Matthias, the son of Hunyadi, was indebted for his elevation to the throne to the prestige of his father, who was the idol of the nation, but it was through his own genius alone that he strengthened the throne and became famous, mighty, and, perhaps, the greatest king of whom his country could boast. He excelled alike as a soldier and leader of armies, as a statesman and diplomatist, and as a man delighting in science and art. In those warlike days it would not have been possible for him to become conspicuous among his contemporaries and to become a powerful king, unless he had, in the first place, shown ability as a soldier. Matthias inherited the courage and soldierly qualities of his great father, and, following in his footsteps, became the foremost general of his age, combining rare personal gallantry with a remarkable capacity for military organization. The splendid example of his father had been before his eyes since his most tender years; it was his father who initiated him into the skilful handling of arms and into the secrets of strategy, and both his father and his famous mother, Elizabeth SzilÁgyi, vied with each other in inuring his body and mind to the struggles and dangers of which, since his earliest childhood, so large a share had been his lot.

Trained amid warlike games, he very soon had to face serious struggles, for the men who had looked upon John Hunyadi with envy and jealousy extended their ill feeling to his two handsome boys, Matthias and his elder brother, Ladislaus. No secret was made before the youths of the dangers that surrounded them; they were taught rather to brave than to avoid them. Ladislaus, less fortunate than his brother, soon fell a victim to the machinations directed against both. Ladislaus was threatened with assassination in his own castle at the hands of Czilley, who was a foreigner and the guardian and friend of the boy-king. His men, attracted by the noise of the scuffle which ensued, rushed in and killed the would-be murderer. The king vowed that he would not molest Ladislaus for this act of self-defence, but he had him afterwards seized, thrown into prison, and executed without warrant of law or judicial sentence. This was the work of the enemies of the house of Hunyadi, but very soon they had to pay the penalty of their iniquity. The mass of the nation was roused, and upon the sudden death of Ladislaus V. in his other kingdom, amongst the Czechs, Matthias, the surviving son of Hunyadi, was proclaimed king of Hungary.

Although but fifteen years old when he ascended the throne, he both knew and was accustomed to the dangers that lurked around him, and it was not long before he proved that he could cope with them. Indeed his natural disposition and early training rather led him to seek danger. From his earliest childhood he worshipped heroes, and nothing delighted him more than the ballads, legends, and heroic songs glorifying the gallant deeds and wonderful performances of such leaders of men, as Attila, Alexander the Great, Roland, the French Knight, or his own father. He could listen to these stories all day long, forgetting both hunger and thirst. As he grew to manhood and became king, he had opportunity himself to perform the great deeds he had admired in others. His personal courage knew no limits, and his reckless daring frequently confounded his own men, who, not without cause, feared for his life.

There was one remarkable trait which particularly characterized his valorous deeds as well as his other acts, and that was his love of justice. To this might be traced, in most cases, his boldest actions. Nothing afforded him greater pleasure than to unmask the hypocrite, and to shame the bully and braggart. On occasions like these he would often risk his life to make the truth triumph. Many an instance of this kind is related of him. On one occasion, a German knight, by the name of Holubar, came to Buda, the capital of Hungary. He paraded everywhere his gigantic frame and extraordinary strength, and was indeed thought to be invincible in the tournaments where mounted knights rushed at each other, lance in hand, for he invariably precipitated his adversary to the ground. King Matthias, anxious to measure arms with the big-bodied German, challenged him. The latter declined the challenge, fearing lest he might do some harm to the king, and be in consequence exposed to ill treatment. But the king insisted, and Holubar finally consented. He was determined, however, to slide from his saddle at the slightest thrust from the king. Somehow the king heard of his determination, and immediately caused him to be summoned to his presence. He there vowed, by all the saints, that if he perceived Holubar doing this, he would have him executed, and at the same time made him swear that he would fight with him as if he were the knight’s mortal enemy. The contest took place in the presence of many thousands, and many doubted the king’s success, comparing the German giant with the middle-sized Matthias. The two combatants rushed at each other with tremendous thrusts; the steeled muscles of the king proved superior to the heavy bulk of his adversary, who reeled from his horse, struck by a heavy blow on the forehead, and lay with his arm broken and fainting on the ground. The king, too, staggered by his adversary’s thrust, had to slide off the saddle holding on by his horse’s bridle. The king, having humiliated the bragging foreigner, sent him away with presents of horses, splendid dresses, and a large purse of money. This happened shortly after his elevation to the throne, showing that he then already was a practical master in the use of arms. Matthias was of middle size, but the trunk of his body tall in comparison with his legs, which were rather short, and it was owing to this freak of nature that when on horseback he always overtopped his fellow-riders. He was broad-shouldered, deep-chested, and his limbs were as hardened as steel. On this solid frame rested a massive yet finely cut head, and his eyes were as sharp as those of the falcon. He was able to concentrate his strength and will on one point, never losing his self-confidence, never wavering, and full of endurance. He never vacillated, and sure of the present and of the coming moment, was always ready for action. He possessed an even nature, and was equally unruffled and steady in single combat and on the battle-field, in his private and his public life. He at all times produced the impression of a man full of power and determination, and of a mind of large culture and many-sidedness.

