A History of Hungarian Literature/Chapter 8
VIII
THE NEW CLASSICAL SCHOOL
Curiously enough, George Bessenyei (1747–1811), the man who was to cause a great literary revival in Hungary, happened to live in Vienna, the very centre from which Germanising influences usually spread towards Hungary.
The Queen-Empress, Maria Theresa, anxious to increase the dignity and splendour of her Court, and also to consolidate the empire, organised a magnificent Hungarian Lifeguard in Vienna. Every Hungarian province was requested to select two representatives, from the most distinguished young gentlemen, and to send them to Vienna. One of the two officers sent by the province of Szabolcs was Bessenyei, a strikingly handsome, stately and chivalrous youth, full of talent and of character, but somewhat lacking in culture. The moment he began to move in the polished circles of the Viennese Court, he became conscious of his shortcomings, and at once began to educate himself.
The new idea of rationalism, originating in Paris, had just begun to spread in Vienna. The cultured men who impressed the young Lifeguard officer, were devoted to the new ideas, and fervently admired Voltaire and the Encyclopedists. To be a Voltairist was the fashion of the day, and formed one of the requirements of bon-ton. No wonder that the impressionable youth was carried away, the more so as he soon acquired a thorough knowledge of German and French, and was able to read the German humanists and French encyclopedists in the original.
This new tendency of the human mind was so revolutionary in its nature, that it naturally hastened the coming of political revolution. The "rationalism" of which men were so enamoured was really a revolt against the authority of mediæval traditions. Religious intolerance, blind submission to authority, superstition, especially that most shameful superstition—the belief in witchcraft—mental and political slavery; all found ardent and brilliantly clever adversaries in the French encyclopedists.
Bessenyei threw himself into the new movement, and in his day-dreams, saw a flourishing Hungarian literature, and a vigorous mental life, with himself, perhaps, as the Voltaire of Hungary, for its centre. In co-operation with a few other Hungarian Lifeguard officers, Bessenyei formed a small literary circle. It was strange that Vienna, the very centre of hostility to every national effort, should be the scene of the revival of Hungarian literature.
Voltaire used the stage as the platform for the dissemination of his ideas. Bessenyei resolved to do the same. His first work, which was published in Vienna in 1772, and which marked the commencement of a new chapter in the history of Hungarian literature, was entitled The Tragedy of Agis. The theme resembles that of a play by the German Gottsched, but Bessenyei follows the form of the French tragic poets. He observes the "three unities," and adopts a contemplative, argumentative style and a refined, courteous tone, but his tragedies lack the psychological basis and the brilliant oratory of the French plays. He imitates Voltaire even in such little peculiarities as putting speeches full of allusions to current events into the mouths of his characters. Attila, for instance, the ancient king of the Huns, speaks against the unlawful power of the priests.
Bessenyei's plays are weak, and he was not very fortunate in his choice of the drama as a means of regenerating Hungarian literature, at a time when there were neither theatres nor actors. Nevertheless he must be honoured as a pioneer, and since his time the history of Hungarian literature has been one of continuous progress. The modern era was inaugurated by him, though perhaps he effected more by his example and enthusiasm than by his talent.
Several other plays of his were published in Vienna. One is Attila and Buda, the theme of which is the hostility between the King of the Huns and his brother Bléda, or Buda; the subject of another is Ladislas Hunyadi, the noble and chivalrous hero, beheaded in the flower of his youth. They are all more or less similar, written in a cold, somewhat stiff style. He was much more fortunate in a prose comedy, The Philosopher, which contains one successful figure, a good-natured, straightforward, but somewhat unpolished country gentleman, the type of a Hungarian landowner. This type, which afterwards figured so largely in Hungarian literature, was first introduced by Bessenyei, but later on greater writers made use of it, and enriched it with many original features.
Bessenyei imitated Voltaire in his prose writings even more than in his dramas. The eighteenth century liked novels containing the meditations of a traveller, where the hero was supposed to visit foreign countries and give his reflections upon their habits and laws. Bessenyei wrote a novel of this kind, The Travels of Tarimenes. The country visited is the empire of Maria Theresa, which the author praises as the realm of happiness. In the book we meet Maria Theresa and her enemy Frederick the Great, whose army is vanquished by that of the Empress. Voltaire had flattered Frederick the Great. Bessenyei exalted that monarch's adversary, Maria Theresa.
Voltaire was the first author who dealt successfully with the history of civilisation, and Bessenyei followed him along that line also. He studied English literature as well as French, and translated, though crudely, Pope's Essay on Man, while his brother, Alexander Bessenyei, translated Milton's Paradise Lost. Alexander had also been enlisted to serve in the Lifeguards, but the gigantic and powerfully-built man had to leave the service because no horse could be found strong enough to carry him.
One of George Bessenyei's merits was his strong advocacy of the foundation of a Hungarian theatre, and of a scientific academy.
