A History of Hungarian Literature/Chapter 15
XV JOHN ARANY IN the summer of 1836 a company of actors arrived at the littie town of Marmaros-Sziget, in the north of Hungary. Actors were not very highly thought of in those days, and ranked with a traveUing circus company. It often happened, however, and indeed in this particular case, that the members of these strolling compan ies came fro m various social circles. In síriking contrast wi th the remai nder of the company was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, pale-faced you ng actor, whom they ali called "the student." He was only nincteen years of age, a modest, shy youth, who had joined the comedians in response to an inward call. Five or six months before, he had been studying at the famous college of Dcbreczen, where he was the favo urite of all his professors and the most protnising of the students. Then, all at onc e, he threw off his black gown, and to the amazement of his companions and teachcrs, left the town in the middle of a severe winter and joined a company of actors. He was led to take this step by some hazy desire to devote bimself to art or poetry. Inexperienced and enthusiastic as he wa s, this seemed to him the best way to serve the ideals of poetry. It was o nly after several months of wandering that he recogniscd 218 HUNG ARIAN LITERATDRE his mistake and the uncongenial surroundings in wh ich he found himself. He th ought that the stage would enable hím to realise his poetical feelings, but his experi ences proved to be prosaic and sometimes repulsive . His past life, his educati on and his aims, marked bim out for a different career. He was famiHar with, and admired, the great Latin, Greek, Freneh and German poets. His culture, therefore, was far above that of his illiterate fellow-actors . His temperament, too, difiered from that required for an actor's life. He was tender-hearted, timid, over sensitíve and contem plative, and his manners were awkward. Such qualities make it difficult en ough to succeed on the stage of real life,· and still more difficult on the theatrical stage. And yet, what efforts he mad e to be useful to the company 1 He copied the play-bills and carried them round to people's houses. He repaired the scenery, painted the curtain, and supplied the thunder by rattling sheets of iron, and the cannonade of the hattles by thomping the floor with heavy sticks. Doring the day he went about borrowing furniture and other requisites, and in the evening lit the lamps of the th eatre . At night, when the performance was over, he was left in charge of the theatre, which was really an empty store room belonging to a manufacturer, and then, gatheri ng up the remnants of the rushlights, and making a couch of odd garments from the ward robe, he would commence reading Horace, the poet of the refined pleasures of life. Sometimes, however, he was assigned a good part in one of the plays, and then he was much applauded by the n ot over-numerous audienc e (and how many even of them had free tickets 1) for he recited weil, with real JOHN ARANY 219 feeling and warmth. It was on a n evening such as this, that his name first appeared upon the play-bill, that name which was to become the pride of a nation-J OHN ARANY {I8I]-I882). At length his doubts as to whether he had chosen the right career grew too strong to allow bim to remain where he was. What was he to do ? Should he return to the college at Debreczen which he had left with such high hopes, confess that he was disillusioned and beg to be adrnitted again ? N o l That was impossible. Yet what other course was open to bim. While he pondered , there arose before his imagination a picture of the littie thatcbed cottage of his parents at Nagy Szalonta, which had always seemed to him like a temple, for he had never heard there a word that was ignoble. He seemed to see his f ather, the honest, God-fearing peasant, who had taught bim when a child of three or four years, to trace his letters in the ashes, for Iack of writing paper, and had even imparted to bim the elements of Latin · grammar. How proud his father had been of his boy. Could he dare to return to his pare nts now, after causing them so much grief by becoming a strolling player ? Stay Ionger with his free-and-easy companions he would not, yet there see med to be nowhere else to go. In d eep des ponden cy he used every day to make for the outskirts of the town of Marmaros Sziget and seek for solitude in the ctense pine forests on the banks of the Iza, undaunted by the bears which roamed the forest, and plucking the bramble berries for his food. During one of th ese excur sions he fell asleep, worn out with anxiety. In a drearn he beheid his mother Jying dead. This decided bim. He fre quently acted under the impulse of d rea m s, and their inftu ence is to be seen in his poetry, e sp ecially in his ballads. 220 HUNGARIAN LITERAT URE As so often happens with very poetica! natures, his acts were guided by his imagination rather than by his reason. His decision once made, he set off to Szalonta as though driven homeward by an irresistible instinct. It happened to be the actors' pay-day, and Ara ny waited in the street, until the manager came, when he asked for a small instalment of his monthly salary of twenty five florins, but was as hamed to announce his deter mination to leave the stage for ever. He packed his few belongings in a handkerchi ef, bought for a few kreuzers a small loaf and some bacon, cut a staff in the forest, and started for home on foot. Noontide found him on the high road, and towards sunset he reached the beech forests, where he fell in with a long line of carts carrying salt from Rónaszék. To those who questioned bim he replied in Wallachian that he was making for home because he was ill. The carters halted for the night at the top of a bill, where th ey unharnessed their horses and made a large fire in the warmth of which they allowed the poor strolling actor to sleep. At dawn he arose, and with a hasty farewell to his rough companions, resu med his journey. Next night he arríved at a roadside inn, and the landlord gave bim per mission to sleep on a wooden bench, beneath the bare bran ches of a tree, with his hundie containing the loaf of bread for a pillow. The succeeding nights were spent in a somewhat similar way. Yet the roving student-actor did not despair amidst his hardships. His heart was full of songs of youth