We shall now speak of him as the soldier, for he will appear before us during most of his career in wars and battles. He waged war, on several occasions, against his neighbors on the north, the Poles and Czechs, defeating them often, and finally becoming the king of the Czechs. On the south he fought numerous smaller battles, but almost without cessation, against the sultan. His most inveterate enemy, however, was Frederic, the envious and avaricious emperor of Germany, his western neighbor, who incessantly harassed him. Matthias was engaged in four great wars against him, and finally captured, in 1485, Frederic’s capital, Vienna, compelling the German emperor to go begging from convent to convent, seated on a wagon drawn by oxen.

Hungary was, at that period, beset by many troubles and enemies, but her name was honored and respected everywhere. The sword was in everybody’s hand, and it almost seemed as if men were born with it. It was the prevailing characteristic of European society, in that age, that all men went about armed, and were ready to draw their swords on the least provocation, and in Hungary especially, where fighting against the neighbors was constantly going on, this fashion was more prevalent than elsewhere. King Matthias was well aware that the rash, passionate, hot-headed, free, and soldier-nation he ruled over would but reluctantly submit to restraint. He was, nevertheless, determined to introduce discipline amongst his soldiers. It was an exceedingly difficult task, considering that the armies of Europe in general were, in those days, undisciplined, loosely organized, composed of motley elements, and not subjected to uniform military training. But Matthias was not at a loss for a remedy, being a man to inquire, to observe, to learn from others, and to put to use what he had learned. He remembered the example of his father, who had drilled his own soldiers, the lessons derived from the study of ancient Roman generalship and from conversations with the most renowned contemporary captains, and finally he did not spurn to profit by the example of his enemies, the Turks. The Turkish Janissaries, the most famous foot-soldiery in the world, were well-disciplined troops, forming a permanent and standing nucleus for the Turkish forces.

A similar standing body of soldiers was now organized by King Matthias. He employed his genius in their training, kept them together, supported them by his own means, and established discipline amongst them by the force of his character. This was the famous black troop, one of the corner-stones of his power, and, next to the French, the earliest standing army in Europe. These soldiers he attached to his person by the strongest ties. He lavishly bestowed upon them both pay and booty, and made them sharers of his triumphs. But it was, above all, the rare charm of his personal qualities which won for him their affections. They were not only faithfully devoted to him during his life, but fondly cherished his memory after his death. He himself trained and instructed them, sparing neither time nor trouble to accomplish his purpose. He set them a bright example in all soldierly duties. He shared with his soldiers all the hardships of war; suffered with them cold, hunger, and thirst, and the fatigues of forced marches. He did not shrink from the most exposed position on the battle-field whenever his presence was needed. At sieges, he was often seen walking to and fro amidst a hail of bullets and arrows, a recklessness to which numerous lesser and larger wounds on his body abundantly bore witness. He paid particular attention to the ferreting out of the weak points of fortresses. He employed clever spies for that purpose, paying them liberally, but never placed implicit trust in them, for he himself was a cleverer spy than any of them. It particularly gratified him to hoodwink an enemy by discovering his plans, even at the risk of his life, and thus frustrating them.

