Sándor Palace

Listen for the click of heels on stone. On this square at the top of Castle Hill, the sound carries. Tourists drift between the cafés and the old walls, and the funicular hums as it arrives from the river below. Then a building catches your eye: pale, calm, symmetrical, with tall windows and a row of columns across its front. Guards in dark uniforms stand very still by the gate. This is Sándor Palace, the office of the President of Hungary.

The palace looks modest at first. It has no towers or gilded domes. Its beauty comes from proportion. The façade is long and low, painted a soft cream. A portico of columns supports a triangular pediment, a design taken from the temples of ancient Greece. This style is called neoclassical. It was popular across Europe in the early nineteenth century, when architects looked back to Athens and Rome for order and balance.

The building takes its name from the Sándor family, Hungarian aristocrats. Count Vincent Sándor commissioned it in the first years of the nineteenth century, and construction began around 1803. At that time, Castle Hill was a district of nobles, churches and government offices. A palace here was a statement. It placed a family close to power, just steps from the royal residence further along the ridge.

Now for the first surprise. The most famous Sándor was not the builder, but his son, Count Móric Sándor. Hungarians still remember him as the devil rider. He was known across the country for wild, reckless horsemanship. Many stories describe him jumping horses over carts, ditches and even people. Legend has it that he once rode his horse up and down steep stairways in the city. Some tales are surely exaggerated... but his reputation was very real.

Look up at the façade between the windows. You will see carved reliefs, panels of figures in stone. They show scenes from ancient mythology, with gods, heroes and horses in motion. These carvings belong to the original decorative idea of the palace. They gave a noble house the dignity of a classical temple. Take a moment to follow one panel from end to end. The details are fine, and most visitors walk past without noticing them.

In the second half of the nineteenth century, the building changed its role. After 1867, Hungary gained much more control over its own affairs within the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The country needed a home for its government. Sándor Palace became the residence of the Hungarian prime ministers. For roughly three quarters of a century, the most important political decisions in the country were discussed inside these rooms.

The palace also carries one of the darkest moments in modern Hungarian history. In April 1941, Prime Minister Count Pál Teleki took his own life here. It was a time of enormous pressure. Germany was preparing to invade Yugoslavia, and Hungary had signed a treaty of friendship with Yugoslavia only months before. Teleki left a letter that expressed his despair about the path his country was being forced to take. Many Hungarians see his death as a protest of conscience.

Worse was still to come. During the long siege of Budapest at the end of the Second World War, Castle Hill became a battlefield. German and Hungarian troops held the hill while Soviet forces surrounded the city. The fighting destroyed much of the district. Sándor Palace was left as a burned shell. Its roof was gone, its rooms were open to the sky, and its walls were scarred by shells and bullets.

Here is the second surprise. The palace did not rise again quickly. For decades after the war, it stood as a ruin in the middle of the old town. Under the communist government, there was little interest in restoring an aristocratic house that had served the old political order. Only after the political changes of 1989 did serious restoration begin. Craftspeople rebuilt the interiors and the façade, using old drawings and photographs as their guide.

The restored palace reopened at the start of the twenty-first century. Since 2003, it has served as the official office of the President of Hungary. The president is the head of state, while the prime minister leads the government. So the building has returned to the heart of national life. Today, foreign leaders arrive here for official visits, and the flag above the entrance shows that the presidency is at work.

Now watch the guards. The soldiers at the gate belong to a ceremonial guard unit. At regular intervals, they perform a changing of the guard in front of the palace. Their movements are slow and precise. Rifles turn, boots strike the stone, and commands ring across the square. Crowds gather quickly, so it helps to stand along the side of the square, not directly in front, where people block the view.

Turn around and look at what surrounds you. Right next door stands a long building that once belonged to a Carmelite monastery and later became a theatre. In front of you, the upper station of the funicular connects the hill to the Chain Bridge below. Walk to the edge of the terrace nearby. From there, the Danube opens up beneath you, with the dome of Parliament on the far bank. It is fitting. The old seats of power look at each other across the water.

Before you move on, stand still for a minute. Look again at the cream-coloured stone, the steady line of windows, the guards who barely blink. This house has known a reckless count, an anxious prime minister, fire, ruin and patient repair. Today it looks almost peaceful. As you walk away along the ridge, listen for the boots on the stone behind you... and the funicular sliding down toward the river.