A History of Hungarian Literature/Chapter 5
V
THE REFORMATION
Hungarian culture in the sixteenth century was influenced by two great events: the Reformation and the disastrous battle of Mohács (1526), in which the Hungarian army was annihilated by the Turks, and in consequence of which nearly the whole of Hungary fell beneath the Turkish yoke, losing at one blow her king and her liberty.
At the time of the Reformation the country was torn into three parts: the central portion, with the capital, Buda, was in the possession of the Turks; the north-west belonged to Austria, while, in the east, Transylvania formed an independent dukedom.
Both the Reformation and the battle of Mohács left deep traces on the mental life of the nation. Some superficiality and frivolity, some arrogance, too, and rashness of thought were often mingled with the spirit of the Renaissance. But those two events stirred the soul of the Hungarian people to its depths.
The Reformation was a great international movement which spread over the whole of Europe, bringing everywhere the same intellectual changes. The battle of Mohács was a national sorrow, which stamped a peculiar character upon the mind and the literature of the nation. The two events were very near together in time. In 1524, eight years after Luther's action at Wittenberg, the royal court in Buda was torn by a violent religious controversy, and a Bill was passed in Parliament ordering all Lutherans to be put to death. Two years later came the battle. National and international, religious and political events struck a blow at the new culture.
The chief effect of the Reformation was to heighten religious feeling and to deepen the reverence for conscience. It also influenced literature, developing the technique of both prose and poetry in a surprising way. The religious revival affected Catholics and Protestants alike. Never had religious convictions obtained a firmer hold upon the minds of men. But the fervour of religious feeling was different from the fanaticism of the Middle Ages. The imagination was more restrained, the element of superstition was suppressed, and religion became more and more an uplifting of the heart, and a submission to the guidance of conscience. It was the most cultivated class of men, the humanists, heirs of the Greek and Roman culture, who stood at the head of the new religious movement. That circumstance made itself felt in all directions, and especially in the development of every branch of literature.
The Reformation gave an impetus to Hungarian prose in two ways: by stimulating biblical translation and by fostering religious controversy.
Luther advocated the principle that the Bible should be made accessible to all, and the invention of printing made it possible. Deeper and deeper did the Hungarian nation drink from those eternal wells of poetry, the Old and New Testaments. It is true, there had been translations of the Bible before the Renaissance, but they were mere fragmentary transcripts. The most valuable was made at the beginning of the fifteenth century, under the influence of Luther's great predecessor, John Huss. The doctrines of Huss began to spread throughout Hungary to such an extent that the Pope found it necessary to send an inquisitor. Two Franciscan monks, Thomas and Valentine, were banished for their heresy, and went to Moldavia, where a great number of Hussites were then living, and there, inspired by their master, they translated the Bible into Hungarian. It is the oldest translation in that language. One fragment of it found its way by chance into the Imperial library of Vienna, another to the library in Munich, and a third is preserved in Hungary.
The first complete translation of the Bible dates from the time of the Reformation. It was made by a Protestant, Jasper Károli (in 1589-90), and is widely used by the Protestants even now. It has recently been revised with the aid of the British and Foreign Bible Society, and that edition has the largest circulation.
The Catholics were not far behind the Protestants in making a translation. That which they had used for two centuries was the work of a Jesuit, George Káldi, but the new one dates from the seventeenth century. This Catholic translation was even patronised by Gabriel Bethlen, the Protestant ruler of Transylvania, who fought so heroically for the Protestant cause during the Thirty Years War.
The spread of the new faith was furthered as well as followed by controversy. The Protestants began a general attack, against which the Catholics at first offered scarcely any defence. The success of the Protestants was largely due to the fact that they used the new weapon which the printing-press had placed in their hands. The greater part of the polemical religious literature was written in Latin, but some of the Protestant publications were written in the vernacular. This controversial literature had a salutary influence on Hungarian prose.
