Magyar Hírek, 1984 (37. évfolyam, 2-26. szám)
1984-09-15 / 18-19. szám
ABOVE THE RIVER - UNDER THE STARS The Bergmanns live on top of Sibrik Hill in Visegrád. A solitaryhouse stands here, former the presshouse of a vinegrower, a memento of the old—not so very distant—times when the Sibrik Hill was a vineyard. The vines have died out, the old rows are overgrown with briar rose. The house of that vinegrower would also have perished, had the Pilis State Forest not saved it, and offered a home to the Bergmanns. We sit around the carved oak table, sipping hot black coffee. The furniture has a completely individual atmosphere — having been carved by the host himself —and the house offers the usual conveniences. In spite of this, few people- would accept this solitary mode of life, the nearest neighbours being a long way of. Pál Bergmann did not plan to become a forester, he did not grow up on the fringes of the vast, trackless forest, not even in the country. “I lived in Esztergom, and learnt the trade of mechanic there. I have grown to like the Pilis as a grown man, the Forestry people offered an interesting job, something new. That’s what attracted me.” Pál Bergmann teaches tourists water-skiing in the summer, and runs a ski-school in the winter. He teaches trap-shooting to people in the recently started camp, and riding in the equestrian camp. He is a kind of Jack of all sports in the Pilis Forest. “And your wife? How did she get used to life in the hills?” “It was not easy. But nobody has heard her complaint. She is not one of those, who cannot imagine their lives without espresso cafes and discos. She takes care of the two children — they are still small — , escorts them daily to the Visegrád school, and picks them up in the afternoon. She has enough work to do at home as well, yet she manages another job. She is a waitress at the Visegrád holiday home of the National Bank.” The visitor lias a splendid time up there, on the Sibrik Hill. Be that as it may, I am only a visitor, and can leave whenever I want to. So the question slips from my tongue: “Do you not miss entertainment?” The couple points at the book-shelves. “Pali carved these shelves” — says the wife. “We packed them with books. But they are not for the purpose of home decoration. There is no unread novel, or short story volume at our place.” Then we go outside, and stand in front of the house. The Börzsöny Hills are on the opposite shore, the Pilis cloaked in blue haze behind us, and way down below the Danube, like a frozen ribbon of silver. The are everyday companions of the Bergmanns. The hills and the Danube. And the stars that light up in the evening. Happiness has a thousand secrets. This is the secret of happiness for the people on Sibrik Hill. * There lived a man at Zebegény once. He wrote seven wonderful books of fairy tales. His name was József Bartóky. There is a museum now in his house. The memorial house bears the name of István Szőnyi, but there was good reason why Szőnyi lived and worked for forty years in the Bartóky house. The painter happened to have married the daughter of the teller of tales. Bartóky and Szőnyi worked in different arts, yet their works show many similarities. They were both committed to humanism and humanity. They both professed that simple things are beautiful. And both of them admired children. For instance, this is the way Szőnyi expressed his artistic credo: “I recognized the connected and indivisible unity of the land and the people at Zebegény, in an environment that suited my ideas. The subjects of my pictures are the two things to which I am tied with the strongest ties in the world: Zebegény, and my family.” During the life of the painter, the Szőnyi garden was famous for the armies of children who spent the summer there. They played hide and seek in the romantic park, rode bicycles, played with puppets. The Szőnyis even brought a pony once, to the delight of the children. But the pony did not tolerate any rider on his back. He was finally broken in by a hussar on leave. From then on the children turned a clearing in the garden into a veritable riding-school. The painter brought up two children at Zebegény, a boy and a girl. His son Peter, joined the resistance in the last, stormy months of the Second World War. He concealed the persecuted, and fell seriously ill. This illness carried him into his grave. Zsuzsa Szőnyi lives in Home now. But the Zebegény house is still not empty. Several hundred students camp every summer in the huge garden that surrounds the Szőnye house—in fortnightly turns. Thisis also the place where the participants of t he Summer Free-School of Fine Arts learn the tricks of the trade. The studens trained at Zebegény are not artists, but people who want to acquire up-to-date knowledge of arts and crafts. And who also want to hand over the knowledge, the spirit, with which the Szőnyi house endowed them, to others. Mrs György Hirling, the guardian of the museum is a retired kindergarten teacher. Being a native of Zebegény, she had free access to the home of the artist already during Szőnyi’s lifetime. Now she conjures of the nicest memory that binds her to this house: “Once, on a spring day, I had a great idea ... I brought along my six-year old children to Uncle István. Of course, I was a little bit nervous, what will he say when I break into his home with my kindergarten children. He set me down in the room of books, and smiled: ‘Madam,’ he said, ‘I am grateful for your visit! You did the right thing bringing the children here. Children need experience, that is what forms their emotional life. These little ones will continue us—and it matters a lot how, as what kind of people, us adults with what kind of attitude.’ From then on he was expecting the visit of the sixyear old children to his place each year. His wife gave dollies to the children, talked about the new pictures of the master. My successors followed this tradition. Unfortunately, they were no longer received by Szőnyi at the door . . , for his students—just as he painted the scene in the Zebegény Funeral —carried him out in the coffin on their shoulders to the hill-side cemetery. István Szőnyi is no longer among us. But every first-year student in our general school knows who painted the Little Girl Feeling Cold, and Zebegény Evening. And they also know that art is not for one day, it is for ever. It will be easier for them to find their place in life.” CSABA KOSA 62