and love. He was consciaus of the romance of his wandering, as weil as of its fatigue. Soon the hills were left behind and his way led through JOHN ARANY 221 the oak-clad plains. At length he reached the marshy district of Ecsed · and erossed the bridge, where he met a gen darme, who lookcd with some suspicion upon the poor wanderer. But Arany's troubles were not yet over. The way to his native viliage of Szalonta led across the hot, sandy plains straight to Debreczen. But he would not for the world meet any of his former professors or fellow-students. How condescendi ngly they wo uld pity him if they knew that after surrendering. his rank as a college student to become astrolling player, he had been unsuccessful. He dare d not go near the college but passed along the back streets. His store of food was exhausted, and bodily fatigue was added to the grief and shame wh ich tortured hím. When he carne to the houses of coun try pastors, which were always open to travellers, he was afraid to put his hand to the latch lest the pasto r should ask him, "What are you doing here, you tramp ?" He felt keenly in his own person all the misery of home lessness which he afterwards described so vi vidly in the story of Nicholas Toldi. Ho w strange is life l A few years later another young actor was wanderi ng through the same district. He too had given up a college career a nd obtained in exchange a life full of privations. He tramped along, but although he was hungry, ill, and cold, a prophecy of future great ness gleamed in his large bright eyes. This second actor, wh o later on became Arany' s most intimate friend and his equal in gen ius, was Alexander Petőfi. At last, after two days' walking, Arany arrived at Szal onta. His relatíves and friends met hím either with reproaches or with sarcasm. His Iess intimate acquaintances regarded him with suspicion. 222 HUNGARIAN LITERATURE His father, a simple old peasant, had became blind white his son was roaming about the world. His mother, who received_ bim with joy, died a few weeks after his arrivaL Arany suffered the pangs of remorse. What was he to do ? What would became of bim ? His whole life seemed destined to be a failure. ln addition to the mental trouble, he had taken a chill during his ramblings, and the pains in his chest were so severe that he felt sure that he was about to die. This perlod was the first great crisis in his life. He sat opposite his poor blind father, in the ebeertess house, with a crushed and hopeless heart. And yet he lived down his troubles and overcame his difficulties. The people about bim were mistaken in th inking him a degraded man. His gentie and beautifui nature, and his sincer ity won the hearts of ali wh o learot to know bim, while his sound knowledge and his industry gained bim their esteem. The clergyman of the town had often said : " N o strolling comedian shall be a teaeber here," yet young Ar any was soon elected teaeber at the grammar school. Although he felt their reproaches to be unjust, he made strenuous effarts to amend the fauls for wh ich people censured hím. He threw his p o ems into the fire, bade adieu to the Muses who had led bim astray, and resolved to be an indus trious ordinary man. Fou r years afte r his adventures as an actor, he was elected n o tary to the town . He was then twenty-three years of ag e. lu the same year, follawing the leading of his heart as weil as of common sense, he married, and his married life proved a very happy one. But he was not able to keep his resolve of becoming o rdi n ary. For some time he suppressed his poetic JOHN ARANY 223 instincts. The only writings which carne from his pen were carefully drawn legal documents. But soon after the entrance of good fortune into his house, another visitor pressed for admittance, and that visitor was Poetry. First he wrote a long satirical epic poem about the oddities of provi nciai administration and pro vinciai life, entitled The Lost Cotstitution. He sent it anonymously to the Kisfaludy Soci ety on the occasion of a literary competition, and to his intense astonishment he won the prize. Arany had not, however, found his true self in that work. The poem is full of brilliant but cold wit ; it glistens like icicles in the sunshine. In the next year (1846) he competed for the prize with another poem. Th is time it was the great epic, Toldi, and he was again successful. In addition to the prize, more over, he won what he valued still more, the suddenly awakened sympathy of Petőfi. Petőfi was aH fire and flame while reading Toldi. Th ough he did not know the author, he wr ote bim a letter in verse, saying that he was sending his own soul across the intervening · miles to greet th e creat or of Toldi. "AH other poets have gained their laurels leaf by leaf, but to thee we must give a wreath at once ." What attracted bim so powerfully in Aran y was not only a kindred great ness, but also a kindred popular tendency. In June 1847, Petőfi went to see Arany, and Hungary's two greatest poets spent ten happy days in the humble home of the notary of Szalonta . 44 The chords of my lyre were arclent in emulation, and flame was kindled by flame," wrote Arany. He read to his friend the con tinuation of his Toldi, called Toldi's Eve, dealing with the old age of the hero, Nich olas Toldi. But this per fectly constructed epic was not published until several 224 HUNGARIAN LITERATURE years later. In the Gourse of the same year, Petőfi we nt once more to see Arany, this time taking his young wife with him, six weeks after their marriage . The e poch of the war for freedom (1848-49) forrned a great crisis in Arany's life. For some time he was the editor of a revol utionary paper on behali of the Hungarian Government. In 1848 he enlisted for a time in the yeomanry. Next year he was obiiged to resign his position of notary, as in consequence of the war and the devastation it caused, the town was unable to pay its employees. For some time he obtained occupation as a clerk, but the catastrophe of 1849 and the bloody suppres sion of the revolution deprived bim of that employment. After Hungary's defeat, Arany was in the depthc; of despair. He had lost his position, lost his slowly but steadily increasing capital, lost his idolised friend Petőfi, and lost all confidenec in himself. He no Ionger believed in the future of his country nor in his own . 