But the Reformation did not only develop prose, it also created a new epoch in the history of hymns. There had been hymns written in the native tongue long before the Reformation, but Luther placed new emphasis on the principle that everything relating to religion should be made as simple as possible for all believers. Protestants began the work, and the Catholics soon found how right they were.
At the end of the sixteenth century, the Catholics also began to use the new all-powerful weapon which had given such tremendous assistance to the Protestants—the art of printing. We have seen that printing was introduced into Hungary in the reign of Matthias, earlier than it was adopted by most European countries, but after the death of Matthias that progressive movement, together with many others, was checked. Printing almost ceased, and it was not until the time of the Reformation that the printing-press commenced to play an important part.
Controversy introduced a dogmatic style and a harsh tone into literature. Writers were carried away by their heat in affirmation or denial, and we find ourselves, at that period, far removed from the oratorical elegance of the previous century. The most cultured of the scholars had not been educated in smiling Ferrara or Padua, but in gloomy Wittenberg, the town where the melancholy Prince Hamlet studied.
The century which saw the Reformation was, above all things, sober and practical. These qualities have always characterised Hungarians, whence the great effect of the movement upon the people. Only once has the soul of the nation been stirred more profoundly, and that was during the first half of the nineteenth century, when the new democratic ideas took hold of the popular mind. The catastrophe of Mohács had an equally great effect on people's minds. It strengthened the feeling of patriotism just as the Reformation increased religious fervour. The Hungarians became zealous both for their fatherland and for religious liberty. Great national misfortunes always light the flame of patriotism, which in times of security often becomes extinguished. Hungarian poetry of this period echoes the patriot's grief; the note is now soft, now harsh, but always the expression of real affliction; and in some of the poems we find the sadness of the patriot blended with fervent religious feeling. Melancholy became a dominant note of the lyric up to comparatively recent times.
Fervent love for the fatherland, and bitter grief at its distresses, are revealed in the poetry of the chief Hungarian lyric poet of the sixteenth century, Valentine Balassa. The same feelings inspired the greatest epic poet of the seventeenth century, Count Nicholas Zrinyi; and the same note is heard from the lyres of the eighteenth century poets, especially those of the classical school. Even in the nineteenth century we still see men turning in thought towards Mohács—Charles Kisfaludy, for instance, "greeting with sighs the tomb of our greatness"; Berzsenyi, however, speaks of the event with frigid stoicism, while Kölcsey's tone is one of profound melancholy, and Vörösmarty's peerless hexameters possess a gloomy grandeur.
But suddenly, during Vörösmarty's lifetime, came the period of Count Stephen Széchenyi's reforms, and a vision of the "future Hungary" rose beside the spectre of the past, and, in the imagination of the poet, the two forms strove with one another.
It is this ever-present patriotic feeling which distinguishes Hungarian poetry from that of other nations. In no other poetry of the time is the note of love for the Fatherland so powerful and so fundamental. With other peoples the feeling of national unity was still lying dormant, while in Hungary it moved the heart of the nation with the unconscious but mighty force of an universal instinct. The fire of the Turkish wars only served to make this element in the Hungarian character as strong as iron; and the development, in the sixteenth century, of the feeling of nationality, was one of the most important phases of the evolution through which the nation's mind has passed.
Their religion and their country were the two ideals which inspired the poets of the sixteenth century to sing their songs of joy or sorrow, and it was for his religion and his country, both of which were constantly threatened by neighbours to north and south, that the Hungarian statesman trembled. The Hungarian still fought for "God and the Fatherland" as he did in the Middle Ages—only the foe had changed. And the two-fold cry echoed by the nation's poetry is "God and Fatherland."
The sixteenth century was controversial, and consequently an age of prose. There were, however, a few poets, both in the first, and in the latter half of the century, who deserve attention. One was a wandering minstrel, Sebastian Tinódi; and another, a passionate warrior, a troubadour-knight, Valentine Balassa.