In 1475 he laid siege to Shabatz, situated on the southern border of the country. He was exceedingly anxious to take the place, but knowing nothing about its defences, he undertook in person the spying out of the plan of the fortifications. At night he got into a boat in company with a trusty attendant and an oarsman, who was to row him around the walls. They were hardly half way, when the Turks discovered them, and hailed them with a volley of shots, which, in spite of the darkness, struck his attendant. The king, defying death, continued his investigations, undaunted by the heavy fire, until he had finished the inspection of the fortress. The bold venture, moreover, was not thrown away, for shortly after the place was captured. Some of his expeditions were more amusing, but not less dangerous.

At the siege of Vienna, in 1485, he frequently walked all around the walls, unattended, or, at most, followed by a page. On one occasion, he stole into the city in disguise. Dressed in the shabby dress of a country boor, with a basket containing butter and eggs on his back, he traversed the city in every direction, selling his wares, and at the same time spying out the condition of the fortifications. He lounged about in the market-place, listening to what the people talked about, and what they were planning. He made his escape in safety, and, making good use of what he had seen and heard, the city shortly afterward fell into his hands.

Upon another occasion, his forces being stationed opposite the Turkish camp, he assumed the disguise of a Turk, and mixing with the country people who entered the camp to sell their provisions, he succeeded in passing in with them. Once there, he had the hardihood to seek out the sultan’s tent, and, settling down near it, he went on selling provisions and spying all day long. Upon his return to the Hungarian camp, he sent, on the following day, a letter to the sultan, conceived in these terms: “Thou guardest thy camp badly, emperor, and thou art thyself badly guarded. For yesterday I sat, even from morn until night, near thy tent, selling provisions. And lest thou doubtest my words, I will tell thee now what was served on thy table.” The sultan, upon reading this letter, became frightened, and, together with his army, noiselessly left the neighborhood.

The king was particularly rigorous in the ordering of the sentry service. He used to rise at night and inspect the sentinels, to see if they were awake, and in their places. He was especially active during sieges, being constantly on his feet. He was never satisfied with reports alone, but was bound to look after every thing in person. Everybody marvelled at his incessant watchfulness. He awoke at the slightest sound, at the merest whisper. At the same time, he was famed for his sound slumbers amidst the din of battle. Upon such occasions, the shouts of the men, the roaring of the cannon, and the reports of the musketry seemed to lull him to sleep.

He was self-willed when it came to action. He would, it is true, call a council of war, and listen to the opinions of his captains, but in the end he nearly always acted on his own views. He was admirable in distinguishing idle reports from the truth, being as indefatigable and clear-headed in his investigations as he was quick and fertile in the concerting of plans. During the intervals of rest, he liked to mingle with his soldiers. He would joke and be full of mischief with them, and, especially in his younger days, would often eat and drink with them. He always had a kind word for the men in the ranks, just as, in civil life, he was anxious to impress people that he held the great lord, the poor noble, and the peasant in equal esteem, as long as they proved themselves worthy of it. This was truly a rare princely virtue in his age. Always gracious and affable, he loved to discover merit, and to reward it. He sought out the wounded, often even on the battle-field, inquired into their circumstances, comforted them in their troubles, and reassured and nursed those who were low in spirits.

He made it a point that his soldiers should be regularly and punctually paid, and rather than get into arrears with their pay, he would borrow or levy heavy taxes. On one occasion, however, during the Czech wars, he was completely out of funds. He had been just pondering how to raise money for his soldiers, when he was called upon by his captains to join them in a game of dice. The playing was kept up all night, and the king hardly threw any other numbers than those indicated by him beforehand. It was easy for him, with fortune thus in his favor, to win 10,000 florins, a sum which he at once distributed amongst his soldiers in the morning.

