THREE “GIRLS”

I only think of Édi, Hédi, and Média as starting points, the three charming Viennese biedermeier girls who filled the three hours with grace, finesse, and smiles in the biographical operetta that premiered in the imperial city on January 15, 1916. It was much needed at that time, in the midst of the First World War, when the cannon fire destroyed people’s daily lives, destinies, and, along with them, the fate of the continent. Hungarian-born Austrian conductor Henrik Berté brought Franz Schubert’s life to the stage, portraying the last great musician of Viennese classicism in the operetta titled Three Little Girls. Berté skillfully crafted arias, duets, and incidental music from the immortal composer’s works. The play’s biggest hit, “Orphaned house, no laughter,” was well known to us Hungarians as well. Legends of our artists, including Lili Berky, Gyula Gózon, Tivadar Bilicsi, Márta Fónay, Irén Szecsődy, and György Melis, sang it.

Traveling in Vienna, even today we can search for the alleged house of the three girls’ Mr. Tschöll near Freyung. In front of the building shimmering like marzipan, we can then ponder what remains for us, the descendants, from the old cheerfulness, harmony, and order. While the girls may be gone, important European ladies are still around, at least none of them has denied their gender identity so far. Among them is Vera Jourova, who currently frowns into the camera with a grim expression, focusing on the state of the rule of law in Europe according to a recent report. This time, with a special focus on Italy, but not leaving us out. One would think that the departing Brussels elite is planning its future. After exhausting, responsible, and dedicated years, she hopes for renewing fresh winds that can sweep away the embarrassing past. After all, in 2006, she was accused of a corruption scandal in her country, spending more than a month in pre-trial detention. Nothing surprising, Jourova is not unusual. It just arrived on my plane today, according to news, it’s true or not, out of the EU’s 720 representatives, 257 faced criminal proceedings somewhere, sometime. Euronews confirms that an Albanian Greek minority representative, Alfred Beleris, went to vote in Brussels straight from prison. We are also familiar with the Italian Ilaria Salis, who advanced from a diligent antifa fighter in prison to a representative in the European Parliament.

In the case of Vera Jourova, we may soon forget her, but we have Euro-Uschi for another five years. The President of the European Commission was just re-elected but does not rest a bit, even though it is summer. Moreover, she continues the destruction with overwhelming vigor. Surely relieved that she was able to regain the reins thanks to dubious pacts, and she can also forget the Pfizer case. She hurriedly announced on July 26 that the European Union will transfer an enormous amount to Ukraine from frozen assets of the Russian Federation. Quoting her: “The EU stands by Ukraine. Today we transfer 1.5 billion euros from proceeds from the frozen Russian assets to support and rebuild Ukraine.” A quick start, a milestone, a Brussels innovation: now it is legal to steal, private property is no longer sacred. Despite the reconstruction announcement by the president, the aid is actually military assistance, with 90% earmarked for weapons purchases. Shortly after the announcement, Switzerland refused to transfer proceeds from frozen Russian assets held in its banks. Ursula von der Leyen is not bothered by this; she is a savvy, blackmailed person. It has also been noticed by many that she always speaks in English during her speeches, as if she has forgotten her mother tongue and the people she represents. Indeed, who does she represent? This is the epitome of forced labor, her exhausted looks show all the burden accumulated over the past five years, underscoring the poet Wolfgang Goethe’s statement: “It is a great satisfaction from fate that the soul turns into a face.” Hers indeed has.

The third “little girl” in my selection is a Finnish minister. We didn’t even know she existed, and judging by her, she stepped out of a faint, dusty showcase, visibly dizzy from the crisp, fresh air of real life. Elina Valtonen, although unrelated to the Israelites, took a grip on us when she recently stated: “Due to the diversity of values, Hungarians should think about whether they have a place in the European Union.” It is certain that the Foreign Minister is a living example that a political class has emerged in Brussels that is not accountable to anyone, has no democratic conviction, so it can say anything to the world. In the past, I always felt an unquenchable anger at every such expression, but finally, Tusványos quieted me. I understood what drives this behavior. The West has rid itself of family, nation, and God. It seeks greatness but no longer aspires to grand ideas or common, inspiring goals, and it has no desire to serve any of these with humility. Thus, perpetual self-justification remains: I am smarter, more beautiful, and more talented than anyone else! Instead of greatness, the self-turned force brings only emptiness, along with a sense of grandiosity. The feeling of redundancy gives rise to aggression, and behold, the end result: “the aggressive dwarf appears as a new type of person.” This was elaborated by the Prime Minister, and this is a strong anchor for me. I don’t claim that after the new and subsequent humiliating attempts, prostration to cornfields will make me indifferent, but time is not on the dwarfs’ side. Let them scold in a sense of superiority, let the smart politicians sing, with a completely different nature than the operetta: “Orphaned house, no laughter, Orphans in the old rooms, Far away, like a bird, The youth.” The once flourishing, useful, beautiful alliance has indeed aged. The EU has grown old and is currently fervently soaping the slope it slides into obliteration, while still humming carefree. Slowly but surely, today’s enthusiastic beneficiaries will also realize that reality is knocking on the doors and will drive away the arrogant cheer from the Brussels offices once and for all. But by the time the ladies and gentlemen notice, it will be too late. Even the aggressive dwarfs, Mr. Tschöll himself, Franz Schubert, and even their bread-giving owners cannot help. What can I say, perhaps this is fair.

Gyöngyi Kiss