Sebastian Tinódi, who died about 1559, was by no means a poetical genius; he was a brave patriot, and a thoughtful, conscientious man, but he had little imagination. He is interesting as the best-known and most typical representative of the class of poets called minstrels. To some extent the minstrels discharged the functions now performed by the newspaper; they wandered from town to town, and half sang, half recited, their tale of the latest political events, or of battles, accompanying their song with an instrument not unlike the guitar. Sebastian Tinódi was one of these wandering poets or singers. And there was matter enough for his song! The Turks penetrated further and further into the very heart of the country; the great leader, Valentine Török, in whose castle Tinódi had worked as a scribe, was treacherously lured into the palace of the Sultan, and died in a Turkish prison.
Next came the wonderful deed of valour performed by George Szondy, captain of the fortress of Drégel. With a handful of soldiers he withstood for a long time the united forces of the Turks, and when called upon to surrender, he preferred death, and died fighting for his Christian faith and his Fatherland. Only for his two faithful pages did he ask from the Turk the mercy which he scorned for himself.
Another fortress, that of Temesvár, was just as stubbornly defended by Stephen Losonczy. When the defences were completely destroyed, the Turks assured Losonczy that they would allow him and his soldiers to depart from the ruins in safety, but the faithless foe broke his word, and fell upon the little hand and their leader, killing them to a man, after a desperate fight.
Those sad events were witnessed and narrated by Sebastian Tinódi. He was not only a patriotic minstrel, but also a reliable eye-witness, who related historical events in all their details; contemporaries, it is well known, are much more interested in details than are historians when writing of past ages. He visited the battlefields of which he sang, in order that he might give a faithful account of the conflicts they had witnessed. He was much more accurate, but much more prosy too, than most of the historians who were his contemporaries. The technique of his versification is primitive and his language is as monotonous as his rhymes. His poems may be divided into three groups. The first treats of the political events of the day, the constantly renewed attacks by the Turks, and the defence of the fortresses by the Hungarian leaders. The subjects of the second are taken from the Old Testament, and in that part of his work he clearly showed the influence of the Reformation, which made the Bible known to a far wider circle than it had been before. Typical of this class is his Judith. In the remainder of his work the influence of the Renaissance may be clearly traced, for he turns for his subjects to the classical world, choosing from its mythology such topics as those contained in his Chronicle of Jason and Medea.
The most prominent poet in the second half of the sixteenth century was Valentine Balassa (1551–1594). He himself was a picture in miniature of the times in which he lived—warlike, unhappy, and wild. Like the youthful Sophocles at the rejoicings after Salamis, he first attracted attention by his stately dancing. At the coronation of the Emperor and King, Rudolph II., he was chosen to lead the Hungarian national dance. The fact is mentioned in the Latin chronicles of Istvánffy a Hungarian historian, and we may judge how deep an impression the remarkably handsome youth and his elegant dancing must have made on all who beheld him, when we read the enthusiastic description of the event written many years later. The youth was sent to Eger to "learn chivalry," or knightly ways. The fortress of Eger was an important military centre; the heroic and successful defence of the town by Stephen Dobó was known and applauded in all the neighbouring countries, and so, too, was the magnificent part which the women of Eger had played in that piece of heroism. Balassa's first love-songs were addressed to the daughter of the same Stephen Losonczy who is mentioned above as the valiant defender of Temesvár. Balassa's father was himself the captain of a border-fortress, and by his intrepidity drew upon himself the wrath of the Sultan. It was in this warlike atmosphere that the young poet grew up, and his private life was as perturbed as the age in which he lived. It was a restless life indeed, full of litigation, full of discord. His marriage is characteristic of his whole life, and reveals his disposition. He wished to marry a cousin, a member of the Dobó family. The lady was entitled to one part of the large fortress and town of Sárospatak (the fortress having several owners). The family, however, strongly objected to the match, because the pair were cousins, so Balassa determined to acquire both bride and fortress by one bold stroke.