11 I tied Jike one chased ; tied from my own soul," he said, "no hope was to be seen anywhere in the heavens, only despai r, which withheld me from lifting up my bands to those heavens." In 1851 he was offered a prolessorsh ip at a college in the typical lowland town of Nagy Kőrös. He accepted it and filled the post for nine years. As a professor, he was conscientious and untiring, and he made s ome valued friends among the staff, but he did not seem to strike root in N agy Kőrös. At first his heart drew bim toward s Szal onta, where he had spent his childhood, but later on he began to wish to go to the capitaL 11 What a ebeer tess place this Nagy Kőrös is," he wrote in a letter. 11 Our only resource and amusement is to go to the cemetery. It is only there under the shady trees, that JOHN ARANY 221 the oak-clad plains. At length he reached the marshy district of Ecsed and crossed the bridge, where he met a gendarme, who looked with some suspicion upon the poor wanderer. But Arany's troubles were not yet over. The way to his native village of Szalonta led across the hot, sandy plains straight to Debreczen. But he would not for the world meet any of his former professors or fellow-students. How condescendingly they would pity him if they knew that after surrendering his rank as a college student to become astrolling player, he had been unsuccessful. He dared not go near the college but passed along the back streets. His store of food was exhausted, and bodily fatigue was added to the grief and shame which tortured him. When he came to the houses of country pastors, which were always open to travellers, he was afraid to put his hand to the latch lest the pastor should ask him, "What are you doing here, you tramp ? " He felt keenly in his own person all the misery of home- lessness which he afterwards described so vividly in the story of Nicholas Toldi. How strange is life ! A few years later another young actor was wandering through the same district. He too had given up a college career and obtained in exchange a life full of privations. He tramped along, but although he was hungry, ill, and cold, a prophecy of future great- ness gleamed in his large bright eyes. This second actor, who later on became Arany's most intimate friend and his equal in genius, was Alexander Petőfi. At last, after two days' walking, Arany arrived at Szalonta. His relatives and friends met him either with reproaches or with sarcasm. His less intimate acquaintances regarded him with suspicion. Digitized by Microsoft ® 226 H UNGARIAN LITERATORE Though the meadow be covered with snow, yet it has had its time of grass and fiowers . But if fiowers die in the bud, and if the new-horn hope of spring die without summer's fulfilment, then indeed is there cause for sorrow . Oh, be glad, bright youthful spirit. Be thy true self. Thou art not yet strong enough to bear the weight of winter's snow." When the girl died, his friends tried to console the bereaved father by telling bim that time would soothe his sorrow, but years afterwards he said : 11 My grief is like a great weight, the Ionger l bear it the more it oppresses me." For nearly ten years he did not publisb a single poem. Th en his fame rapidly increased . He became wealthy too, from th e numerous new editions of his works, and his lucrative ap pointments. The king presented bim with the Order of St. Stephen, a distinction which confers a rank equal to that of a baron. But after his daughter's death, Arany was never the same man that he had been before. Amidst the turmoil of the capital, he lived like a stranger. Although he was in the forernost ranks of the men of genius and learning, in the magnificent building of the Academy he was always drearning of his littie native village, and 11 of a cottage which my fond fancy is ever building there." Three years beiore his death, Arany published Toldi's Love, the central portion of his great trilogy, dealing with his hero's ma nhood. Thus, at the age of sixty two, he oompleted the work which he began at twenty nine. Once, in the spring of 1882, he scribbled on a slip of paper in his quietly humoraus way : 1' In the sixty-sixth year of my life, God will reap me like ripe com, and lay JOHN ARANY me in His barn that is awaiting me, a nd will sow new seed in my place." And so it was. The ripe corn was garnered on October 22, 1882. Arany's work had its roots in the Hungarian popular poetry, and refiects the life and thoughts of the people. His writings, and those of Petőfi, may, in fact, be regarded as a glorification of the popular ballads and tales. Petőfi took the character of his songs and his lyric style, white Arany owed to them his rich language and epic style. Petőfi possessed a thoroughly lyrical nature ; he was always swayed by his feelings and could look on nothing in a calm, dispassionate manner. Arany, on the other hand, concealed his feelings and appeared tranquil even wh en deeply moved . He observed the world accurately on the wh ole, but he saw ali things in a some what gloomy light. The chief features of his poetry are i ts realism and its pondering over the past. It is remarkable that so much objectivity and sobriety should be blended with such strong and deep feeling. To gain a glimpse of his inmost soul we should turn to his poem called Ep ilogue, written towards the end of his life while tooking back over his past career. He had struggled for perfeciion in poetry and had often feJt defeated. " The secret blight," he said, " which mars my efforts is my eternal doubt, and the results l have achi eved burn me like the blood of Nessos." Arany wrote two great epics. The hero of one is a man of the Middle Ages, the mighty Nicholas Toldi. The other deals with the H un kings, Attila a nd Buda. Each poem consists of three parts, but only th e Toldi trilogy was completed. The first part of Toldi is only concerned with a few 228 HUNGARIAN LITERATO RE days in the hero's life. The subject was taken from an old sixteenth-century rhymed chronicle, but Arany greatly improved it, giving the events their psychologkal basis, and linking the fragmentary incidents of the chronide by an inner thread of motive. In the old narrative of llosvay the hero is a peasa nt lad of immense strength . Ara ny's hero is the younger son of a country family of some standing, a noble-minded youth, but brought up to work almost like a peasant on the family estate. Th rough his trials and sufferings, he is ennobled and made a true knight. There are two