great warmth, and told me in his own charming manner 'that I had judged correctly, and that he had come to see the great humanists.'" Vespasiano then took him to the Villa Careggi, the home of the first Renaissance Platonic academy; also to Cosimo de' Medici, who was completely fascinated by the brilliant and learned youth; then to Argiropolis, whom Pannonius heard lecturing; and to Poggio, at whose house he recited some of his poems with remarkable success. Vespasiano writes of him: "Every one felt the charm of his personality, even those who knew him only by sight. Every day added to his reputation. We looked upon him as the delight of the world (le delizie del mondo)." The chief work of Pannonius is a long Latin epic poem, wholly classical in its conception, praising the achievements of his friend Marcello, the Venetian leader.
Another remarkable figure at the Court of Matthias was Regiomontanus (1436-1476), the greatest astronomer of his century, and the inventor of modern trigonometry. He was the friend and pupil of the great Greek cardinal Bessarion. Matthias placed him in charge of his library and astronomical observatory, at a salary of two hundred golden florins. The observations of Regiomontanus constitute the beginning of real scientific astronomy. His work, the Ephemerides, was dedicated to King Matthias, who rewarded him with twelve hundred golden florins. The book is a kind of nautical almanack, enabling an observer to find his geographical situation by means of the stars. Columbus used the book during his first voyage, so that it played an important part in geographical discovery.
Near the King we cannot fail to see his literary familiar, the ingenious Galeotto, who has a hand in everything going on in the new classical society. Galeotto had been the friend and tutor of Janus Pannonius at Ferrara. Later on, he went to Hungary as the guest, and partly as the jester, of the King, and of the humanists among the bishops. He had travelled in France, staying at the Court of Charles VIII., and in Spain and England. He composed bombastic praises of Lorenzo the Magnificent. He knew a little about everything and yet not much altogether, but he seems to have had a consummate knowledge of the art of being a parasite. He was witty, well-read, and clever, and easily became a favourite with everybody as an amusing though superficial conversationalist.[2]
The other historian of the King is Anthony Bonfini (1427-I502), a man of a less vivacious temperament than Galeotto, but more dignified, more learned, and more distinguished. Matthias preferred him to all the other foreign scholars, and kept him at his side even during his last years. What we learn about the King from the superficial, talkative Galeotto, is chiefly in the form of anecdotes, while Bonfini, on the other hand, wrote a careful treatise concerning the King's reign, in a style modelled on that of Livy.
It would be impossible to describe all the bright planets which revolved about that gorgeous sun, Matthias Corvinus. Such a society had never before been seen in Buda. Even at that epoch, it was perhaps only the Villa Careggi, the palace of the great Lorenzo, that witnessed gatherings rivalling those at Buda. The guests have just finished the feast. They are in the banqueting hall, where the King has been listening to the Hungarian bards as they sang the deeds of the King, and of his great father, John Hunyadi.[3] Inspired by their song Janus Pannonius expresses his resolve to write an heroic epic about John Hunyadi. Now they are in the library, talking about the great philosopher Plato, who has been recalled to life, as it were, by the Renaissance. The heads of the State of Florence, Cosimo de' Medici and Lorenzo the Magnificent, are most enthusiastic disciples of the philosopher: a society was soon formed for the study of Plato, and men recognised in him the greatest prose-writer of classical times.
Janus Pannonius was a keen student of Plato,[4] and he translated the works of his follower, Plotinus, into Latin. Matthias was especially fond of the Platonic philosopher Apuleius.
Thirteen centuries before, there dwelt in Hungary a man familiar with Plato, the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, who wrote his philosophical works near the banks of the river Granua (Garam). And at the end of thirteen centuries there were again lovers of Plato in "the land of the four rivers." The great fascination exercised by Plato upon the minds of men in the fifteenth century is clearly shown in the letters written to King Matthias by the great Florentine Platonist Marsilius Ficinus, all of them full of allusions to the philosopher and enthusiastic in his praise.
The centre of the gathering in Buda was always Matthias, not the most learned there, but the most gifted, his vast mind open to every new impression, his attention always keen, and his curiosity insatiable. He was continually learning, not alone from books, but from the conversation of those around him. But something of the spirit of the Middle Ages still remained in the man. His studies were wide and many-sided, rather than profound; his mind delighted in logical subtleties; he often confounded science with superstition, luxury with artistic beauty. The society around him showed that although the new ideas had triumphed in men's minds the victory was scarcely won. But we become conscious of the triumph of the new spirit as we listen to the guests while they discuss the great questions of the day: the scientists weighing their facts, the philologists quoting the poets, while every now and then there breaks in upon the learned talk the sound of merriment, the cheerful spirit of the Renaissance having restored wit to its proper place, wit, too, divested of its former coarseness.
It was under Matthias that printers first came to Hungary. Andrew Hess, coming from Rome, printed, in 1473, and in Roman characters, the book called Budai Krónika, which contained the history of Hungary up to the time of Matthias. And so Hungary forestalled England in the art of printing.