On Sunday he went to church at Sárospatak with several of his armed men; he waited until the service was over, and· then stepped forward boldly, grasped the hand of Christine Dobó, and compelled the priest to marry them. After the wedding, he led his wife to the courtyard of the fortress, and addressed the garrison in a fiery speech, telling them that the fortress was his, and that he claimed their obedience, and threatening them with his own troops. Finally, he took possession of the keys, and compelled the soldiers to take the oath of allegiance. Not for long, however, was he suffered to remain in undisturbed possession of either bride or castle. The latter was taken from him by force, and the family caused him, after lengthy litigation, to be divorced from his wife on the ground that the consanguinity of the contracting parties made the marriage invalid.
The violent proceedings of Balassa in contriving his marriage were equalled by the merciless hatred of his relatives, who even accused him of having become a Mussulman, and of bringing up his son in that faith.
After estranging the affections of his relatives, Balassa left his Fatherland. For a long time he wandered about aimlessly in Poland, and at length went to Dantzig. Some years later he returned to Hungary, and, like his great successor, Alexander Petőfi, died on the battlefield. A few days before the fortress of Esztergom was retaken from the Turks by the Hungarians, Balassa fell, mortally wounded. How can the life of this violent, quarrelsome man possess any interest for us? Because Valentine Balassa was the only real poet to be found in Hungary during the sixteenth century, and remained her best lyric poet until Alexander Petőfi appeared in the middle of the nineteenth century.
The range of Balassa's poems is not wide, but they are instinct with feeling. In some of his verse he reveals his restless and stormy soul, distraught with the pangs of love. In others, he praises the life of a soldier, which in those days was a very different thing from modern garrison life, and chiefly meant camping in the open air, with a constant succession of adventures demanding resource and courage. We seem to breathe the bracing air and the fresh scent of the meadows in those poems. In one song, he, like Othello, bids adieu to life in the tented field; he also bids farewell to Hungary, the bulwark of Christianity, and the home of heroes; to his comrades, whose fame is sung even in far distant lands; to his swift "eagle-winged" charger; to the groves and banks, to his friends, and to his many enemies.
The poems written during his wanderings form a class quite distinct from the rest of his work; they are full of yearning for the distant Fatherland and his dear ones there. "A pilgrim in far-off lands, soberly apparelled and gloomy in heart, longing for the wings of a bird, that he may fly to those he loves."
In all his troubles religion was his one consolation. He was chiefly a religious poet, and in that respect was a characteristic product of his times. The unrestrained vehemence of his feelings, the feature of his character, which in his private life proved a blight, was an advantage in his poetry. He was one of the first who prepared the way for the expression of genuine feeling in poetry. But his verses are not only remarkable for their sincerity and depth of feeling, but also for their technique. What a difference between the prosy language of Tinódi and the graceful stanzas and sonorous rhymes of Balassa!
There is one other new feature in his poems—a sense of the beauty of nature. Appreciation of the beauty of nature seems to have awakened at the dawn of the New Age, and Balassa was the first among Hungarian poets to give expression to it; it attained its greatest perfection in the nineteenth century in Petöfi, who is unrivalled in his appreciation of external nature. Until the advent of Balassa, the man of extremes, the dreamy yet passionate troubadour, external nature had found no voice in Hungarian poetry; she was a world waiting to be discovered by poets. It was he who first, of Hungarian poets, felt the beauty of the landscape and saw symbols of his own inner experiences in the phenomena of nature.