Full of sympathy for his soldiers, and princely in his rewards, he yet rigidly exacted discipline, especially in times of peril; and well might he do so, as he himself was amongst the first to submit to it. A comrade to his soldiers during the hours of rest, he became a most severe commander in war, and during the military exercises and drills. Disregard of discipline and disobedience were punished with death. At the tournaments, he often challenged (as was customary in Europe during the middle ages) his captains to combat, rigorously enjoining upon them not to spare his person, but the very person whom he thus distinguished was mercilessly punished if he offended against military discipline. At a tournament, he met in single combat, in sight of the whole country, SzvÉla, one of his captains; yet, but a short time afterwards, he sent both him and his companions to the gallows for breaches of discipline and mutinous conduct. He was, however, never cruel to his soldiers, and readily forgave offences if he was convinced that they sprang, not from ill-will, but from awkwardness and lack of experience.

During the campaign against Frederic, the emperor of Germany, he sent against him one of his generals by the name of Simon Nagy. Nagy, otherwise a brave captain, was defeated, and returned home filled with shame at his disgrace. The king received him with a cheerful countenance, well knowing that the gallant captain had done all he could, and sent him back again at the head of an army to resume the campaign. The brave soldier, animated by his king’s confidence and magnanimity, achieved such a triumphant victory that from that time Frederic never again ventured to send an army against Matthias. He was happy in the selection of his generals, and did not object to raising a man of merit, although of low degree, to the most exalted position. Kinizsy, his most distinguished captain, a man of mean fortunes, owed his elevation to the king. This man had been, in his youth, a plain miller-boy, endowed by nature with gigantic strength. As a miller, he was capable of lifting with one hand the heaviest mill-stone, and, on becoming a leader of armies, he rushed upon his enemy with a ponderous sword in each hand. Such was his enormous strength that, at a great feast held on the battle-field to celebrate his most renowned victory, near KenyÉrmezo, he, the triumphant Kinizsy himself, stood up before the merrymaking crowd, and, holding the dead body of a full-grown Turk in his right hand, another in his left, and a third between his teeth, tripped the national dance. Captains like these contributed to the military prestige of the king, but he owed still more to his own royal qualities.

The impression made by these qualities upon his soldiers remained unchanged, for he continually demonstrated his soldierly virtues, his affability, his liberality, and generosity by deeds. Anecdotes in which the king always played a pleasant part went all the time from mouth to mouth. An old chronicler says of him: “Never was a prince more beloved and respected by his people and his soldiers than he, but, at the same time, everybody feared him as they would a savage lion.” At the sound of the drums and the blowing of the horns, every one stood instantly ready for the engagement, and willing to meet death for his king. During the military drills, every eye was fixed on his person, and every ear listened to the sound of his voice only; he alone was the magnet that attracted and riveted the general attention of his soldiers. In this respect, Hungary stood alone amongst the nations of Europe, and it was with men like these only that he was enabled to achieve his wonderfully rapid and well-planned strategic movements. At a time when the armies of Europe were generally noted for their unwieldiness, this mobility constituted one of the chief advantages of the king’s army, and to it he owed his most conspicuous military achievements.

The king, in his turn, placed the fullest confidence in his soldiers. In the camp and on the battle-field, as we have seen, he went about unattended, or, at the most, accompanied by one or two of his men. He bestowed no care upon the guarding of his person, although at that period immense sums were lavished by the rulers to insure their personal safety by surrounding themselves with a body-guard composed of picked men. He did not feel the necessity of imitating his royal neighbors in this particular; the love and respect of his soldiers proved a more powerful protection than any troop of body-guards he could have organized.

In summing up all we have said about Matthias as a soldier, we obtain an interesting, attractive, and by no means commonplace picture of him. Severe to others, he was no less severe to himself; active, energetic, enterprising, and crafty, he was most happy when actively engaged. Versed in military matters, he at times exhibited a knowledge of military science which reminds us of a modern tactician.

