Antall József szerk.: Orvostörténeti közlemények 66-68. (Budapest, 1973)
Spielmann József: Ave atque vale — Valeriu Bologa professzor emlékezetére
Sándor Székely, Endre Réti, József Antall, Zoltán Szőkefalvi Nagy and other Hungarian historians of science. Their correspondences reflect the common problems of research. He was deeply moved when he was awarded the Weszprémi commemorative medal. He was the first foreign researcher to receive it. His whole life and work, his numerous contributions to the history of Hungarian medical culture, testify how much he deserved it. The professor of these festive occasions—this is how everybody remembers him, and rightly. All the same I feel and irresistible wish to say a few words about the other Professor Bologa, too: the man of the week-days, the man struggling with himself, judging himself, turning inward under the weight of his years. Why do I have this feeling, perhaps because he honoured me with his confidence, because I witnessed the flashes of his fighting spirit? He abhorred that he had other tasks, too, besides research. Who will testify at the final judgement that though many papers remained unwritten it was not because his fervour slackened, that was his recurring complaint. In his letters he spoke about his wish to grow old with dignity— otium cum dignitate—as the Romans put it, to finish his most important tasks. In fact he worked harder then ever. Instead of taking his well deserved yearly holiday he wrote 478 biographies of physicians for an encyclopaedia—with fourteen hours' work daily. In 1962 he wrote me the following: "In February I shall retire and as a free man I allow myself at least two months' rest . . . And then I start my otium cum dignitate, as it becomes a retired teacher. You cannot imagine how happy I am!" But his great plans about the careless life of the pensioner who can work and study as he wishes could not be realized. At least he managed to write his memoirs, among thousands of other tasks. But he was forced to give his advice to us less frequently. In one of his last letters he wrote: "I have reconciled myself to the idea of approaching decay. I'll try to devote the short time left for me to my wife. This, of course, will be at the expense of my 'Dalai lama' work." I last saw him at the end of March 1971, before I went abroad on a research trip. I found him very tired and exhausted. I asked for his advice concerning my travel. He looked at me but did not see me : " You are a grown up, independent man. It is you who knows your work best. What advice could I give you?"l felt that was the moment when he finally released his one-time student. * Whatever anyone says I do not believe in the dignity of death. It is possible to grow old with dignity but to die not! Death is the negation of life, it deprives us from our real face, from our spirit. Professor Bologa was laid out in the hall of the University House. Entering the room on that early November morning I felt a cold that bit in my bones. I cannot tell whether the cold came from the room or from myself. I shall never forgive myself that I saw the face of my dead master, death distorted his