During the time of the Turkish wars a large number of stories were written in verse, telling some tale of love and war. Many of these were inspired by the works of Boccaccio, though some of them only to a slight extent. Such a story is that of The Faithfui Griseldis, written by Paul Istvánffy, who was educated at Padua. It tells us of the mental anguish of a wife whose fidelity and love were put to a severe test by her husband on account of some wager. Another group of these stories was based upon the Gesta Romanorum. There were also translations from the Italian, such as that fine fairy tale which was adapted by Albert Gyergyai under the title of Prince Argirus, and which served as a basis for Vörösmarty's delightful fairy play Csongor and Tünde. But more important than any of these, by virtue of its being purely Hungarian, is the story of Szilágyi and Hajmási. Two Hungarian warriors are taken prisoners and carried to Constantinople. On a certain Whitsunday, one of them, Szilágyi, more moved than usual by the memory of his beloved country, takes up his lyre and sings mournful songs. The Sultan's daughter hears, and feels pity for the captive, and her pity is soon changed into love. "If thou wilt promise to be faithful to me in thine own land, then will I set thee at liberty and follow thee." The young hero promises to be faithful, and he and his companion are set free by the princess, and they all three fly on horseback. The Sultan sends a troop in pursuit, but the fugitives reach the Hungarian frontier in safety. Here a new danger arises, for the other Hungarian, Hajmási, has also fallen in love with the princess and challenges Szilágyi to fight. He is, however, defeated, and retires from the scene in a repentant mood.
The early part of the seventeenth century was in Hungary, as everywhere else in Europe, the age of the anti-Reformation. It has already been said, when speaking of the influence of the Renaissance and the Reformation, that all great intellectual movements having their origin in other countries, profoundly affected Hungary too. The "fair" Danube rises in distant lands and flows into Hungary, where she receives the tributary streams of that land. So is it with the current of the nation's thought; foreign and native elements combine in it, and any great change without must sooner or later profoundly modify it. Those changes are reflected in the nation's literature.
The dominant idea in the seventeenth century was that of undoing the work of the Reformation, and the centre of the movement was Spain. In Hungary, Cardinal Peter Pázmány, the Bossuet of Hungary, was the intellectual leader of the Catholic revival, and the most remarkable author of his time. During the sixteenth century Protestantism had attained the greatest importance and influence in Hungary. The greatest thinkers, and leading men, were all Protestants. Balassa was perhaps the only Catholic among them.
The majority of the nobles were Protestant, and it happened twice that the Palatine, the representative of the king, was of the same faith. At the end of the century, the Papal Nuncio returned to Rome with the alarming news that there were only three hundred Catholic divines in the whole of Hungary, whereas in Italy that number was the average for a single town. It seemed as though Hungary would rapidly become exclusively Protestant.
It was at this moment, which threatened imminent danger to the Catholic Church, that Peter Pázmány appeared (1570-1637). Under his guidance, Catholicism regained nearly all it had so suddenly lost. We might almost say that Pázmány was born in a Protestant country and died in a Catholic one. His parents were Protestants, but Nagyvárad, where they dwelt, to a great degree predestined him to his future vocation, for it was the headquarters of the Jesuits. The first Hungarian Jesuit, Szánto, lived and preached in that town, and it was he who converted the parents of Pázmány. Their son entered the Order, and when twenty-one years of age went to Rome. Here he was most powerfully impressed by the great Jesuit writer and orator, Bellarmin. He resolved to become the Bellarmin of Hungary, and to restore its former greatness to the Catholic religion. He devoted his indomitable energy, his wonderful gift of eloquence, and his brilliant literary style to that end. He rose rapidly in fame and influence. At the age of forty-six he was the highest ecclesiastical dignitary of the land, the Archbishop of Esztergom. He also acquired great influence at the court of Vienna.
