A velencei Magyar Ház 7. Nemzetközi Építészeti Biennálé (Velence, 2000)

I had a stroke of unexpected good luck with the jury. As an architect, a sculptor and a designer I won a total of five grand prix in different categories. The Brera, the Italian Royal Academy of Arts chose me as an honorary member. I received just one single vote less than the winner of the grand prix of 100,000 gold liras offered by the King of Italy. But this was only because they wanted to have an Italian winner! It was an open secret that I was the moral winner. Instead, I was awarded the golden medal of the Commercial and Industrial Chamber of Milan — even though I only received a small gold copy of the medal. I would have been happier with the 100,000 liras since I had spent a small fortune of my own on the exhibition. The expenses of the large number of state functionaries increased immensely the costs of the exhibition. There was a point when we ran out of funds, although we had already commissioned the works. Of course we could hardly have got the job done if we had waited for the official paperwork to be done. Since most of the pieces for the exhibition were of high-quality materials, at the very last minute it was proposed to me that I could market them at my discretion if I would cover the necessary expenses for these works to be com­pleted. I was naive enough to accept these terms. Only later did I become utterly disappointed. At one point we were informed that the royal couple was planning to visit our exhi­bition. However, they failed to keep the appointment, perhaps out of fear that they might be assassinated. We were later confidentially told by the knight-marshal’s office the real time of their arrival. There we were, lined up for them at the specified time — all wearing elegant coats, top hats, patent-leather shoes. I had even wired for Weinwurm, the pho­tographer who rushed down from Pest to commemorate this historical event. There were Italian photographers as well. I struck an agreement with all of them to only start taking photos when I give them a sign with a wave of my hand. The royal couple finally arrived with their retinue — the king was unbelievably short, with long torso, short limbs, wearing a high hat, decaying teeth, and a wooden smile, the queen, a real royal presence, tall and graceful, in a tasteful dress, with an engaging and friendly smile. We were all enchanted when she held out her hand for us to kiss. Fittler bowed so deeply that only his — how should I put it —fondamenti dei tedeschi were visible, and I, pos­sessed by some nasty little devil, gave the signal to the photographers and thus our friend appeared in this posture, without a head, with only those immense round but­tocks in the major papers covering this event. One day I was called to the phone. It was my younger brother calling me from the studio to tell me about a wire he had just received, informing him that the exhibition in Milan had burnt down. My first thought was that this was some kind of joke, but as it turned out the telegram did come from Milan and seemed quite authentic. The news was true. The exhibition had burned down. Someone had set fire to it. The entire exhibition had been reduced to nothing but smouldering ruins, a very sorry sight indeed. I couldn’t help myself and burst out crying. The half-melted bronze genie of the entrance hall still stretched out its arms towards me from among the collapsed beams under which it lay buried. In the main hall the burning beams fell on the eozjne ducks, the marble slabs lay there broken into pieces or burnt into lime. All the bronze objects, jewels, furniture and carpets were destroyed, melted, scattered, burnt to cinders, deformed and decayed, including all my bronze pieces made for the exhibition — the entire installation that was my property, and from the sale of which I was supposed to cover my costs. Poor Czakó was also devastated as he had faithfully guarded the exhibition all summer long, in the unbearable heat of Milan — only on this one occasion had he gone to visit his family in a near­by resort — the very day that the exhibition had been reduced to ashes. Then it turned out that someone from one of the ministries had com­pletely forgotten about the insurance of the exhibition — and of course, the gentlemen blamed each other! — in spite of all previous agreements. Thus only the unimportant parts had been insured, but even this was no thanks to the authorities, since they were apparently more preoccupied with sending their representatives to represent the country and engage in various study trips, but had little time while polishing their nails in their offices to deal with insurance policies. I was utterly disappointed and desperate then, as everything was consumed by the fire, leaving me as poor as a beggar. Together with Szerényi I decided to reconstruct certain sections of the exhibition — to re-create a representative section as a tribute — within a few weeks’ time. My only condition was that freight cars should also be coupled to express trains if the need arose. The rush began all over again — a rush of a kind I have seldom expe­rienced at any other time throughout my career, which did not want for such hasty exhibitions. Within an unbelievably short period we had the courtyard with the doves rebuilt and highlighted with gilding, as well as the well with the ducks, together with new showcases and with new materials. Although some of the walls were still wet on the opening day, but there were lots of flowers and many of us were moved to tears that Hungary had again proved her strength and resolution. " Maróti refers here a previous part of the memoire “A special typed of enamelled ceramics made by the world-wide famous Zsolnay Ceramic Factory

Next