The Central European Image of Budapest
The Silhouette of Budapest in the Czech, Slovak and Polish belles-lettres
Terra Recognita Foundation – for a Central European dialogue 1
“In chilly wheather, the High Tatras can be seen even from the hills of Budapest”
Content
Slovak writers’ ramblings in Budapest The secret Slovak talent of a Hungarian ministry Slovak gentlemen along the Danube promenade
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Czech fragments on Budapest
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Recalling Budapest in the Polish literature
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After the administrative merger of Buda and Pest in 1873, Budapest became one of the most important urban centres in Central Europe, not only surpassing Prague or Warsaw in size, but also in importance as the second capital of a “two-headed empire”, the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, where Vienna was the first one. Thus, Budapest was the capital of many minorities in Hungary, but it was also seen as an important point of reference in the eastern part of the Monarchy. It triggered a variety of connotations about Budapest in the writings of Slovak, Czech and Polish belletrists, among whom we cite here only some special accounts, exploring the colourful imagination of the city. 3
Slovak writers’ ramblings in Budapest The secret Slovak talent of a Hungarian ministry
The 70-year old Peter Horal Bella
The first Slovak belletrist to be introduced is Peter Bella, who practically worked as a ministerial official, and supposedly regarded himself as a clerk. However, he came from a conscious Slovak family, located in Liptov county, and he never really gave up his Slovak identity. His interest in compiling Slovak elegiac poems on Tatran nature and Slovak countryside was triggered by a kind of alienated solitary within the loudly and proudly booming metropolis. He sent his poems to Slovak newspapers under the pseudonym Horal – meaning man of mountain – but not taking part in Slovak public life. His works are filled with the bitter sound of loneliness, like living as a stranger.
In Buda’s cemetery, serene and still, Birdsong rings out from bush and hill. Yet, oh, her melody, a mournful cry, Tears the heart, makes spirits sigh. “What ails you, dear bird?” I ask the air, “Has the green grove fallen, do you despair? Have they trampled your nest in reckless flight, Have your kin abandoned you to night?” “No, my green grove stands tall and free, My nest remains, safe within the tree. Thick linden branches shield my abode, In their soothing shade, my sorrows erode. 4
But my song turns somber, a sad refrain, As autumn’s touch paints the hills in stain. For all around, blooms gently fade, In meadows and gardens, in sun and shade. From Krivan’s peak, a chilly wind arrives, It wounds the linden, where my heart strives. Slowly widowed, the linden weeps alone, I, an orphan without a place to call home.
As these verses show, Horal felt homesick and was missing his homeland. His oeuvre is a peculiar imprint of Budapest, since the early Tatra melodies were born not only at the bottom of the Northern Carpathians, but in the Hungarian capital, thanks to Peter Horal Bella. Because of his self-censorship in public debates, his oeuvre represents a quiet journey avoiding the noise of ethnicized political battles, but not submerging into total silence. Peter Hora Bella eventually lived the rest of his life in Budapest, where he died on June 13, 1919. A year after his death, his collected poems were published in book form, which the renowned literary critic Štefan Krčméry praised with considerable acclaim. „The quiet Peter Horal published his poems from the second half of the nineties. ... We didn’t know how many poems he had and how much there was in them. Now, a year after his death, they have been published, collected in a neat // úhľadnom // volume: we see that they are a worthy wreath, containing // hodne // honest, healthy poesy. Horal’s poetry is largely about homesickness. From his office in Pest, he longs for Liptov, for the Krivan, for the Váh, with which his soul grew together as a child, without which it was so difficult to live.” Because of the folk-song nature of his poems, they were not at first accepted in the Slovak literary tradition, until a peculiar turn of events: Eugen Suchoň, one of the most important figures of Czechoslovak opera between the two world wars, discovered this melodic Tatra versification and set Horal’s poem ‘How beautiful you are, my homeland ’ to music in 1932, which quite unexpectedly became an evergreen hit. According to Suchoň, “Surprisingly, the song gained spontaneous popularity and slowly become known all around the country and became a national heritage. It was sung not only in Slovakia, but also in almost every choir in the Czech lands, because I later adapted it for male and mixed choirs. ... Despite its simple text and light melody, this song became like an anthem of the nation.” Peter Bella 5
Horal’s thomb was found in 1938 by a Slovak literary historian. “…on the left fresh grave - Bella’s wife? Her only daughter is said to live in Buda today in the house Bella pulled up when he retired as a clerk at the Budapest Railway Directorate. The wife was German, their daughter was Germanized, although her father taught her Slovak folk songs, both national and her own, from a young age. Bella’s life ended sadly and miserably. ... But could never see Liptov again. His brother’s grave in Krakow bears a Slovak inscription, while his foreign-language grave is silent about his merits. Will the grateful people of Liptov take him to their home, will his life’s wish be fulfilled?”
