Chiseled Pecs

For a North American, a building older than a hundred years old is a big deal, and for a west coaster anything over a hundred and fifty years old is more or less nonexistent. Quite the opposite is the case here, where archaeological remains date back almost two millennia, and a hundred and fifty years back is almost the end of the story rather than the beginning of it. In this post I will focus on the Roman ruins of Sopianae, the ancient city that became Pécs. Afterwards I will write about my piano lessons, which have been exhilarating, revelatory, and often soul-crushing experiences...in a good way.

Present-day Hungary was colonized by the Romans in the period spanning the reigns of Augustus (the first emperor) to Claudius (the lispy, gimpy one...that's inbreeding for you), or roughly from the middle of the last century BC to the middle of the first century AD.  The territory--bounded by the Danube and Drava rivers to the north, east and south, and also containing parts of Austria and the Balkans--was named Pannonia, after the peoples who, along with the Celts, inhabited the region at the time. In the early second century the emperor Trajan split the region into the western Pannonia Superior and the eastern Pannonia Inferior (that had to hurt), while in the late third century Diocletian further split these sub-regions in two, forming the four regions shown below:

Map showing division of Pannonia Superior into Prima and Savia, and Pannonia Inferior into Valeria (note location of Sopianae) and Secunda

Aquincum to the north was the military capital of Valeria, and there is still an impressive set of ruins there just a few miles outside of Budapest. Sopianae in the south was the administrative capital, and the center of important trade routes passing through the Mecsek mountains just north of the city.

By the 4th century Sopianae was a major city centered in the southwest quadrant of the current city of Pécs, prominent enough to have three cemeteries, the wealthiest of which was located more or less where the cathedral currently stands. A few words on why this is: as the Roman Empire started to dissolve in the 5th century (guess you can only get way with inbreeding for so long), Sopianae was apparently "ceded" to the Huns in 430. I have a feeling it was a bit more complicated than that:

Hey, my first meme! I'm sure this one will spread like wildfire.

I'm sure the Huns embedded a "light raping and pillaging" clause in the fine print of the contract. Whatever the case, when the Magyars/Hungarians resettled the area several centuries later they opted to build their town on the ruins of the old cemetery; guess they figured the residents wouldn't object if they borrowed a few bricks. One theory for the origin of "Five Churches," the Latin/German name of Pécs, is that the original settlement was built from the ruins of five of these burial places. Over time the cemetery was built over, and eventually lay forgotten until its rediscovery in the 1930s. Several of the tombs are now open to the public, and the complex is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Thinking back to two friends' wedding vows (you know who you are), I want to remind you of your solemn vow to kiss in as many of these locations as possible; no begging off due to necrophilic qualms.

The heart of the main visitors' center is the Cella Septichora, or Seven-Chambered Room, an unfinished tomb from the end of the Roman period.

Three of the seven alcoves of Cella Septichora

 Roughly 130x60 feet, this was the main site to be excavated in the 1930s, and was never used as a burial place; presumably when the Huns showed up more pressing life and death matters were at hand than putting the finishing touches on some rich guy's post-mortem McMansion. The tomb is largely built out of limestone, with brick lines every couple of feet to ensure everything was level.

Detail of an external wall of Cella Septichora; they forgot to pop down to Loew's to buy the faux stucco finish

 Moving further into the museum, there are a number of well-preserved artifacts, including several sarcophagi. Fun fact: sarcophagus, from Greek, means "flesh-eating"...lovely.

A well-preserved sarcophagus in Cella Septichora. The tenant...not so much.

A well-preserved sarcophagus...

And a not-so-well-preserved one (bumbling/impatient grave robbers?)

Glass pitcher, 5th century

 Two smaller burial chambers in the museum are of note. The first is the wine chamber, so called due to a painting of a wine pitcher in an alcove, evidently indicating the object to be placed therein. Clever sorts, these Romans. If this seems a bit pagan-y, it is; these burial sites are interesting hybrids of pagan practice--in which the dead are buried with goods they will need in the afterlife--and Christian practice, where the emphasis is more on biblical messages of death and resurrection.

View of alcove painting, wine chamber

View through the roof of the wine chamber

Bird's-eye view of wine chamber

 The most impressive element of the museum, though, is the Peter and Paul chamber, named after the wonderful paintings on the wall of the two most important apostles. They flank a christogram, an early Christian symbol formed from the first two letters (chi and rho) in Christ's name in Greek.