brothers, George and Nicholas Toldi. The elder, George, who lives at the Court of Louis the Great, keep s his younger brother on the estate in order that he shall always remain a farmer ; otherwise he does not treat bim harshly. George comes with his retinue to visit his mother, and in a masterly scene th e two brothers are brought face to face, and passionate words pass. George scoffs at his brother until the youth maddened by insults, seizes the mill-sto ne on which he has been sitting in a remote corn er of the courtyard and flings it among his brother's servants, unfortunately killing one of the m. Nicholas then leaves the house, feeling that he must atone for this action by noble deeds. After several days' wandering he arríves at Pest, where, at a tournament, he defeats a Bohemian knigh t who has been victor in man y combats during the previous days. Louis the Great knights bim for winning back the country's trophy, wh ite the elder brother is punished for certain misdeeds. The struggles of a noble nature, the pardonable fault, and the final triumph of the youth, are symb ol ical of the poet's own life, for he had to endure many a hardship before success was attained. JOHN ARANY 229 Toldi was the first epic, in wh ich subje ct, language and characters were ali pop ular. It made a great stir in the literary world and was a warded the Kisfaludy Society's prize. Every one admired th e simpticity of th e means by which Arany prodneed his remarkable poetica} effects. There was none of the elabo rate grandeur of the old classical epics ; there was no artifidal rhetoric and no invocation of the M use. The language of Toldi far excels the fiat aad lustreless diction of most contemporary seholars and poets. It was as though Arany had discovered an idiom previously unknown. He was profoundly versed in his mother tongue. When we read his writings we seem to hear the rippling of the hidden sources of the Hungar ian language. His native tongue, like every other language, was full of old and hackneyed figurative expressions, to which he gave new life and colour. The second part of Toldi, which came third in order of publication, appearing only towards th e end of the poet's life, shows us Nicholas Toldi as a man in the prime of life. W e read of his chivalric adventures, of his one great love, and of his inward conflicts, more strenuous even than his feats of arms. His love for Piroska is the chief subject of this part of the poem. Th e hand of the fair Piroska is offered as the prize at a tournament, and Toldi, out of thoughtless good nature, consents to aid a companion in arms by fighting in his place, with visor down , and carrying his friend's shield and colours. In this manner, contrary to ali the rules of chivalry, he wins Piroska for Lorinez Tar. From this deed springs the great tragedy of ToMi's life, for t oo late he learns to love the lady and to repent the deceit which made her the wife of another. 230 HUNGARIAN LITERATURE Toldi's misery, the death of Tar and of Piroska follow in dramatic successi on. A rany wove into his poem the campaign of King Louis the Great agaiost Naples (1347- 1350), a classical example of the campaigns of the Middle Ages, full of incident and · romance. Joan, the beautifui but immoral queen of Naples, had had her young husband, Prince Andrew, the brother of Louis the Great, murdered. Louis marcbed into Italy to avenge his brother's death, and occupied Naples, and Nicholas Toldi, in order to forget his own love-sorrow, accompanied the King. The third part of the trilogy is Toldi's Eve, or old age. Nicholas Toldi lives in retirement in his decaying house and weedy garden. His king, Louis, who is an Angevin, feels resentment against him because he despises the polisb and specious splendour of his Court. Toldi is out of favour and forgotten, and his only companion is his faithfui old squire and servant, Bencze. In the opening scene old Bencze is helping his master to dig his own grave . Suddenly, a visitor arríves at the house, a thing which rarely happens now. It is a herald, who has come to tell the old hero that an insolent ItaHan knight has defeated alJ the H ungarian champions at the tournaments, has taken possession of the country's shield, and scoffs at Hungarian valour, boasting that he will carry the trophy home. That is enough for Toldi. The old lion becomes young again, as if by enchantment, and is eager for the fray. He sets out, disguised in the habit of a monk. Th e lists are surrounded by a vast concourse of people, aU of them in terrihle suspense since no new champion appears against the ltalian. But aU at once the heralds give a signal as a gigantic old monk arríves on horseback. He xs a curious ap parition, and his squire still more so. The JOHN ARANY 231 squire's horse is as old and as gaunt as his rider's weapons are rusty, and his garments are old-fashioned and shabby. When the people see his rusty weapons they mock him and ask him if he sells them as old iron. The boys tease the old horse, which soon comes to a standstill, and on tuming round the poor squire finds that they are holding on to its tail. When the old monk hears the laughter, he turns round and shakes his huge lance at the crowd, whirling it above his head as though it were a latb, so that mockery gives place to awe. Some whisper that th is apparition can be nothing but the ghost of Toldi. The unknown monk conquers the Italian in a masterly fought combat, and then suddenly disappears with his squire by some by-way, and makes for an old house of his in the town. His skill in fighting had made it evident to all the knigh ts and to the crowd, that the monk was no other than Toldi. They stream to his house to bring him in triumph to the king, who is willing to be reconciled with the old hero. But the excitement p roves fatal to the old man, wh o is one of those who " die of their own temperament. In the king's ante-room some pages si ng an ironical song about some old adventure of Toldi. Excited and indignant, the h ero whirl s round his mace and kills one of the si ngers. The king is grievously offended, and when Toldi leaves the Cou rt, se nds soldiers after bim to take bim prisoner. The messengers, however, find that he is dying, and the king, much shaken by the news, hastens to Toldi's house. The aged monarch and aged hero are face to face•. Toldi knows that to the ambitious but luxury-loving king his advice was often 11 a bitter