Idealized depiction of Slovak countryside: journal Dennica, November 1912, dedicated to the 70year old Peter Horal Bella
The walks of a cosmopolitan Slovak writer in Budapest After Peter Horal Bella’s melancholic poetry, it is refreshing to immerse ourselves in the life of Janko Jesenský (1874-1945), who tried to take life’s twists and turns, including his time in Budapest and his rather “messy” relationship with Hungary, with remark-able gaiety and vitality. Janko Jesenský came from a noble family of varied kinship in the Highlands. He started out from a stub-born, combatant Slovak background, and perhaps for this reason he chose to become a lawyer, because jurists were able to enjoy a 6
Streets of Pest. Borsszem Jankó, 12 May 1912.
degree of financial and professional independence, walking his own track. However, Jesenský’s ambition was not on legal issues. His literary flair, his poetic and literary interests were developed at an early age; and as a belletrist, he became a critical observer and chronicler of the small-town bourgeois world, in a humorous, or at least liberated, style. While he spent much of life in small towns, sometimes he had to ramble along Budapest – due to study and health reasons – and these pastimes were not insignificant. First, he passed his law exams here; after he visited the Hungarian metropolis for curing himself and for meeting friends or colleauges. During these times, Jesenský wrote several of his poems in Budapest, evoking the city’s atmosphere in greater depth – more precisely, the way in which a young educat7
ed man from a distant nationality, coming from a distant background and longing for it, dreaming of a career and love affairs, experienced this urban atmosphere. Jesenský’s intellectual and emotional journey seemed to have enabled him to get access to local highlife than the Slovak-born office clerks, who were severely restricted to act like a Slovak minority representant. But this adaptation seems to have been situation-dependent: Jesenský could not always digest the atmosphere of Pest. This is attested by an early poem from 1896, which is a moral lecture addressed to the capital, a bitter argument, a turning away mixed with homesickness. Its title is simply: In Pest.
Away, away, from the city’s noise, To the songs of birds, where the calm enjoys, In the forest’s hush and the mountain streams’ flow, To the warmth of people we’d love to know. Where handshakes are hearty, embraces kind, Words of brotherhood, where hearts entwined, The daytime’s bustle, the night’s sweet reprieve, In this serene haven, we truly believe. Far from the turmoil where souls find peace, Where eyes shine bright, sorrows release, No wrinkles on faces, young and free, Just endless horizons as far as we see. Beyond the curbside and uniforms’ might, Away from the chaos and frosty light, Amid beautiful faces, their gaze a flame, Their souls ablaze, in love’s name. Away, away, from the tainted air, Where Danube’s waves weep in despair, Yearning to flow wide and bold, But the stone walls confine its hold.
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Meanwhile, Budapest could appear in Jesenský’s oeuvre in a more colourful and appealing manner, as place of cultural programs and love affairs – longing for rambling not alone but with a girl. The object of such dreams in September 1903 was a lady with the initials I.P., for whom Jesenský wrote a poem about Budapest:
Maybe I should stop at the Danube so sometimes lit up at night and the cold, shoulder-black waves etched in my eyes, in my memory, I might fall in, rushing to the cafes listening to the sad music of the violin, my heart, sad soundscape, is looking everywhere for its distant song, and is also looking for another voice, which could eventually produce a joyful harmony, the soul gives rhyme to the word, and in it there is a battle of two souls. But what is the beauty and the jewel of the city worth And what a cup full of joy, when there is no soft gentle breeze, no honest words and silent rain, and miss the warmth of a loving hand, and the power of light to give a lovely sight, and the joy when a look gives a sign, that in the chest are the sounds of love. It’s Saturday. Dinnertime. The crescent moon shines above the castle. A row of lamps is lit. I’m on my way, to the opera, where Margaret’s drama Faust in vivid sizes accompanied by a ballet. But it’s not the singing that attracts me, it’s the sound that’s beyond my reach, not the glitter, it dazzles the eye, not this noisy audience, 9
not the finery, silk rustles, and not the soft female faces, red as rose petals, fragrant and glowing with starlight, hunting - but I’m not going for them. For me, beauty springs up elsewhere. Would you believe that in ballet where do I tear off this stalk? No? You don’t know Margaret has blonde hair, a familiar sight for me, touching the heart, because it is so similar to you, to you!