The general historian, as well as the chronicler of his own country, will always assign to him a conspicuous place, not only as a ruler and statesman distinguished in his own age, but also as an illustrious example for the world of royal power, dignity, and magnanimity. He entertained a high opinion of the functions of a ruler. Being ambitious and proud, he liked to give to the world the spectacle of a throne occupied by a king dignified, powerful, and splendid, who, nevertheless, paid tribute to all that was noble and virtuous in humanity. His mind was always busy with great affairs and bold schemes, and he was unwearying in seeking the means of accomplishing them. He never shrank from any task, nor was any task too trifling for him to engage in if there was a pressing occasion for it. He was as indefatigable in his study attending to diplomatic affairs as on the battle-field, unflagging in his activity, and thoroughly informed about every thing.

There was a great deal of work to be done, for Matthias took a large part in the political mazes of Europe. He kept up connections with all Europe, with a view to maintaining and increasing his power—a system which was at that time pursued by no other European ruler. The intercourse with the foreign countries was now of a friendly now of a hostile nature, but it never ceased. As soon as the campaign was at an end on the battle-field, the diplomatic contest was resumed and continued in the study. As the king grew older and more powerful, his troubles with the neighbors increased, for, owing to the enhanced weight of his word, more and more people sought him out and entered into relations with him. Foreign ambassadors were continually either arriving or departing from his court, while his own emissaries were either leaving on, or returning from, missions of lesser or greater importance concerning affairs of state or family. Upon such occasions, especially in the case of missions of greater importance, he felt the whole dignity of the royal position and spared neither pains nor money to surround it with stateliness. The ordinary embassies usually numbered from fifty to sixty members; the more brilliant embassies were frequently attended by as many as a hundred servants.

In 1487 Matthias sent a splendid embassy to the court of Charles VIII., king of France, a description of which will give an idea of the pomp displayed by the Hungarian king. He caused three hundred horses of uniform color to be selected, on each of which sat a youth clad in purple velvet. These youths all wore long gold chains on their sides, and upon entering a city each placed a braidwork mounted with pearls on his head. The contemporary chronicles speak with ecstasy of the beauty of the men, of the splendor of their dress, and of the rich harnesses of their horses, embossed with precious stones. The presents sent to the French king on that occasion, consisting of costly horses, horses’ trappings, splendid robes, vessels and ornaments of gold and silver, amounted to a sum of no less than half a million of florins of the currency of our days.

The embassy sent by Matthias in 1476 to the king of Naples—whose daughter, Beatrice, became subsequently his wife—exceeded the last named in numbers, if not in splendor. It was composed of church and lay magnates, scholars, prelates, soldiers of high rank, nobles, knights, relatives of the king, his intimates and councillors. These again were attended by their secretaries, chamberlains, pages, grooms and forerunners. It was a wonderfully variegated sight, rich in coloring, this mounted army of men dressed in costly robes of various and glaring colors. The great lords were dressed from head to foot in gala costumes, brilliant with gold and silver and jewels, the nobles and knights in costumes of colored velvet, the pages and courtiers in colored satin—all of them mounted on high-mettled steeds. In their train followed the numerous jesters or fools, whom it was customary at that time for every great lord to have by his side, to make sport, or to tell the truth; musicians, especially, according to the fashion of the day, trumpeters, drummers, and harpists; and, finally, players and buffoons, all of them attired and bedizened in motley, parti-colored and tawdry costumes.

The horses’ keep alone cost this embassy a million of florins, present currency. But not satisfied with carrying on their backs half of the current wealth of the country they came to represent, the members of the embassy had brought with them, besides, vessels of gold and silver, and jewelry of all kind, to be distributed as presents, or to be paraded about. Ostentation was the fashion of the day; objects of luxury were still a sort of novelty, and those possessing them were anxious to have the pleasure of their display. There was another feature about the pageant of this mission which made it almost unique; and with which Matthias created the greatest sensation. This was a band of Turkish prisoners of high rank, clad in costly caftans with golden turbans on their heads, who preceded the brilliant Hungarian procession upon their entering the Italian cities. These prisoners had just been captured by the king near Shabatz, and they were to serve as an evidence of Hungarian prowess. At that time half Europe stood in awe of the powerful Turks, particularly the Italians, who, although excelling in art and science, were wretched and pusillanimous soldiers. Both Matthias and his father, John Hunyadi, were known to the Italians as the most powerful and successful foes of the dreaded Turks, and the prestige of the names of these two warriors won greater respect for the embassy than all the wealth and luxury displayed by it.