medicine given in a rough wooden spoon," but even now he counsels him to love 232 HUNGARIAN LITERATURE the nation but not to weaken it by too much plan ing and polishing . He dies r e minding the king of his sacred trust, the future of a people ; and soon the plain and stro ng iron coffin of the hero rests in the grave dug with his own bands. Toldi feels that he is out of place in a world filled with new thoughts and sentiments, and so the last, venerable oak of a vanished forest falls. Toldi's Eve is a 11 humoraus " epic in the best sense of the word . It possesses t he kind of humour which is akin to pathos and tears. Over the whole poem there broods something of the smiling melancholy of autumn, of slow universal decay, in the strength of the hero as in the season, and although we cannot help smiling at the old squire, and even at Toldi bimself sometimes, yet we honour and love them. An important feature of Arany' s work is his creation of typically Hungarian ch aracters. If the true Hungarian type were ever lost, it could be revived with the aid of Arany's poems. He toucbed the very depths of the Hungarian charac ter in creati ng Nicholas Toldi. Just as the sculptor of the Laocoon sclected a powerfully built figure in order to exhibit pain in ali its intensity, Arany chose a man of gigantic strength as a means of depicting the con vulsions of passio n. Every írnp ulse awoke a more powerful re spon se in Toldi than in other men . Toldi is emine ntly fiery and impulsive and his gre at physical strength adds to the force of those characte ristics. Yet withal he has the most delicate sense of honour and the kindest heart. When roused to fury, he grasps a millstone and hurls it at his tormentors. When livi ng for a time in a monastery, he threatens the prior and his fellow monks because they mock bim. His gaiety, like his wrath, is u nrestrai ned. Even when JOHN ARANY 233 he is an old man the same features may be still dis cerned, although they are toned down by age. The old hero who, at the Court of Louis, chastises the pages, reminds us of the young Toldi who punished his brother's squires. A man who is easily roused and is moreover of a full-blooded habit, is very likely to suffer from over excitement, and to die of a fit of passion. The knight Toldi who seeks to forget his bitter grief in revelry, recalls the young lad whom we saw drinking in the inn on the eve of his first combat. How n atural it is that Toldi could not appreciate the ItaHan culture of the Court, and the dawning of the Renaissance. He, wh o had been brought up as a farmer, was not likely as a soldier to educate bimself and take to ultra-refined ltalian babits, especially as in his early years he had fought agaiost the ltalians, so that to his naive soldier's mind it seemed im possible to make friends with a former foe. The polished surroundings of the king tamed the lion from time to time, but the last stab goaded him to wildness again . However, like the lion, he can be noble as weil as formidable. He is one of those in whom proneness to anger is linked with great sensitiveness. How tender and faithfui he is to his king, to his mother, to the lady he loves, and to his old servant. In the soil of his nature everything grows to great proportions, like one of our plan ts in a tropical region. What is a small rose-bush with us becomes there a huge tree. Toldi is a perfect knight. His strong Christian feeling, his loyalty to his king, his respect for women, his kind oess towards the oppressed and the defenceless, in short, all that made up the duty of a knight in the Middle Ages, had not been learnt from masters of chivalry, but was native in bim. Wherever there is trouble, an instinct prompts him to help. When he sees a widow, weeping at her murdered husband's tomb, he promises to avenge her. When a wild bull tears along the street, Toldi steps forth calmly to meet him as though merely performing an ordinary duty. He pursues a knight who has carried off a lady to the innermost recesses of his castle. On meeting a carriage which has fallen into a ditch, he puts his shoulder under the wheel and lifts it up.
He is always ready to risk his life for his king, even after they have quarrelled. Altogether he is one of those who do everything with their whole soul. Toldi the soldier belongs body and soul to his. duty. Toldi the lover is penetrated to the centre of his being by the bitter sweet feeling of his love.
Every man possesses the qualities which belong to him as the member of a particular nation, as an individual and as a unit of humanity in general. In Toldi, not only the national and the individual interest us, we are attracted by the universal human element in him. We are not merely touched by his loyalty, and love and filial affection; his career may be regarded as a symbol of human life in general. Paul Gyulai referring to Toldi, asked, "Which of us has not experienced in youth that same restless desire to achieve something, driving him from the family circle out into the wide world? Who does not remember a mother who watched him with an anxious heart, and felt an uplifting sense of triumph at his first success? Who has not, on the threshold of manhood, been guilty of some indiscretion which has caused suffering to others, all unintended it may be, so that a hidden wound pains him even when he is otherwise happy? And when we are old, and our hopes have become remembrances, and the burning flame of desire has died out in ashes; when death has torn our loved ones from our side and we begin to feel out of place in a world which either has forgotten us or mocks us in the pride of its new ideas, do we not all resemble in some respects the aged Toldi?"
But what perhaps attracts us most in this noble-minded giant is his highly sensitive conscience. Every fault finds its merciless judge in his own soul. In the first part of the epic the young Toldi unintentionally commits a crime, and then goes straight to the king at Buda, to receive either punishment or pardon. He cannot rest while there is a stain upon his character. In the second part, when Toldi breaks the rules of chivalry by fighting under another's colours and winning the hand of a lady for his friend, and when too late his own passion awakes and gives him infinite pain, it is still the pangs of an uneasy conscience from which he suffers most. Alike in his ballads and in his Toldi conscience is king and judge.
