The story of Hungary

by Ármin Vámbéry

After disposing of his domestic antagonists, he turned his attention to his enemies abroad, and, by dint of an active mind, knowledge of men, polished manner, and generosity, where it was needed, he soon succeeded in strengthening his throne against all enemies. One by one, the proud princes and oligarchs, who had only reluctantly and disdainfully accepted the sovereignty of the upstart, were conciliated by his royal qualities, and under the rule of Matthias, the son of Hunyadi, Hungary secured an wider influence and a higher degree of power than she had ever attained beneath the sceptres of the descendants of the ancient kings.

An account has been previously given of the splendor which the king’s embassies displayed abroad, and we may add that Matthias was the wealthiest and most luxurious ruler in all Europe. He had enormous wealth at his disposal, composed in part of his own private fortune, and in part of the royal revenues. At that time there was generally no distinction made between the revenues of the king and those of the state. The king disposed of all the sums flowing into the royal treasury, whether derived from the state taxes or from any other sources. King Matthias was quite proficient in the art of turning to the fullest use these sources of income, and of adding fresh ones, in case of need. He introduced a more punctual and rigorous administration of the finances with most admirable results. He was himself also the possessor of a vast private fortune, inherited from his father. His domains extended for many miles, and he was the owner of mines of gold and silver, of great productiveness, in the richest mineral region of the country. None of his subjects could compare with him as to the extent of their private estates, although there were many amongst the church and lay magnates who could boast of immense wealth.

In his reign the royal revenues increased upon an unprecedented scale. The aggregate annual income of the Hungarian treasury amounted under King Ladislaus V. to only about 120,000 florins. Under Matthias it increased, on an average, tenfold. His yearly income very soon exceeded one million, and not unfrequently reached even two million florins, and this at a period when the French king, who was supposed to be the richest sovereign, was unable to make his income reach one million. It is true Matthias stood always in need of a great deal of money to carry out his vast schemes, his soldiers and wars swallowing up enormous sums; while it may be said, he was also prone to indulge in all the luxuries of life.

The time had passed when men’s whole lives were divided between war and prayer only. Until now these had been the essential characteristics of the middle ages. But all this was suddenly changed; people awoke to the consciousness of their wealth, and there were several countries in Europe offering a long list of varied enjoyments fit to tempt the most fastidious. The arts, painting, sculpture, and skilful working in precious metals, as well as the sciences, began to flourish; and people began to read books, books written by hand in elaborate manuscripts and richly ornamented with gold and silver and the most varied illuminated work. The classic authors of ancient Greece and Rome—long lost sight of—had been rediscovered, and scattered memorials of ancient art came to light, and were cherished by the finders with the fresh delight of childhood enjoying new playthings.

In this movement Italy occupied the front rank. From his early youth Matthias was drawn by all the fibres of his heart towards the awakening culture, the motto of which was to enjoy the beautiful. How thoroughly he entered into the spirit of the rising glory of the new civilization, is best shown by the fact that his Italian contemporaries praised him to the skies as the whole-souled patron of science and art. In the magnificence and the splendor with which he surrounded himself, Matthias certainly exceeded all his contemporaries, not even excepting the Italian princes, who were famous for their sumptuousness and their appreciation of works of art, and of whom Matthias had, undoubtedly, learned a good deal. The example set by the king influenced his subjects, the chief prelates of the church, who had obtained immense endowments from the first kings of Hungary, and the proud and rich great lords. But none of them could approach the king in magnificence or in refined luxury. His court was the gathering place of scholars and artists not only from Hungary and Italy but from all Europe. To them he assigned the highest places in the state, in the church, and in the schools. From these scholars he selected his chancellors and vice-chancellors, his treasurers and sub-treasurers, the royal councillors, his son’s tutor, men employed to read to him, his librarians, court historiographers and secretaries, all of whom were munificently rewarded for their services.