There was a certain intellectual restlessness in Bessenyei's life, and his ideas fluctuated unaccountably. At first he determined to use his influence at Court on behalf of the Hungarian Reformation, then suddenly he became a Roman Catholic. This was, of course, highly appreciated by Maria Theresa, who rewarded him with a sinecure. After her death, however, she was succeeded by her son, Joseph II., and it is one of life's little ironies that this eminent and enlightened ruler deprived the apostle of rationalism of the post which he had gained more by his apostasy than by his activity and merits. What could Bessenyei do now, disgraced by his monarch, and an object of suspicion in the eyes of his fellow officers? He could not stay in Vienna, so he returned to Hungary and retired to his estate, where he lived a lonely life, shut up with his books. As a Voltairian, he never went to church, and when he died, he was buried without any religious ceremony. His tomb is not in the churchyard, but in a garden under a tree. During the last few years of his life, Hungarian literature had begun to take a new direction.
Among those who were stirred into activity by Bessenyei were the clergy, and their superior literary education made them important factors in Hungarian life. Their studies were chiefly classical, so that when once they began to write, they naturally took the classical poets, and especially Horace, for their models. It must be remembered that during the eighteenth century Latin was so largely used in Hungary that it might almost have been regarded as a living language.
In the history of Hungarian literature, the poets who followed Latin models are designated by the name of "The Classical Poets." Their works, like most modern works in imitation of the Latins, are stiff, cold, somewhat too abstract, and naturally full of mythological allusions. The most noteworthy of the group was a monk of the Order of St. Paul, Benedict Virág, the "Hungarian Horace." He was full of genuine enthusiasm for what the Latins called virtus, but his poems impressed other poets rather than the general public. Before poetry could make any further progress, it was necessary to settle the rules of prosody. Hungarian poetry, like that of all modern nations, is based upon accentual rhythm, but when, in the sixteenth century, John Erdősi (or, in accordance with the latinising fashion of his day, John Sylvester) tried to imitate Latin verses, which are founded on length of syllable instead of accent, the result was surprisingly good. The Hungarian language has proved to be much better adapted to the rules of Latin prosody than any other European tongue. It is well known that Hungarian hexameters are just as melodious, and as perfect from the point of view of prosody, as the Latin verses. Just because the result of this first essay was so satisfactory, Latin metres and stanzas had been largely used before the poets of the classical school commenced their activity, but it was they who first elaborated the rules for this kind of poetry.
We have seen that Bessenyei and his followers imitated the French Encyclopedists, while Virág and the other classical poets chose Horace for their model.
But there was another group of writers who turned neither to Rome nor to Paris for their models, who wished to wear neither the Roman toga nor the Freneh culotte courte, but desired to remain national in their taste and garments. Those writers formed what was called the "National School." The wars of Rákóczy, and later on the tyrannical germanising efforts of Joseph II., stirred the national feeling and awakened men to the need of that sentiment, and strengthened the love of liberty and independence. "Down with foreign fashions! Down with foreign models! Let us be national in all things. If we must imitate, then let us find our models among the old Hungarian poets, such as Gyöngyössi."
The most prominent member of the school was a valiant Hussar General, Count Joseph Gvadányi (1725–1801). His family was originally Italian (Guadagni) but he became thoroughly Hungarian both as patriot and as writer. As an officer in a Hussar regiment, he took part in the Seven Years War, and had a share in that brilliant and daring military adventure of 1757, when General Andrew Hadik suddenly made his appearance before Berlin with his troops, amongst whom were twelve hundred Hungarian Hussars, and so great was the fright occasioned by the unexpected attack that the terrified town consented to open its gates and pay tribute.[1]
Gvadányi wrote most of his works after he had retired from active service on a pension. The best-known, A Notary's Journey to Buda (179o), is a long narrative poem. It strikes the reader as entirely free from imitation, as sincere, and wholly national. The characters and the whole atmosphere of the poem are purely Hungarian. This accounts for the immediate popularity of the book. A country notary, an honest but inexperienced man, travels on horseback to Buda. After many amusing adventures he arrives at his destination, but to his great disappointment he sees that in the very capital of the country, which ought to be the fountain-head of the national spirit, everything is foreign, the language the people speak, the books they read, the garments they wear, and even the measures they dance. People recognised themselves in the various characters, for the reign of Joseph II. had greatly tended to germanise Hungary. The notary himself is a well-drawn type of the patriotic Hungarian of that day, with his fervent national feeling, Latin education, scanty experience and little practical knowledge.
The centre of the awakening national life was the town of Debreczen. Debreczen is situated in the most purely Hungarian part of the country. Its inhabitants are Hungarian Calvinists. In the eighteenth century it was the largest town in Hungary, and from the time of the Reformation was the centre of Protestant theology and of national intellectual life in general. It is often called "The Calvinistic Rome." It was there that botany was first studied scientifically, and that the best Hungarian grammars were written. In the large, though village-like town, there was a huge ugly building like a barrack, the inmates of which wore long black togas. This was the most famous high school in the country during the eighteenth century, the college of Debreczen.