The Emperor Ferdinand II. sent him on an important secret mission to Rome. This was at the time of the Thirty Years War, when the whole of Europe was divided into two vast camps of embittered enemies. Cardinal Richelieu, the great adversary of the Habsburg dynasty, supported the Swedes against the Austrians. That a cardinal, with the knowledge of the Pope, should support the Protestant Gustavus Adolphus against his most Catholic Majesty the Austrian Emperor, seemed to Pázmány infamous. Such a state of things had to be put an end to, for the Catholic supremacy was at stake. Pázmány was therefore sent to Rome, to ask the Pope to interfere in the interest of the Habsburgs. The Rome which he had left as a poor, unknown Jesuit monk, he now entered with princely splendour and an immense retinue, through the Porto del Popolo. He was received everywhere with great politeness, but gained nothing but fine speeches and effusive promises, so that at last, Pázmány, who had worked harder than any one else for the Catholic Church, left Rome with bitter disappointment in his heart. His desire remained unfulfilled, for he was unable to defeat the French policy. Neither did he succeed in creating a Catholic alliance strong enough to arrest the triumphant progress of Gustavus Adolphus. "It is with more joy than I received from all the signs of favour shown me at the Papal court" said Pázmány, just before leaving Rome, "that I now take my leave." But he nursed his anger, and at Ancona, before embarking, his bitter indignation found vent, and the Hungarian cardinal gave utterance to the following sentiments concerning the Pope, in the presence of the Roman divines. "Alas, I see that the Pope pays no heed to the dangers which threaten Christianity, and gives no aid to the Emperor. On the contrary, his Holiness supports the Emperor's foes and seeks an alliance with the French and Swedish against the most Catholic monarch." It was said that his failure grieved him the more because he had hoped that in undertaking the mission, he was at the same time paving his way to the papal throne.
Pázmány was not only the leader of the Anti-Reformation movement, but he was also the first great master of Hungarian prose. Before his time authors wrote in a flat, colourless, verbose style, as beginners often do. Suddenly Pázmány stepped forth without any predecessor, and expressed his ideas forcibly, with striking brevity, and with many an unexpected turn in his concise sentences. His best works are his Sermons. He possessed the gift, peculiar to great preachers, of illuminating the obscure and mystical dogmas of the Catholic religion by means of the simplest similes. Abstract ideas became intelligible under his treatment of them. His chief work on theology is A Guide to Divine Truth. The first half of the book treats of Christian dogma in general, and the second contains an attack on the arguments of the Protestants. He was very successful in religious controversy. His style is terse, forcible, caustic, and, in accordance with the habit of the theologians of that day, often harsh. One of his most bitter controversial pamphlets, in which he attacks the Protestant doctrines with withering sarcasm, was translated by the Protestants themselves, in order that it might be answered by a famous German scholar. When the answer was ready, the book containing it had to be translated into Hungarian. Controversy was thus a slow affair, and it was sometimes years before a reply was forthcoming. Time did not move at the same pace then as it does now, and men were more inclined to take things leisurely.
Pázmány was also famous for the schools which he founded. The number of priests being insufficient, he established a seminary which is called after him the Pázmáneum to this day. The Jesuits firmly believed that the future of a party depended upon its schools, so Pázmány built a large number of grammar schools, all of them at his own expense, and he founded a University at Nagyszombat. Out of that foundation grew the University of Budapest, which is now one of the largest in Europe.
The Protestants founded several schools. The two most important high schools were those at Gyulafehérvár, in Transylvania, and at Sárospatak. The school at Gyulafehérvár owed its origin to an eminent ruler of Transylvania, a man not unlike the great Matthias; he was self-willed and violent , but he possessed an original mind, and was an ardent lover of knowledge and the arts.
This Prince was Gabriel Bethlen, the brother-in-law of Gustavus Adolphus, and the ally of England. In the latter capacity he took part in the Thirty Years War, and had he lived longer, probably the war, and consequently the fate of Europe, would have taken a different turn. In the high school which he founded there lectured the first Hungarian philosopher, the attractive but unfortunate JOHN APÁCAI CSERI ( I625-166o), son of a poor serf. He had studied in Holland, where he became aequainted with the works of Descartes. The founder of modern philosophy fired the soul of the poor Transylvanian student. Cseri began to write his chief work, the Hungarian Encyclopædia, at Utrecht, at first in Latin, and afterwards in his native tongue. ln this book he treats of all the branches of knowledge, dealing with philosophy in accordance with the system of Descartes, within five years of that philosopher's death. He was one of the very first to make Descartes known in Europe. On his return to his native land, he determined to plant the young tree of philosophy in Hungarian soil, to spread knowledge and culture , and to found a scientific academy. Unfortunately he was not a man of commanding and original genius, and he had to contend with the difficulties that invariably beset the pioneer. People did not understand his ideas, and his efforts failed. Cseri was first, among Hungarian authors, to raise his voice against serfdom.