Nor was it necessary for a scholar to have a fixed position at court in order to secure a rich income; his very presence at court was supposed to give him a valid title to a compensation. Theologians, philosophers, poets, orators, jurists, physicians, and astronomers came to admire the renowned court, and remained there to add to its brilliancy, to amuse the king, and to be the recipients of his munificence. These men were treated by the king as his friends and companions and led a comfortable, and, frequently, a luxurious life. They had their abundant share in the good cheer of the table, and in the pastimes and honors. The frequent discussions of scientific and literary questions, which arose in such a circle, produced, especially when peaceful seasons intervened for a time, a busy scholarly life at court, of which the king, who was fond of taking part in the conversations, was the bright centre. He was himself proficient in the lore of his age. It is true that his youthful education had not been completed, for he had been left an orphan at a tender age, and had soon been compelled to exchange the games of youth for the cares of government, but his great talents, his quickness, and the keen interest he took in every thing, greatly contributed to make up for any deficiency in precision of knowledge. He had a retentive memory and rarely forgot what he heard in conversation, and probably a large part of what he learned came in this way. It was also the fashion at that time for scholars to prolong their discussions, after the fashion of the Greek gymnasiums, from morn until night, and to appoint special meetings for special subjects. The subject under discussion was pursued everywhere—at the table, during the sports, in the reception room, the garden, and the fields. The subjects were principally classical. Sometimes lectures were delivered in the presence of the king or queen, as in the instance of Bonafini, who visited the court in 1487. In order to get better acquainted with him and to present him to the court, the king, who subsequently appointed him his court historiographer, ordered him to deliver a lecture at his palace, in Vienna, where he then happened to hold his court. The whole court, together with the foreign ambassadors, appeared on this interesting occasion. At the conclusion of the lecture the writings of Bonafini were brought in and distributed amongst the chief prelates and the magnates.

The court dinners afforded favorable opportunities for scholarly discussions and conversations. A great number of guests had a permanent invitation to the king’s table. Such were his near relatives, soldiers of high rank, dignitaries of Church and State, foreign ambassadors, and, especially, the scholars residing at his court. In an atmosphere like this it was quite natural that the discourse should take a lively turn, and include in its range both serious and amusing subjects. The king himself enjoyed a world-wide fame for his ready wit and attractive talk. He liked to propound riddles to his learned friends, and at times would give them a great deal of trouble by his cleverly-contrived oracular questions, particularly if he wished to confound some braggart. He delighted in disputes, in which he was seldom worsted, because he kept his temper to the last. But in most cases the discussion was begun by his guests—the king only joining in afterwards, and very frequently giving the decision. Some of his puns and anecdotes are remembered to this day. The theme of one of these was decidedly of a convivial nature. The discourse ran on eating, and the question was mooted as to which was the best dish. The king quoted the Hungarian proverb: “Nothing is worse than cheese” (Habere nihil est pejus caseo). This, of course, was denied by many, who maintained that cucumbers, apricots, and many varieties of fish were far worse than cheese. Every one was amused when the king explained the double meaning of the saying that “Nothing is worse than cheese” being equivalent to “Cheese is better than nothing.” It happened, however, often enough that grave scientific propositions or Scriptural themes were under discussion, and, on such occasions, the king would send to his library for books calculated to support the soundness of his statements or argument.

This library was the king’s chief glory and pride. It contained on his accession to the throne but a few volumes, but in the course of time it so increased in the number of books as well as their value, that it brought to the king even greater fame than his successes on the battle-field—not only in the age he lived in, but during the ages that followed. Over a hundred specimens of those books are still in existence, and from these we can form an adequate idea of its magnificence and richness. The library was in the castle of Buda, and the place assigned to it comprised two large halls, provided with windows of artistically stained glass, opening into each other. The entrance consisted of a semicircular hall commanding a magnificent view of the Danube. Both halls were provided with rich furniture. One of them contained the king’s couch, covered with tapestry embroidered with pearls, upon which he spent his leisure hours reading. Tripod-shaped chairs covered with carpet were placed about, recalling the Delphian Apollo. Richly-carved shelves ran along the walls and were curtained with purple-velvet tapestry, interwoven with gold. It would be difficult to describe properly the magnificence of the books themselves. They were all written on white vellum and bound in colored skins, ornamented with rose-diamonds and precious stones and with the king’s portrait or his arms. The pages are illuminated with miniature paintings and ornaments, vying with each other in excellence, and the work of some of the most famous illuminators of the age. At the time of the king’s death there were over 10,000 such volumes in the library.