Matthias, like all the rulers of his day, was exceedingly fond of gorgeous festivals and brilliant pageants. He was maître de plaisir as well as statesman. In the fifteenth century Venice was famed throughout the world for its luxury, yet the Venetian ambassador himself was amazed at the pomp of the Hungarian monarch's court. The papal nuncio also, who had seen much grandeur in his own circle, spoke rapturously of the castle at Visegrád, calling it a paradise on earth. Another ambassador declared that the castle had no equal in Europe, that only the Palais de Justice in Paris could be compared with it.
But the Renaissance also brought great changes into the habits of every-day life. People began to pay more attention to cleanliness, houses were better ventilated, and in Italy clean linen and good manners at table became the hall-mark of the gentleman. All his foreign guests spoke of Matthias as exemplary in such matters.
There is one more point of similarity between Matthias and his great Italian contemporaries, in that he established a new kind of title to the occupancy of a throne. At the beginning of the Renaissance period, the Italian thrones were in the possession of men who were not of royal descent, but were either successful generals, or their sons. Such monarchs had no family traditions to lean upon, no inherited claim upon the people's loyalty; that had to be won. They therefore occupied themselves with affairs of State more than members of the old dynasties had been accustomed to do; and in their anxiety to acquire dignity they also displayed greater luxury. In default of an ancient name they had recourse to their wealth, and they loved to surround themselves with eminent men in order to add splendour to their court. Such a monarch was Matthias, himself sprung from no royal race, but a son of the great general John Hunyadi.
It is consonant with the opinion of their time that the monarchs of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, autocrats, men of strong personality and of sensual tendencies, should try to secure their thrones to their illegitimate sons, and Matthias endeavoured to do so on behalf of his son John Corvinus.
Matthias was of his age even in its smallest feature. With the literature and philosophy of the classical period, much of its superstition also had been revived. Astrology and chiromancy were practised in every court in Europe. Matthias, too, liked to hear and to talk about the "ars magica," and before taking any important step invariably sought the advice of his astrologer.
To sum up, Matthias expressed the spirit of the Renaissance to perfection in his character and talents, as in his faults. He represents that age as faithfully as a statue by Verocchio, or a picture of Mantegna, or a cathedral or campanile by Brunelleschi, or the miniature-adorned manuscripts of Attavantes. If his learning was less wide than that of Lorenzo de' Medici or Federigo da Urbino, his natural talents and inventiveness were greater. He thoroughly realised the importance of the Renaissance, and wrote on one occasion to Galeotto Marcio: "We may pride ourselves on having raised the glorious past, eternal in its influence, from the dead."
The poetry of the Middle Ages was chiefly religious, but the era of Matthias produced some secular poetry, and its light falls upon the figure of the King. The most important works were written in Latin, for the admiration of the classics was too enthusiastic and exclusive to allow of much favour being shown to poetry written in the vernacular. Janus Pannonius, in Hungary, used Latin for his epics, just as Petrarch did in Italy.
The same era also saw a late flowering of legend. The first long epic poem written in Hungarian is the story of St. Catherine of Alexandria. Her history inspired many of the great Renaissance painters: the most famous picture representing her is that by Raphael,[5] who painted the virgin saint with visionary eyes and her well-known symbol, the wheel. The legend of St. Catherine must have been the work of some one living outside court circles, where Italian taste was prevalent, and yet of some one in touch with the Renaissance, for the plan and treatment of the work show the influence of the new spirit. Literary works of the Middle Ages, with the exception of a few real master pieces, lack plan, and are frequently obscure in parts because they are wanting in logical order and in proportion. It was one result of the revived interest in the Latin writers that logical method and clearness came to be essential in literature. The Romans were preeminently gifted with the capacity for organisation, and they brought that power into play in their literary activity; their works became a standard of literary excellence and their methods became rules for their Renaissance admirers.
In the legend of St. Catherine we notice subjective features; behind the facts, we detect the springs from which they flow. In that respect also the author of the poem is typical of the age in which he lived, an age which had learnt to place a new value upon the individual.
- ↑ In 1464 Matthias writes of Janus Pannonius that he is the pride of his Court, and that he is always striving to anticipate the King's wishes, but eight years later he writes to the Prince of Saxony requesting him to imprison Janus, should he enter Saxony, and declares himself ready to return this "friendly service" in a similar way, if necessary.
- ↑ Galeotto appears in Sir Walter Scott's Quentin Durward as a fascinating and eloquent astrologer, princely in appearance, but cunning and treacherous.
- ↑ One of these songs, describing the siege of the fortress of Sabácz by Matthias, was found in 1871.
- ↑ "When he spoke in Greek," Bonfini says of Pannonius, "you would think he must have been born in Athens." And Vespasiano says, "It seemed as if Janus Pannonius had been brought up by Socrates himself."
- ↑ The picture is in the National Gallery in London.