Piroska, the most charming of Arany's characters, and drawn with most love on the poet's part, is thoroughly Hungarian. A German poet, in depicting the heroine of so sad a love story, would have made her sentimental, but Arany paints her as a woman of deep feeling, strong and never sentimental.
Arany's work is characterised by its realism. The poet never lost sight of reality even in the highest soarings of his imagination. Whatever he described is so exactly depicted even in its details that we almost fancy he actually saw what he described. Here is one instance among many. Toldi listens sorrowfully to the news brought by his faithful servant. Another poet might have merely said that Toldi's eyes were full of tears, but Arany tells us that "A warm, heavy tear trembled in his 236 HUNGARIAN LITERATDRE eye, and as he, ashamed of his weakness, tried to wipe it away unnoticed with the palm of his hand, it trickled down his littie finger." Another characteristic is his way of presenting a mental phenomenon by means of i ts effects u pon the body. He describes the impotent wrath of George Toldi, for example, as follows : " All the blood rushed to his bead, so that he could only see indistin ctly, although it was broad daylight. The statues seemed to dance around hím as he nearly fell in his giddiness. Then a cold wave seemed to run down his body. How cold he was ; and yet how the beads of perspiration stot>d out upon his fore head. Then slowly his face became ashy pale, as if there were not so much blood left in hím as would furnish one sip for a gnat." That description offers a concise physiology of anger. The Hun kings form the subj ect of another trilogy. Bttda's Death is the title of the first part. In this, Arany combined the fragments from various old chronicles into one great whole and described the comhat between the two brothers, Attila and Buda. What the Arthurian legends were for Tennyson, an i nexhaustible fount of inspiration, the Hun and Magyar chronicles were for Arany. Aceording to those chronicles, the H uns were the ancestors of the H ungarians, so that when the H ungarians entered Europe in the tenth century and occupied their country, they were really taking possession of their Hun inheritance, and Arany accepted this theory of the relation ship between Huns and Hungarians. After Attila's death, say the chroniclers , his two sons Csaba and Aladár struggled for the crown, the Goths siding with Aladár and the Huns with Csaba. JOHN ARANY 237 In the Hangarian traditions the histori cal Bléda, wh o appears in the Nibelunge n-Lied, un der the name of Bloedelin, is called Buda. This King divided his kingdom into two parts and gave one to his you nger brother Attila. The folly of this policy soon became app arent, for the energetic, chivalrous and able Attila rapidly acquired power and fame, 'l l hile Buda became the mere shadow of a king. These differences were accentuated by their respecth·e queens, fo r Ildikó, the wife of Attila, offended Buda's wife, Gyöngyvér. Their quarrel poisoned the relations between the two brothers, · until the sword was invoked to settie the matter. Attila attacked the town which the king had built and which had been named Buda after him, and slew his brother, thus gai ning the throne for himself. The second part of the trilogy is called Ildikó, and the third, of which there are but a few fragments, is Prince Csaba. The background of this epic is one of th e greatest events in history. The crisis in the war between th e H uns and the Gerroan ic races was the hattie of Chalons. Had the resolt of that hattie been different, it might have altered the course of European history. Eastern races instead of .western would ·probably have been the masters of Europe. The wh ole plan of Arany's epic, had he compteted it, would have been as fo1lows : Attila kills his brother, but he bimself is soon murd ered by his wife, the Germao Ildikó (Krimhield) . In the hattie between his two sons, Csaba conquers Aladár, but later on he is compelled to leave Europe and return to th e original home of the Hun s in Asia. The lil.J.!1S leClve behilld them the Székely race, however, 234 HUNGARÍAN LITERATURE prompts him to help. When he sees a widow, weeping at her murdered husband's tomb, he promises to avenge her. When a wild bull tears along the street, Toldi steps forth calmly to meet him as though merely performing an ordinary duty. He pursues a knight who has carried off a lady to the innermost recesses of his castle. On meeting a his shoulder under the wheel and lifts it up. He is always ready to risk his life for his king, even after they have quarrelled. Altogether he is one of those who do everything with their whole soul. soldier belongs body and soul to his duty. Toldi the lover is penetrated to the centre of his being by the bitter- sweet feeling of his love. Every man possesses the qualities which belong to him as the member of a particular nation, as an individual and as a unit of humanity in general. In Toldi, not only the national and the individual interest us, we are attracted by the universal human element in him. We are not merely touched by his loyalty, and love and filial affection ; his career may be regarded as a symbol of human life in general. Paul Gyulai referring to Toldi, asked, "Which of us has not experienced in youth that same restless desire to achieve something, driving him from the family circle out into the wide world ? Who does not remember a mother who watched him with an riage which has fallen into a ditch, he puts Toldi the anxious heart, and felt an uplifting sense of triumph at his first success ? Who has not, on the threshold of manhood, been guilty of some indiscretion which has caused suffering to others, all unintended it may be, so that a hidden wound pains him even when he is other- wise happy ? And when we are old, and our hopes have become remembrances, and the burning flame of desire
® JOHN ARANY