The most original poetic genius and the finest lyrist of his time was Michael Csokonai Vitéz (1773–1805), a student at that school. Strongly national in feeling and at the same time deeply learned, he represents the town in which he lived. His one shortcoming, a lack of elevated taste, he shared with all the writers of his school.
Csokonai was born in Debreczen and died there, but the greater part of his life was spent in restless wandering. It would seem as if the Muse of poetry bestowed the traveller's wallet on Hungarian poets. We have seen what a wandering life Balassa led. Csokonai's life was very similar. In his talents and taste, Csokonai resembles the German poet, Bürger. His earliest critic points out the similarity.
The ruling ideas and tendencies of the time had their effect on Csokonai's mind, but it is interesting to observe that despite all foreign influences, he remained thoroughly national. The eighteenth century liked the playful, pleasing, and sometimes yearning tones of anacreontic poetry, and thus Csokonai wrote poems of that character. But he did not copy the playfully amorous galanterie of the Greek poet; he substituted his own strong, sincere feelings. Another feature of the age was a passion for solitude. Thoughtful persons, it is true, had always found pleasure in escaping fro m the noise and bustle of town life to the quiet and solitude of Nature, but in the eighteenth century, the influence of Rousseau raised that sentiment to the level of a cult, and some of Csokonai's finest poems are in praise of solitude. Undoubtedly stimulated by Rousseau, his inspiration, however, came direct from the beauties of Lake Balaton, which plays the same part in Hungarian poetry as the lakes of Westmoreland in English.
The public taste was also powerfully impressed by Pope's Rape of the Lock, and, influenced by the English poet, Csokonai wrote a comic epic entitled Dorothy, or the Dames' Victory over Prince Carnival. He did not, however, adopt the satirical style of Pope, but displayed the burlesque, and at times rude, comic character of the society with which he was acquainted. He travesties certain details of the great world-epics in an inimitably amusing way.
The goddess of strife, Eris, causes quarrelling among the guests at a ball, and they divide into two parties and attack one another. One party, that of the old maids, is headed by Dorothy. What is their grievance against Prince Carnival? That the time of Carnival is too short, and there are not enough weddings. They also wish to obtain possession of the register of their births, and even the young women join them. In the course of the strife, Venus arrives, and rejuvenating all the old maids, reconciles them with the rest of the world, and they all marry.
Csokonai was the first to introduce the tone of the old popular songs into literature at a time when they were ignored or despised by persons of culture.
Csokonai died at the early age of thirty-two. It is said of Correggio that one of his own masterpieces caused his death, and Csokonai lost his life through his activity as a writer and speaker. He had written a poem On Immortality, for the occasion of the funeral of a distinguished lady; he read it himself in the churchyard during the ceremony, thereby taking a severe chill which soon proved fatal.
A curious controversy known as the Arcadian Controversy arose after his death, amusing on account of the naïve ignorance it displayed. Kazinczy suggested as an epitaph to be engraved on the poet's tombstone the words : "I, too, have been in Arcadia." The poet's fellow townsmen, the worthy, matter-of-fact burgesses of Debreczen, did not know what it meant. They looked up the name Arcadia in Barthélemy's popular Le Jeune Anacharsis, and there discovered the following statement: "In Arcadia there were excellent fields for the rearing of domestic animals, especially asses." They felt hurt, and the ensuing controversy would have furnished a suitable theme for Csokonai's muse.
Another of the burgesses of Debreczen was Michael Fazekas (1760–1819). He took part as an officer in the wars against Napoleon and went to France. Once he and his victorious soldiers entered a French château, which they were entitled to pillage. But Fazekas went straight to the library, sat down, read there for a few hours, put back the book he had been reading, and left without taking a single thing.
The influence of French literature may be seen in his works. A comic narrative poem, though written in foreign-looking hexameters, became very popular. In this he made use of a well-known French story which, in accordance with the new revolutionary ideas, sided with the serf against the lord. Two or three decades after Fazekas, Claude Tillier employed the same story in his humorous novel: Mon oncle Benjamin. A heartless landowner robs, with violence, a young peasant, takes his geese and sends them to market, and has the lad flogged. The peasant determines to pay back this flogging three-fold, and does so. First he disguises himself as a wood-cutter and induces the nobleman to follow him into the wood to select timber, and there flogs him. Next he gains admittance to his room as an itinerant physician and flogs him a second time. After this the nobleman does not dare to go anywhere without his attendants, but on one occasion a man whom he meets tells him that he could help him to capture the wicked peasant if the attendants were sent to a certain place which he points out. They accordingly go, leaving their master alone, when the man throws off his disguise and flogs the nobleman for the third time. The peasant's revenge has a moral effect. The heartless landowner confesses his fault and amends his ways.
- ↑ An anecdote tells us that when the General left Berlin he wished, as an act of courtesy, to take home with him a present for Maria Theresa. The present was to take the form of a dozen pairs of fine gloves, but the spiteful glover sold him twenty-four left-hand gloves.