This past 9th of November was the birthday of the great Imre Dózsa, the Hungarian ballet superstar. It was also the day that we all said goodbye to him forever.
A public ceremony held in his honour in late November was a captivating and emotionally stirring affair. Held at the Hungarian State Opera, it included an array of farewell speeches given by a university rector, different opera and ballet directors, and other celebrated ballet dancers. All of them considered Dózsa a mentor.
The word ‘funeral’ feels inappropriate to describe this event—for it was like the immortalisation of the greatest of ballet artists. For many, he was—and will continue to be—a rock, a foundational figure of Hungarian ballet, a giant carrying the entire performing arts community on his shoulders.
His talents—and his dedication to his art—were widely recognised during his lifetime. And he had been awarded many significant prizes, including both the prestigious Kossuth and Liszt awards.
In a eulogy, ballet director and protégé Tamás Solymosi recalled what he called Dózsa’s “unprecedented mentorship.” Opera director Szilveszter Ókovács spoke of Dózsa’s “unteachable poise,” a perfect characterisation of how the Master carried himself. He was truly one of a kind. At one point, principal dancer Gergely Leblanc whispered in my ear that there had been an infamous rumour during his university years: that the grass on campus had been cut differently for the arrival of Master Dózsa.
In Hungarian, Dózsa was considered a tartópillér—that is, a steady pillar, one that moves and shakes but never falls. Dózsa’s character was indomitable. His stamina and straightforwardness—and his unquestionable love for and engagement with ballet and dance in general—brought him, his followers, and his colleagues much well-deserved success. In the process, he built a firmly rooted community of artists and dancers.
After the public ceremony, I arrived in Tihany on the shores of Lake Balaton—shrouded in a dense November fog—to bid farewell to the grand Hungarian danseur noble at a private ceremony with his family. Everything reminded me of him. The heavy fog called to mind the dry ice often used in the theatre for shows such as Swan Lake—which also made me think of the Master.
Tihany was a magical place for Dózsa; it was where he had spent his holidays with his 11 grandchildren and his two children, Marianna and Imre (both of whom studied at the ballet institute before embarking on their own professional careers). I suspect these had been quite active, busy holidays. For them, as for so many others, studying ballet was the foundation for later careers requiring self-discipline and perseverance. (Young people and their parents should remember this—and perhaps urge their children to study ballet.)
For some reason, ballet is often associated with great urbanity and cosmopolitan attitudes. Dózsa’s ballet, however, was for everyone: city and country dwellers alike. His art touched all regardless of class, nationality, religion, or anything else. On his 80th birthday, I was fortunate enough to attend the Opera gala in his honour: it was like a jamboree with famous ballet dancers from around the world. He was an artist blessed with both countryside common sense as well as city panache. He was one of those rare people who can express serious, life-changing ideas in a very quiet, serious voice—accompanied with a sweet, gentle smile.
After we set up the Foundation for Hungarian State Opera Ballet Students in 2019 to support students half a decade ago, I regularly met Dózsa (a member of the board) both in Budapest and Tihany. We would talk about life and discuss the many exciting—and challenging—experiences that life can bring. These were special times with the Master. In retrospect, it is incredible to think how he became an intellectual mentor to me.
As I began composing this modest tribute, it dawned on me that Dózsa was much like the late Sir Roger Scruton, in that both shared a similar genuine, down-to-earth, and friendly character. Both had comprehensive yet very clear and common sense philosophies.
With the establishment of the Foundation— whose other board members included famous dancers like Mária Aradi, Tamás Solymosi, and Ildikó Pongor—I began to pursue a new mission: supplementing my government ministry job with the beauty and magic of ballet. Together with the support of the Foundation’s circle of friends, we managed to place numerous Hungarian ballet students in different dance competitions—with the grand ambition of helping them follow in the footsteps of Dózsa. His support of this noble mission was unwavering, and he was committed to always listening to and acting in the best interests of students. He was thus a constant gardener, a sower of talent, whose work came from the heart.
Bidding farewell to the doyen of Hungarian ballet in the Balaton fog seemed fitting: as if the poignant goodbye had been held on the final set of a grand stage, and he played some kind of mystical figure. He was ‘a man of the mirror’: Dózsa had always said that a mirror is a useful tool for all who desire to see themselves clearly and honestly, without the theatrical, psychological fog. The mirror and the barre are certainly great tools for anyone—especially young people, so that they may become more aware of themselves in a disciplined way.
This profoundly talented man was not just a dancer but a director, a friend to many, and a natural teacher. In the Tihany fog, a priest recalled that Dózsa always happily shared his knowledge, time, and talents with young people. He was a natural mentor. Yet he was equally thankful for the lessons he learned in return, from his students. They inspired him.
Of all the tributes and eulogies, the most touching, however, were the accounts from family members which showcased Dózsa’s great love of and service to others—especially towards his beloved wife, the former ballet soloist Vera Szumrák, upon whom he lavished the most tender care until his death. This was Master Dózsa: étoile and danseur noble for all of eternity—a man of princely virtues.
| Personal Reflections of András Rónai, First Soloist at the Hungarian National Ballet
“When a child first enters the gates of a ballet school and begins his apprenticeship, his intention is already clear: he wants to dance on the same stage worn out by the ‘greats’—the greats who stood before him as an example and who he initially only admired from afar. Master Dózsa was one of these greats. And I believe it is our task to preserve his memory and carry on his teachings so that all the values that he embodied are preserved—not only for us but for posterity. Let me tell a brief story that is quite memorable for me. I was only a young student at the Hungarian Dance University when one day I sat in on a graduate rehearsal of The Nutcracker, where they were rehearsing the great pas de deux [of the Sugar Plum Fairy and Prince Coqueluche]. Master Dózsa, in fact, led this particular rehearsal and was instructing his students. I tried to absorb everything I saw and heard, and tried to learn something from the Master. When the rehearsal finished, the Master turned to me and said, “Andris, now it’s your turn!” I was surprised by this because I had not yet graduated at the time (I was two grades down) nor was I even preparing for the big pas de deux but rather for a much smaller solo in The Nutcracker. Noting my surprise, he assured me: “One point, one knowledge!” So I had to take the opportunity to show him what I could do—even if I hadn’t danced the prince’s variation before. My performance wasn’t flawless and I couldn’t fully recall the variation I had seen just a few minutes before. But I remember standing confidently in front of Master Dózsa —and, a year later, I was chosen to rehearse for the role of the Nutcracker Prince under the Master. Master Dózsa taught me a life-long lesson that day for which I will be forever grateful: namely, to always go beyond the threshold of any activity with maximum concentration, to learn quickly and always be ready to act—so when the right moment comes, one can take advantage of any opportunities. I was lucky to receive such instructions from Dózsa at the Opera House. But I was also lucky enough to know his side as a master teacher as well as his human side. He was a consummate, dedicated professional—but he was also an incredible man characterized by kindness, empathy, attention, and care.” |
This tribute appears in the Spring 2025 issue of The European Conservative, Number 34:124-126.