Christogram flanked by Peter (R) and Paul (L), no Mary

 Various biblical scenes on the walls are too faded to be accurately discerned/captured satisfactorily by my camera phone, but the ceiling boasts an impressive painting of four sharp-dressed men (like a clean-shaven ZZ Top, or Zed Zed Top as they are known in Canada...but I digress). Presumably these were the patrons, residents, or family otherwise connected with the tomb.

Ceiling of Peter and Paul chamber with four portraits

Roof of Peter and Paul chamber

 Just down the street from the visitors' center is another mausoleum, discovered in 1975. The reconstructed floorplan outside gives a sense of its impressive scale:

Entrance to mausoleum, due south of Pécs cathedral

 The interior is more modest, but features a very impressive sculpted sarcophagus, and a wall painting of Adam and Eve in excellent condition:

Sarcophagus in the Mausoleum 

Painting of Adam and Eve, Mausoleum

Seeing such strong connections with a distant past, united to the present by the enduring Christian faith, is a powerful experience that should no doubt be treated more reverently than I have done here.

Moving onto piano studies, I will say a few words about my teacher as an artist, a man, and a teacher, in that order. In the interest of preserving his privacy I will call him Béla, as good a Hungarian name as any (as far as I can tell, Hungarian men are either called Attila, Béla, Gyorgy, Istvan, or Zoltan), and one that connects him to Bartok, a composer in whose music he specializes. I first met Béla several years ago when he played for one of my summer music tours in Budapest. I remember the scene vividly: we were in a Baroque concert hall looking across the Danube at the spires of the parliament building, the sun was setting, and a thunderstorm was getting underway. My teacher launched into one of the most exciting renditions of Liszt's Mephisto Waltz I had ever heard, and as actual bolts of lightning illuminated the musical pyrotechnics, I thought: who is this guy?

The next day he performed a few more Liszt barnstormers with ease, and I was in awe. During the course of the next few music tours I gradually worked up the courage to talk to him, and ultimately invited him to perform at the university where I was teaching in Canada. Béla brought a much-needed dose of high culture to the area, performing in classes and at faculty homes, teaching piano students, giving a fantastic all-Liszt recital to a packed audience, and topping it off with an organ recital in Vancouver, complete with a brilliant ten-minute improvisation on Christmas carols.

Over the course of his visit I came to know Béla the man, and he is quite the character. Let's start with the appetite; evidently playing piano like a boss requires a lot of calories, because this guy was eating me out of house and home! Every meal required soup, salad, entree, and dessert, no exception, and as the dinner bills crept higher and higher, I thought: I really hope the university will pay for this (they did). In keeping with his otherworldly character, Béla is also delightfully childlike, and loves telling silly jokes, clowning around, and generally comporting himself without any of the insufferable pretentiousness of an academic who uses words like "comport." My best memory of his visit to Canada is his exuberance as we wandered the beaches of Stanley Park, him collecting shells to bring home to his children. I knew that, were I to study with him, his would be a gentle, nurturing presence.

How wrong I was. Béla the man is modest and unassuming, but Béla the teacher is a cold, unrelenting taskmaster. I've had great piano teachers, but thus far have been spared the indignity of suffering under the lash of a terrifying eastern (okay, central; mustn't offend the Hungarians) European. I always thought I would benefit from the treatment, but I don't think my sensitive adolescent soul could have borne it. Even now I'm not so sure how well I'm holding up.

I should mention that I'm largely being tongue in cheek here: Béla's critiques are never personal, but rather always rooted in his absolute commitment to passionate, complete musicianship. What I've come to realize is that I have a lot to learn before I can truly call myself a pianist; without getting into the details of lessons, much of our work consists of extremely minute, seemingly nitpicky adjustments based on phrasing, weighting of chords, pedaling, and all sorts of nuances that seem trivial taken individually but together add up to the difference between playing that is compelling and playing that is merely competent.

Béla's critiques are never meant to be cruel, but some of them are so funny I had to start writing them down...after I recovered, that is. Some highlights:

"Your playing is correct but it is boring. It sounds like a MIDI file."
"Where are the colors? Are you satisfied with this?"
"Your thumb is very lazy." (apparently I have some of the laziest thumbs in the biz)
"So you CAN play beautifully! Why don't you do so more often?"
"You played this part very well" (pointing to score where it says "long pause")

and my personal favorite:

"Can I be honest with you? At times you sound like a bar pianist."

Words fail me...


Ok, I'm better now. Next time I'll talk about how Hungary fared during the Middle Ages (hint: not well), the awful Hungarian language, and other uplifting topics. Sziasztok!