The catastrophe of his life was connected with the visit of the English scholar, Isaac Basire, to Transylvania. Isaac Basire's life was a ebequered one. He was born at Rouen in 1607, and became chaplain to Charles I. After the king was beheaded, Basire went to Constantinople as a doctor, and from Turkey to Transylvania, where one of the successors of Gabriel Bethlen, George Rákóczy II., made hím a professor at Gyulafehérvár. Here he at once carne face to face with Apácai Cseri. The latter, after studying in Holland and England, had carried Presbyterian principles home with hím, while Basire, the Court chaplain, was naturally Episcopalian. The controversies of the English Church were thus transplanted into Transylvania, and the prince commanded the two scholars to discuss their differences in public debate. The debate took place, and the Episcopal doctrines of Basire fo und favour with the audience, and he carried the day. On his defeat, Apácai was deprived of his chair at the high school, and given employment at a much less important school at Kolozsvár, where the great idealist died at the age of thirty-five. The victorious Basire then returned to England and entered the service of Charles II.
The other Protestant high school was that of Sárospatak. The wife of Prince George Rákóczy, the highly cultured and studious Susan Lorántfi, invited thither the famous professor, Amos Commenius, one of the founders of modern pedagogy. Gabriel Bethlen wished to secure for this school the services of Albert Szenci Molnár (1574-1634), the enthusiastic champion of Protestantism. Molnár did not accept the invitation, however, preferring to wander restlessly through Europe.
Molnár was a truly representative figure of the times. He was all enthusiasm, all fervent and untiring study, all restlessness, and his career was all adversity. He was born in Hungary, and died there, but the greater part of his life was spent abroad. Of the Hungarian philologist, writer, theologian and poet, Bisterfeld, a contemporary, said: "He was a favourite of the Muses but not of Fortune. Germany became his home and shelter, and to his native and he was a stranger." He passed some years in Switzerland and in Italy, but lived chieflyin Germany, where he worked assiduously in the field of Hungarian literature. In Germany he endured much misfortune. A sketch representing an atrocious incident in his life forms the frontispiece of one of his books, a translation of Calvin's Institutes. At Heidelberg, when the inhuman army of Tilly destroyed the town, Molnár was reduced to beggary, and then tortured. The sketch shows him raised aloft on a high post, while a Spanish soldier scorches him with a torch.
Molnár was one of the most important Protestant writers. His best work is a Translation of the Psalms, from the versions of Clément Marot and Théodore Béza. The Hungarian Calvinists still use that translation, which is remarkable for its perfection of technique. The verses are very melodious, rich in euphonious rhymes, and perfect in metre. Molnár was remarkably industriaus and wrote, amongst other thing, a Hungarian grammar.
We have seen that the Reformation gave an impetus to serious study, and also led to the creation of different sects. The most interesting was the Unitarian com munity. There was a time when the greater part of the population of Transylvania belonged to that body. Just as the champion of the Episcopal church in Transylvania was a foreigner, Basire, so too the Unitarian doctrine was first propagated in Transyivania by the foreigner John George Blandrata, a physician, who had been banished írom several countries. In Transylvania Blandrata became Court physician to the ruler, John II. That prince was converted to Unitarianism, and his chaplain, Bishop Francis David, became the most ardent apostle of the new faith. This was the most prosperous period of Transylvanian Unitarianism, but soon after the death of John II., Francis David was cast into prison, where he died. Though he perished, his cause lived on, and still has a large number of adherents in Hungary. Some of them split off from the main body and forn1ed the Szombatos sect, whose members keep Saturday instead of Sunday as the Sabbath day. The founder of this long persecuted sect was Simon Pécsi, the Chancellor of Gabriel Bethlen.