Brilliant as were the embassies sent by Matthias to foreign courts, he was no less gratified by the arrival of missions to his own, which were looked upon as a sort of holiday event. The king himself was inclined to be liberal if he wished to do honor to any one. There were, besides, gathered about his person a motley crowd of Hungarian, German, and Czech magnates, prelates and nobles, attentive to every command of his. Then there were the court attendants amounting to many hundreds, and all these persons required but a nod from the king to devote themselves to the preparation of a brilliant reception. They were quick to don their sumptuous and costly dresses, they brandished their weapons inlaid with precious stones, they pranced on their steeds caparisoned in colored silk and velvet, and, attended by an army of courtiers and servants, clad in garments representing all the colors of the rainbow, the procession went out amid the blast of horns, to meet the ambassador and to escort him to the court. In 1487, John Valentini, the envoy from the court of Ferrara, in Italy, and in 1488, Melchior Russ, the Swiss envoy, were honored by receptions of this kind. In December, 1479, John Anagarini, the papal cardinal ambassador, was received with the greatest imaginable pomp, by the king in person, who, attended by his church and lay dignitaries, came out to meet him at three o’clock in the morning. Thousands of wax torches shed a light as broad as day over the dark and wintry scene. Three days after the arrival of the cardinal the solemn audience took place. The king appeared in his royal robes, surrounded by the highest dignitaries of the court, and by the church and lay magnates, all sumptuously dressed. The king well understood the art of astonishing and dazzling his visitors by the dignity of his presence and by the display of lavish pomp.

Upon one occasion he was staying at VisegrÁd, his splendid palace a short distance from Buda, when the sultan’s ambassador arrived. It gratified the pride of Matthias to dazzle the eyes of the Turkish envoy, who was accustomed to the brilliant surroundings of the sultan, with the splendor of his own court. VisegrÁd, which was called by the contemporaries “an earthly paradise,” fully suited his purpose. The envoy and his train were brought from their city quarters to the royal castle, in order to be admitted to the solemn audience with the king. As the gates of the castle were thrown open a gorgeous spectacle met their eyes. The king stood on an eminence of one of his hanging gardens. Around him, above and below him, were grouped the great of the land and his courtiers, clad in silk, velvet, gold, and silver robes, with shining arms. At this unexpected sight the envoy was struck with awe. In confusion he drew nearer, but as his eyes met the proud look of the king he became so embarrassed that he lost the command of his voice, and was only able to stammer out, after a pause: “The padishah greets you, the padishah greets you.” The king, perceiving his painful hesitation, had him led back to his quarters. After the lapse of a few days he was conducted again into the king’s presence, who, after having bestowed upon the envoy rich presents, sent him back to his master with the proud message to “send another time an ambassador who, at least, can speak.”

Of such a nature were the audiences granted to foreign envoys. The audiences granted to his own subjects lacked, of course, the pomp and pageant of the former, but the king was particularly careful and painstaking in the treatment of the matters thus brought before him. This was more especially the case during the beginning of his reign. His first wife, the daughter of the Czech king, whom he had married in 1458, died a few years afterwards, leaving him a widower, and the ceremonial of the court, in the absence of a queen, admitted of an unrestrained intercourse with his people. But he married again in 1476 the daughter of the king of Naples, Princess Beatrice. With her presence Italian etiquette and formality began to prevail in the royal court, and free access to the king’s person became more and more difficult. In his youth the business of his doorkeepers was but scant, for the doors stood wide open for the petitioners, who were kindly received by the young king. Nor was the number of these small, for the king’s fame as a friend to justice had spread all over the country. A whole army of petitioners, from the great lord to the simple peasant, frequently besieged the doors of the audience hall, for Matthias was known to treat them all with uniform affability. He attentively listened to and duly weighed the petitions and complaints of all. This was a matter of great importance at a time when a privileged class, the nobles, were the masters of the property of the numerous peasantry, and frequently held control even of their lives. The laws at that period were both loose and defective, and the judges could, with impunity, either misinterpret or distort their meaning to the injury of the suitor. Besides, in that age nearly every noble had a train amounting to a small army, and the temptation proved frequently irresistible to be his own judge and to treat the weaker party as he pleased. Such was then the condition of things all over Europe.