In 1904, The Damnation of Faust had a debute in Hungarian State Opera – Marguerita was played by Maria Scomparini
Czech fragments on Budapest Comparing with the colourfulness of Slovak literary reflections to Budapest, Czech literature mirrored the Hungarian capital rather in fragments. Here, two highly influential works of two important Czech authors are presented, highlighting some telling details, which well symbolize the attitude of the former Czech world to Budapest: one is a poem that encourages the Slovaks to persevere against Magyarization, the other is a romance novel, the heroes of which escape to Buda. The author of the poem is Jan Neruda, one of the most respected poets of his time. Addressing the Mount Calvary of Pest, he wrote his short but rather emotional work about the oppressed or mar-ginalized status of Slovaks. The other work quoted here is also quite emotional, but in a different way: in this novel, a Czech girl and a Slovak boy run away to Pest. Along the story of their love, Budapest appears as a peculiar but appealing historical background image, a kind of familiarly unfamiliar place, a foreign land where Czechs and Slovaks can, anyway, move at home.
Mount Calvary – the first calvary of Pest
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On the Calvary of Pest Beyond the city’s reach, where souls cease to be, A silent hill stands, “the mount of agony”. In spring’s embrace, aflame with ardent fire, Oh, humble folk, come to Mount Calvary’s pyre! Upon that mount I stood in spring’s embrace, And watched as Slovaks gathered, voices interlaced. With fervent breath, they prayed as one united, Singing and soothing pain, their burdens lightened. A man led the way, reciting with grace, Others joined in song, their voice interlace. The mountain wept, obscured by sorrow’s pall, The man spoke the sufferer’s name, his final call: “Let’s pray for all souls, those lost in despair, To aid the jobless, the burdened, in loving care!” Halt! The words pierced deep like searing coal, My throat constricts, my breath in shallow shoal, What say you, simple Slovak soul so true? Where has love been buried, God, where are you? Czech and Slovak, once brother, side by side, On Calvary, we cease to pray, hearts divide.
Vladislav Vančura: Escape to Buda „When the lovers reached Buda, it was almost dusk. They got into a carriage pulled by a team of shy horses. These types of rental coach have not yet disappeared from Pest, and unlike other countries where you can still see them, here they are no scarier or rickety than automobiles. Buda was not unknown to Barány, because the city was only separated from the highlands after the first World War. Tomáš knew the city from the old days 12
before the war. He looked at the familiar buildings, seem as if retaining the look of an aging lad staring at women while oblivious to the fact that it was almost time for dinner. Tomáš was shocked to find the place of his youth so unchanged. An army of legs crossed the boulevards in perfect harmony, the rhythm of this gallop almost echoed, filling the street with elegance, radiating wealth and a sort of dominance. The squealing coachmen held the reins with tight arms, pulling back the necks of the animals so that they walked like the pride of Hungarian lords and Hungarian horsemen. A double line of trees arched over the carriage roads, the canopies meeting above the road. (…) Jana didn’t speak Hungarian, but Tomáš knew the language well. This knowledge gave him weight in the eyes of his lover. Jana attributed the perfect knowledge of this foreign city to him, and it seemed to her that with her love she was simultaneously giving a pledge back to Hungarians. The native language of Buda intoxicated him in the mouth of his lover, and it seemed as if the mutual enmity between the two nations would be reconciled.”
Polish recalling Budapest Rooted in millenium-long historical comradery, Polish and Hungarian regard each other capital cities as centres where being distant from the Homeland does not mean being aliens. This climate is perfectly reflected in a poem by Bogdan Zadura, a contemporary Polish poet, titled Budapest:
I remember as I sat at a white table on a white chair drinking expresso and eating ice cream at the age of forty 13
I was looking at people riding the tram from Liberty Bridge to Margaret Bridge and I felt there in the tram is real life
I remember as I rode the number two streetcar from Liberty Bridge to Margaret Bridge at the age of forty
I looked at the people sitting at white tables on white chairs and I felt that there was real life
The poet Marian Piechał asked in his poem titled 23 X 1956:
How so, so flowers at the monument of what was called Bem, it’s a crime That it was necessary to cut these flowers, this flower of the nation, with a scythe of fire?...