239 selves, and thus the poem is iovested with a draroatic interest. A dim, mystic light pervades everything, and the action is strongly tragic. In each of Arany's ballads some great crime is portrayed, with an equally great punishment resulting from the working of the offender's own mind or conscience. Th is led Aran y to the frequent description of madness. His ballads show many examples of insanity, ali aceu rately drawn in their physiological a nd psychol ogical aspects. Arany's ballads answer to the definition of a ballad as a tragedy told in song. Here is an example : BOR THE HERO. Shadows of the dying day On the quiet valley fell, Bor the Hero rode away- " Sweet and fair one, fare thee weil." Shadows on the valley fell, Wind-swept branches stir and strain, ' Sweet and fair one, fare thee weil," Bor the Hero rides amain. Wind-swept branches stir and strain, Lo l a lark is singing near, Bor the Hero rides amain, Silent fal ls the maiden's tear. Lo! a lark is singing near, Whither wends its soaring {light 1 Falls the maiden's silent tear, Eidden now her troth to plight. Whither wends that soaring {light 1 Darktuss mingles earth and sky, " Daughter, haste, thy troth to plight l T/Jere is Mne to make reply. HUNGARIAN LITERATURE Darkness mingles earth and sky, Ghostly snapes the forest fill, There is none to make reply, " Come l " 'Tis Bor that whispers still. Ghostly snapes the forest fill, Forms that beckon and invite, "Come l" 'Tis Bor that whispers still. The beloved, the phantom Knight. Spirit lips a chant intone, Ghostly whispers stir her blood, "My dear spouse, O! mine alone, Take me wheresoe'er you would. " See l a train in bridal weeds Nears a fane of hoary stone, Now the marriage rite proceeds, "My dear spouse, O l mine alone. " Near the fane of hoary stone Gleams a light transcending day, Spirit lips a chant intone, Festal robes the priest array. With a light transcending day, Ruined aisle and altar shine, Festal robes the priest array, "Now, Beloved, thou art mine." Gleams a mystic, radiant light, Darkness folds the world beside, Deathless vows the twain unite, A h l how deathly pale the bride. Darkness mingles earth and sky Hark l a frighted owlet cried l Cold in death, the altar nigh, Lay the young and lovely bride. The origin of some of the ballads may be explained by the circumstances of his life. After the war for freedom, th e grief of the patriot was added to his natural melancholy. JOHN ARANY While that state of mind prevailed he had not perseverance enough to write a long poem, yet he was full of inspiration, a nd being thus urged in the direction of epic poetry, he composed his short epics, the ballads. Arany's ballads are amongst the masterpieces of Hungarian poetry. Their subje cts were all taken from Hungarian history, with · one exception , The Bards of Wa les ; and curiously enough, although the subject is English, it had a dtstinctly Hungarian significance. It was inspired by an incident eharacteristic of the time of absolutism (1849- I86o), called after the hated Austrian minister, The Bach era. Despotism m ade a hid for popularity and desired laurels which only a poet can bind into a wreath. I ts instruments wish ed for an ode in praise of the absolute monarch. They secretly approached the chief Hungarian poets, promising them large sums of money, as weil as favour, but ali dedined the task, They went to Aran y, who was a professor in a country town, but he rej ected their , offer w ith scorn. This attitude of the H ungarian poets is idealised in The Bards of Wa les. The subject of the poem is briefty as follows : King Edw4rd visits Wales after it has been subjugated by means of terrihle bloodshed. Here the own er of Montgomery Castle entertained hím in princely fash ion, but no bard is found willing to extol the tyrant in "the banqueting-hall. Moved to wrath the King gives orders that every bard who refused a song in his praise sh all be executed. Five bundred bards lose their lives. But the King, on arriving home, is tormented by visions, and is unable to sleep. The death songs of the martyr bards resound in his ears until he is at last driven to madness. The most dramatic of Arany's ballads is his Call to the Ordeal. Q 242 HUNGARIAN LITERATORE Th e Captive Stork, though not a ballad, is also an a1 legory belonging to the same period. THE CA PTI VE STORK.* A IMMy cflp#ivs stork do#'h s#flnd, W#h courtyflrd Wilils on svwy Ilfind ; Fflin would he wing his {light fl/flt' ; A cross ths sefi His Wf1Y would be, But pinions clippsd his SOflring bar. He s#flnds upon ons fool to drHm ; Thm shif#s it ; wsa.ry he tlo#h sesm. Thus cllfinging he #he time tloth spmd Naugh# else to do The whols day through, Sflvs shift flnd chiinge wilhout fln md. llis hefld bmeat/J his wing he lwys ; lnto #he dis#ance hs would gtus ; ln Vflin ; four walls are round tlboul. Pour wal l s of brick, So high flnl l thick, 'Tis vain #o smve to pieru wilhoul. True, hs could look up to Ihs sky, But no desire directs his eye ; Free storks above fl'Y far away, Fair lflnds to ses, Whils vainly he Both long to end his tlo ome d s#fly. He waits, wai#s ever, slill in vain, That his maimed wings may grOfiJ agflin, So hs can high in heflven soar ; T/Jere, whers his way No limitB s#fly, Free homelanils he can lrflvel o'er. Ths coun#ry glows wilh au#umn shem, But no mors storks flt ali MB sem,
- LoEw'S "Magyar Poetry. " JOHN ARANY
Save one poor loiterer, who dot/1 dwell A captive left, Of freedom rejt, bnmtred wilhin a narrow cell. The cranes have not yet made their start. But even they wil l soon depart. He sees them not : he only hear. Too weil above The notes thereof- The birds of passage in his ears. Once and again he even tries Upon his crippled wings to rise. Ah l they would raise hím up on high, Nor hold hím low Were it not so That they were clipped so cruelly. Poor orphan stork, poor stork, 'tis Vtlin ; Thy pinions ne'er will grow tgain, Even thoug/1 winter shot4ld be o'er, For if they grew False men anew Would clip them even as before. 243 Arany and Petőfi stood side by side in life, and together they stand in the history of H ungarian poetry as the most striking incarnations of the Hungarian spirit. The world of H ungarian sentiment and character is revealed in their works, but purified in the sacred fire of poetry. The sun of the nation's literature, which dawned so brightly in 1825, when Vörösmarty's Zalán's Fligh t appeared, a ttai ned its zenitb in them. This was the case with the public estimation of Tompa. Tompa began to write at the same time as Arany and Petőfi, the latter of whom was his fri end. His writings were of a similar tendency and his talent was of the same genus. It is not surprising, therefore, that he was considered the equal of the other two members of the triad. Yet, though a significant and powerful writer, posterity has come to recognise that he was not so original as Petőfi or Arany.