The most efficacious remedy for these evils was a king just and strong, who was not loth to inquire into abuses and was ready to lend the weight of his kingly command and of armed force against the recalcitrant. Matthias was a ruler equal to such a task. Many excellent laws were introduced during his reign, and he had both the sense of justice and the power to enforce them. The very knowledge of the existence of such a final appeal greatly improved the administration of justice, for every one was aware that the king was a man of his word, and that his threats were not empty utterances, but were sure to be followed by swift and severe punishment. He was as quick in disposing of the matters submitted to him as he was careful in their consideration. If he ever delayed affairs they were mostly connected with important questions of state, diplomacy, and finances, requiring caution in their management. On such occasions he was master in the art of keeping silent, and might have excited the envy of the craftiest Italian diplomatist by his wariness. His mind was not easily open to extraneous influences; he liked to get at the bottom of all complaints and accusations by personal investigation. He brought into the management of civil affairs the habits exhibited by him on the battle-field; he was always inspecting and investigating. It was a matter of frequent occurrence with the king to go among the people in disguise in order to study their characters and dispositions, to learn their complaints and troubles, and, if possible, to give at once a helping-hand. During these expeditions he strayed unknown into the villages, exposing himself frequently to the overbearing treatment of a village judge, a landed noble, or a constable, and even to occasional blows, but if he afterwards got hold of the guilty parties he showed them on his part no mercy. In his disguise he was indifferent to the scoffs and gibes levelled at him; he rather enjoyed the incongruous and comical plights he often found himself in, but at the same time he was apt to give and to take a joke. Of course the king always laughed last, when the disgraced culprits, after being punished, ruefully slunk away. He was, as a general thing, very fond of good-natured intrigues, and liked to season even graver matters with a bit of pleasantry.

To the secret denunciations of eavesdroppers the king, unlike many of his royal contemporaries, never listened, preferring to trust to his own eyes and ears only. This manly straightforwardness inspired all his actions, and was instrumental in causing him to arrive at the truth and to do justice, and obtained for him among the people, even in his lifetime, the name of “the just.” The memory of his fame for justice has survived to this day in the current popular saying: “King Matthias is dead, justice has fled!” Although as a soldier and statesman crafty and full of expedients, and even loving disguise in contact with his people, he never was treacherous and deceitful. Poisoning and assassination did not enter into his catalogue of expedients as it did into the policy and practice of his contemporary, the French king, Louis XI., or the Italian princes, the Estes, Sforzas, the Borgias, and the popes themselves, who employed both as a favorite means for accomplishing political objects. All unclean means were repugnant to his frank and knightly nature, as was evinced by the following instance. While he was engaged in war, in 1463, against George Podiebrad, the Czech king, he was approached by a man who offered to take George’s life in armed combat for a reward of five thousand florins. The king, knowing the difficulties of the enterprise, at once consented, promising even a larger amount in case of success. This man, after lurking for a long while about the person of King George, despaired of being able to carry out his fell design, for the king was surrounded by the finest soldiers of the period, and to attack him, under those circumstances, would have been equivalent to forfeiting his own life. He therefore proposed to King Matthias to remove the Czech king by poison. The king indignantly refused to profit by the assassin’s offer, proudly exclaiming: “We are in the habit of fighting with arms and not with poison!” At the same time he sent a message to the Czech king putting him on his guard against the attempt to take his life by poison, and cautioning him not to partake of any food or drink unless it was first tested by one of his trusty men.