The king permanently employed at his court thirty transcribers and book-painters, and also gave occupation to Florentine and Venetian copyists and painters, who sent the volumes when finished to Buda. Although the art of printing had been already invented, yet its productions appeared so primitive when compared with these splendid works of art, that the collectors preferred having their books written and painted by hand. It was, to be sure, much more expensive. King Matthias spent over thirty thousand florins annually on his library, a sum equivalent in present currency to considerably over half a million of florins. He lavished larger sums even on architects, painters, sculptors, carvers, and goldsmiths. A whole army of artists were kept busy at his court, especially after his second marriage. During the first years of his reign he was content with the edifices and art memorials inherited from his ancestors, but the arrival of the new queen entirely changed the old modes of life. The habits of life which had been familiar in Italy long ago, with brilliancy, good taste, and wit in their train, were now domesticated on the banks of the Danube. The royal bride was a child of the sunny clime of Naples, a city which was one of the first to foster the new civilization. King Matthias had both the ambition and the ability to effect such changes in the royal residence, before the arrival of his bride, as would make her feel at home in Buda. Long before the new queen was to come, Buda presented a busy scene. The royal palace was enlarged and embellished. Its court-yards were beautified by bronze statues and sculptured marble fountains, and the ancient plastering gave way to porphyry and marble columns. The sides of the staircases were ornamented with frescoes, and from the niches statues of antique style peeped at the passer-by. Costly new tapestry covered the walls, and splendid carpets were spread on the floor of the wide vestibules, stately halls, and roomy chambers, which were filled with sumptuous furniture. The walls were hung with paintings representing heroic events or themes from ancient history or from the Scriptures. Modern carved furniture took the place of the old pieces, and every thing seemed to breathe a new life and to be rejuvenated.

The vaults gave up their old treasures, and new ones were added to the collections. Immense buffets were groaning under the weight of silver and gold, while antique gems, statuettes, and groups of vases were displayed on small tables and in sideboards with glass doors. The palace became a very museum of exquisite objects of art. We can picture to ourselves the vast main hall of the castle, with its peculiar mediæval splendor and brilliancy, in which the marriage took place in December, 1476. The walls of the hall were tapestried with silk interwoven with gold, and strewn with pearls and precious stones, and over the table of the bridal pair a tapestry of sheer gold came flowing down from the ceiling. In the centre of the hall, in front of the king’s table, stood a buffet with four faces, each side containing eight shelves loaded down with enormous silver pitchers, cans, goblets, tankards, amphores, and glasses of every description. On this buffet, alone, there were over five hundred vessels, besides two unicorns, which ornamented the lowest shelf, and which weighed seven hundred marks of silver. A gigantic fountain of silver of artistic design, in the centre of the hall, spouted fiery wines. It was so high that a tall man could hardly reach its top. Near the fountain was a bread-basket of solid silver. Further on, silver casks were suspended from the ceiling dispensing various wines. The hall contained eight more tables, and by each stood a buffet weighed down by gold and silver vessels. Over nine hundred vessels and plate of all kinds were arrayed on the shelves of these buffets without being used. The vessels and plate on the table of the royal couple were all of pure and massive gold. Nor were the other palaces or summer residences, in which the court dwelt, inferior in splendor. The permanent seat of the court was the castle of Buda, but it was frequently shifted to Visegrád, Tata, Presburg, and Vienna, everywhere displaying the same pomp and sumptuousness. These royal residences appeared like real fairy castles, with their hanging gardens, fountains, fish-ponds, aviaries, game-parks, small pleasure-houses, arbors, and statues. Visegrád, became especially famous. One of the papal legates, a man of taste and education, and a great lord, used to sumptuous living, speaks of Visegrád, in a communication to the Pope, as an earthly paradise created anew by the hands of King Matthias.