Michael Tompa (1817-1868) spent his life as a Calvinistic minister in the small country town of Hamva. He was by nature remarkably sensitive and his meditations were of an elegiac turn. His life was full of trials. Poverty and loneliness sat by his cradle. His father was a poor shoemaker and his mother died when he was a baby. The boy could only enter the high school by means of money earned by serving as fag to a wealthy youth. At school he once suffered a deep humiliation, for at the age of twenty his professor ordered him to be caned, and as a consequence he soon left the school. Both his sons died early, and he himself suffered from a lingering disease. His lyric poems reveal a soul refined and exalted by suffering.
During the fifties, the years of absolutism, the allegory was very much used, for poets dared not say all they meant, and so they concealed it in allegory. Tompa's most famous poems were of this character, and he was threatened with imprisonment on account of them. In a poem entitled To the Stork, he says: "Spring is here and the stork has returned to her old nest. But thou art deceived, oh bird, for here with us there is no spring. Fly back again to happier skies. Seek not our meadows, for they have become cemeteries. Stand not in the waters of our lakes, for they are mingled with blood. Dwell not upon our roofs, for fiery brands are on them. Return to the south, for thou art happier than we. To thee God has given two countries; we had but one, and have lost TOM PA even that. Fly away, and if in those southern regions t hou sh ouldst chance to meet those who have had to leave this their fatherland, tell them that we are decaying, diminishing, faliing to pieces like an unbound sheaf. " In another allegory Tompa makes a hird speak to her young ones, thus symbolising the country's appeal to her poets. THE BIRD TO ITS BROOD.* How long, ye birds, on this sere bough Will ye sit mute, as though in tears 1 Not quite forgotten yet are now The songs I taught ye, surely, dears ,· But if for aye are vanquished quite Your farmer cheer, your song so gay, A sad and wistful tune recite- Oh, children, sing to me, I pray l A storm has raged ,· our rocks apart A re rent ,· glad shade you cannot find ,· A nd are ye mute, about to start And leave your mother sad behind 1 In otl1er climes new songs are heard, Wilere none would understand your lay, Though empty is your home and bared Yet, children, sing to me, I pray l 111 memory of tllis hallowed bower, Shady and green, call fortil a strain, And greet the time wl"n soon it1 flower Tilese barren fields sliali bloom agaill ,· So, at your song, anew shall life Over this plain, with ease, make way, Sweetening t/1e day witll sorrow rife,- 011, cllildren, sing to me, I pray l liere ill the tree is the old uest Where yot' were cllerished loving/y ; Return to it, and Illerein rest, 0 LoEw's ":Magyar Poet.ry." 246 HUNGARIAN LITEI{ATURE A lbeit among the clouds you fly ,· Now that the storm has laid it bare, Would you the traits of men display l Leaving this place, your home transfer l Oh, children, sing to me, I pray l Tompa wrote many simple and charming songs, some of them too elosety resembling in style the popular son gs, but that is easily explicable by the fact that during the forties, when he commenced to write, the popular style was in fashion. He extolled the J .owlan ds, as Petőfi did, but he fett, as Petőfi did not, that much of their romantic glory had departed. The Lowlands of the chivalrous highwaymen, the lowlands over which a deep peace seemed to brood undisturbed, have gone, and we see railroads, cornfields, plantations and farm-buildings everywhere. Petőfi, Arany and Tompa treated the Low lands like painters who hasten to sketch an interesting o ld house, full of rolnance, before it is destroyed. They immertalised them in their primeval state, before they had ch anged their ch aracter. "Ye Lowlands, " says Tompa, (l but a littie white and your wild poetic beauty will have vanished. Where the vast herds of cattle were wo nt to roam and untamed horses scampered at large in the waves of the mirage, the shepherd's fires will soon be extinguished and his pipe be mute for ever." In Tompa's lyrics, besides the all egoricai and popular features due to the age i n which he wrote, there is an element of sadoess due to the vicissitudes of his life, and a religiaus element emphasised by his occupation as a minister. A separatt. :lass of his poems consists of 1 1 flower tales," tales in which flowers act like living persons aceording to the characters with which the imagination ge nerally TOM PA 247 endows them-fteurs animées. This is a channing ge1 1re both in poetry and in painting, but if overdone, gives an impression of artificiality and affected sweetness. Tompa is much more fresh and bracing in his versified narratives, in which he takes an anecdote and transforms it into true poetry.