With views like these it was natural that King Matthias should not be accessible to any fear of poison or assassination. It was secretly intimated to him at one time that his courtiers intended mixing poison with his food. Upon hearing this he exclaimed: “Let no king ruling justly and lawfully fear the poison and assassin’s dagger of his subjects.” His capacity for government was particularly shown in the right selection and thorough appreciation of men, and in the independence which he always maintained. This trait of character became at once evident on his ascent to the throne. Being only fifteen years of age he was deemed too young for the burden of government, and a governor and state-councillors were placed by his side. But he felt equal to the duties of his royal office, and determined to take the reins of government in his own hands. In this scheme, however, he saw both his friends and his enemies arrayed against him. The former, the adherents of old Hunyadi, to whose services he owed his throne, wished to superintend his education, to guard him against dangers, and to maintain at the same time their influence over him. His enemies, on the other hand, true to the instincts of their inveterate hostility to the Hunyadi family, after having first opposed his aspirations to the throne and afterwards intrigued against him, were glad of an opportunity to balk him in his wishes, and therefore they now sided against him, and soon after openly declared for Frederic, the German emperor.

The position of the young king was an exceedingly critical one; his foreign enemies, too, the Turks, Germans, and Czechs, began open opposition and, what was most discouraging of all, the treasury was empty. But he surprised everybody by the independence and circumspect conduct with which he met both friends and foes, and also the difficulties threatening from abroad. His astute questions and ready replies in conversation were the theme of universal admiration. It was thought that, being a youth, he would busy himself with empty trifles, and give little thought to his royal responsibilities. His partisans had hoped to be called upon to instruct him in the art of government, whilst his enemies had anticipated that, unmindful of his kingly duties, he would very soon be ruined. But he disappointed both. In the council chamber he listened attentively when any of the lords spoke, but as soon as their views diverged and threatened to degenerate into a heated discussion, it was he, the youth, whom they had met to advise, who admonished them to be calm and to agree. His enemies saw that the youth was thoroughly conscious of the exaltedness of his position, which placed him above his adherents as well as his enemies, and they now tried every means to create dissensions between him and his partisans. In this they failed, for the king was on his guard. Knowing his difficult position, he took pains to conciliate his friends. In the treatment of them he was both determined and smooth. In conversation he first ascertained the views of those to whom he spoke, and then shaped his own remarks accordingly. He had the talent of persuading his antagonists without seeming to do so, and of getting them to share his views, and as he was quick to discover the opinions of others, he was not liable to being imposed upon. By slow degrees all opposition to him died out and both friend and foe were silenced.

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.

Within this brilliant network of royal palaces pulsated the busy court life, with a frequent exhibition of exceptional gayeties and splendid feasts. The court was always thronged with the relatives of the king, with captains of the highest rank, and with hundreds of courtiers, from the chancellor down to the humble attendant, and great lords and high prelates, with their courtly trains, gathered around the king, hoping for advancement of one kind or other. The court was also a favorite resort for foreign diplomatists, who came for the purpose of settling questions relating to politics, church, or family concerns, and delivering messages of respect and homage to the king, whose strong arm was able to restrain and check the Turks, the Germans, and the roving bands of marauders. By degrees the Hungarian court took on a European, or cosmopolitan air, becoming more and more refined, gaining also the repute of being a seat of classical learning and culture. There was both compliment and truth in the remark made to King Matthias by his antagonist, Uladislaus, the Czech king, at one of the brilliant feasts given by the former: “Your Majesty, it is difficult to triumph over a king who is the possessor of so much treasure.”

It was a great misfortune that Matthias died without leaving a son to succeed him, for all the accumulated splendor and culture vanished with the king who had introduced and developed them. It was at the zenith of his glorious career, while he was pondering on far-reaching plans for the future, that death surprised him. On Palm Sunday of the year 1490 he attended divine service, and, on returning from church, he was suddenly seized with extreme lassitude. He at once called for figs. They were brought, but on finding them mouldy, he angrily rejected them. Soon after he was overcome by dizziness, and a fit of an apoplectic character deprived him of the power of speech and memory. He expired on the 6th of April, after an illness prolonged for two days.