Stanislaw Kaminski depicted the event in poetry as follows: The primary historical moment which engraved the Hungarian capital in the consciousness of Polish is the uprising in 1956. Then, Budapest was the talk of the world. For Polish audience, the events of the Hungarian capital was of extremely importance, which was mirrored in literary works, too. Jerzy Hordyński wrote in his poem Hungarian Rhapsody:
In all languages, in every wave Budapest, Budapest, Budapest… Since Polish suffered from the same oppression of Soviet Communism, and attempted to stand against it as Hungarians, poets referred to the Hungarian 1956 vividly. It was poetry that was a significant way at the time, whether to report on the events or to show solidarity with Hungary. István D. Molnár, a Hungarian researcher of Polish culture, stated that: It will be only a slight exaggeration if we say that almost every famous, really talented or respectable Polish poet wrote a poem on hearing about the Budapest Uprising. Adam Ważyk, a famous Polish poet wrote in his poem Qui tacent clamant:
I was with you on that day when at the Bem monument you raised the Hungarian and Polish banners
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A shattered monument, its tale untold, Beneath, the earth, in blood runs cold. The nation moves, in memory’s embrace, Recalling a time of enslavement’s trace.
Poet Jerzy Waleńczyk wrote in his poem Chronicle:
Who are you, journeying where we trod, Gazing into freedom’s memory, O God, A landscape, plain, descending to see, Into fiery abyss, or darkness, it be....
Andrzej Braun, a Polish writer and reporter, wrote in the newspaper Nowa Kultura: And in Poland there could have been a Hungary... We were a hair’s breadth away from bloodshed, from thousands of dead and wounded. Polish poets who were not directly involved in the October events also supported the insurgents. The distinguished poet Julian Przyboś referred to the Hungarian revolution in his poem titled October 1956:
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The wounded stones, they question why, The slain waters mourn, tears in the sky. We stand upon the border’s seam, In pursuit of hope, we dream our dream. We’re on the edge of sanity’s shore, Gazing into flames, forevermore. Admiring death, as shadows dance, Upon the border, in a solemn trance.
...On Budapest’s cobblestones, A tattered banner, its story told, Like autumn leaves, it gently sways, On the eyes of heroes, in final days…
The most famous poem from this period was written by the eminent Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert and is titled To the Hungarians. It depicts solidarity with a brotherly nation:
We stand upon the border’s brink, Extend our hands, hearts interlink. From heavens high, a rope descends, Binding brothers, love transcends. Amidst the cries that shattered air, With clenched fists, we’re made aware. A somber bell, a heart does break, In silence, terror’s grip won’t shake.
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History came full circle when a monument to the Polish poet was unveiled in Budapest in 2016. Two years later, as part of a campaign by the Book Institute and the Polish Institute in Budapest, Poems in the Subway, printed Herbert poems could be read on the Budapest subway.
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Imprint Series of “Central European Image of the 150-Year-Old Budapest” The project is funded by the International Visegrad Fund, under the grant No. 22210320. © Terra Recognita Foundation Authors: István Kollai, Olga Groszek, Andor Mészáros Layout editor: Virág Bogyó Main literature: Adámek, Karel: Upomínky z Uher. Nákladem vlastním, v Praze, 1909. Bohdaj, Adam: O siódmej w Budapeszcie. Nasza księgarnia, Warsaw 1958. Brábek, František: Budapešť I–III. Zlatá Praha, č. 37, 1885. Kollai, István: Szlovákok a korzón. In Hatos Pál, Zahorán Csaba (eds.): Az ismeretlen Budapest. Jaffa, Budapest, 2023. Mészáros, Andor: „Tu jede dobrý Slováček...“ A szlovákság képe dualizmus kori cseh beszámolókban. In: Ábrahám Barna – Pilecky Marcell (eds.): A Duna vallomása. Tanulmányok Käfer István hetvenedik születésnapjára. PPKE BTK, Piliscsaba, 2006. Neruda, Jan: Peštské listy. In: Obrazy z ciziny, Výbor fejetonů. Topič, Praha, 1910. Olszański, Tadeusz: Budapeszteńskie ABC. Wydawnictwo Iskry, Warsaw, 1976. Pražák, Richard: Cseh-magyar történelmi kapcsolatok. Történeti, irodalom- és művelődéstörténeti tanulmányok. Korma, Budapest, 2001. Stolarski, Jan: Wspomnienia polskich uchodźców na Węgrzech w latach 1939-1945. Federacja Stowarzyszeń Polsko-Węgierskich RP, Warsaw, 1999. Images: Peter Horal-Bella. Dennica Vol. XIV No. 11. (1912 November) p. 3. Apponyiho slobody. Naše Slovensko Vol. II (1908) No. 1 Pest utcái (Streets of Pest). Borsszem Jankó 1912. May 12. Maria Scomparini. Postcard. Kálvária (Calvary) - photo collected by István Kollai. Liberty Bridge. Berkó Pál, Fortepan. The stop of tram 2 on the Danube bank. Domonkos Endre, Fortepan. Salétrom utca (Salétrom street) - photo collected by István Kollai. Népszava. Vol. LXXXIV No. 252. (1956 október 25) p. 1.
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