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By: Evelyn Domján

Sunshine, early afternoon, the soul-bell ringing sadly. Black-clad villagers hurry to the house. The large double gate, as for the hay carriage, is open, decorated with greenery and a black ribbon. She would have gone from here to the church to be married. It is the funeral of a young girl. The yard is full of flowers: her wedding with death. Even the gypsies are here to play whining tunes that can hardly rise above the lamenting, waiting and bursts of sobbing. Her girlfriends stand around the open coffin in a flood of tears. They are in their Sunday best, in beaded Párta-s, one black ribbon hanging over the rose-ribbons and black boots instead of red. The coffin is placed high, a bit tilted so all can see her in her magnificent festive garments, her head resting on embroidered pillows, and embroidered kerchief in her clasped hands over her bible, gold ring and earrings, rows of coral beads around her neck. Her beautiful new Párta is placed on her head, braided hair, rose ribbons arranged on both sides and flowers on the embroidered funerary sheet. The soul-bells are ringing, bumble bees are humming. She had not been sick, but is a victim of love. The coffin is closed, six young men with black ribbons, tied over the flower bouquet on their hats, in white shirts, embroidered leather vests, carry the coffin to the cemetery behind the church. Two rose ribbons hang out of the coffin over the lace edging of the funerary sheets. The grave has been dug; they lower the coffin, people throw flowers and a handful of earth, the men shovel earth until it is all covered: a broken heart, lace the rose ribbons.

One reason for the scarcity of certain folk art objects, among the Párta, is the ancient custom of objects to follow their owner to the grave. Who tell how many were buried with dead? There were no diggings in old village cemeteries. Textile, thread, paper or wood disintegrate rapidly under the wet or frozen earth; metal parts, wires rust, break, and crumble. Diggings would not yield more than some buttons and broken faded beads.

One recorded case tells of an old woman of Kolozs County. She used to be famous for her cross-stitch linen embroideries. A village artist who could translate whatever she saw or fancied; flowers, animals, ornaments into needlework. Many were her followers. She had no children, no relatives to inherit her precious possessions. In her village cross-stitch embroidered pillows were worked only halfway on the one side facing, while the other side turned toward the wall was left unadorned. Pillows were piled up to make the high bed -hers was the showiest of the village. When she died and was laid out, two pillow cases with the cross-stitch embroidery showing were put on each of the pillows under her head. She was and, because she wanted it so, garments that had once belonged to her mother and father, and had been kept by her in memory of the, were placed in the bottom of the casket and were also buried with her. As if this handwork would still radiate and light up her path in the after-life.

At the turn of the century, a collector was going to buy an embroidered bonnet from a poor old widow in Transdanubia. He offered her a generous sum of money and put it on the table in front of her. The old woman’s remaining years would have been made so much easier had she accepted it. But she pushed the money away, she was holding her bonnet and said, “My dear mother in the other-world would not recognize me without my bonnet.” According to her wishes, she was buried in it.

A young peasant girl was dying in a city hospital. She did not reach the age of confirmation and never got to wear a Párta. How she had pined to be among the Párta-wearing “big” girls and now it was too late. Her mother in her grief ran to the village Párta-maker to order one for her daughter to be buried in. Only with great difficulties could relatives talk her out of spending so much money in her situation with hospital and funeral bills to pay. This is the tragic story of mother and daughter united in their heart’s desire to have the Párta. Not only did the mother have to mourn the girl’s untimely death, she also had to bear the added burden of the unfulfilled longing: the want of the Párta.

A poetic description of picturesque folk costumes comes from an early folklorist, Etelka Hory, who wrote in 1896 about the Kalotaszeg girls: “They are walking tulips; the road is tongues of flame from the red boots on their feet; ribbons fly around the beams of sunshine break on the snow white sparkling beaded Párta…

Párta in Kalotaszeg region is worn by the girl from confirmation up until her wedding day. The girl is expected to be married in less than three years. Párta-wearing girls are the pride of the village. Their youth, their beauty, their colorful folk costume is most ornate with all its finery. The headdress, Párta, crowns it all. The colors invite young men to look. If the girl is small and undeveloped, with no suitors on the horizon, she may wait another year before putting on the Párta. Once the girl is in the Párta, there is pressure on her to get married. It is shameful to wear the Párta for too long. It means she is a wall-flower and has not been chosen. There is a village joke and comic song about a girl who wore the Párta for nine years and still could not find a husband. When there are sisters, the oldest has the right to the Párta. Suppose the young one became engaged first, she would put on the Párta and wear it at least for a short period of time, so that her early engagement does not deprive her of that pleasure and its privileges. If the older sister will not surrender it, one can be rented or borrowed.

The precious white Párta is the symbol of virgins. The village has a strict moral code. If the girl is suspected of having broken it, she is no longer entitled to wear the Párta. Her own circle will not permit it, but will tear it from her head, ribbons and all, in public, in front of the church. Actually, I never heard of this happening, but the fear of it exists among the girls. And it does happen that a girl will refuse to put on the Párta, refuse to attend church. She puts her braided hair up into a bun, causing tears and problems at home until the young man in question calls on her parents and asks for her hand. When the wedding date is fixed, she is reinstated as an honorable member of society.

In 1913, Malonyay found folk art deteriorating and he predicted that it would die out. But after this, it bloomed for several seasons. Currently, we are witnessing its disappearance and at this time there seems to be no hope for resurrection. Because of high costs, lack of raw material, less and less production, the number of Párta-s in existence is diminishing. There are more girls in the villages who use the folk costumes, than there are Párta-s to go around.

In the past, a girl got her Párta from her mother or godmother to wear it every Sunday, on Holy Days, at weddings and other festivities, mostly to church. When it is worn to dances, only the first dance is danced in it. It is too cold for winter use and too precious to be used in the rain. Though there is a shortage of Párta-s, girls are sometimes reluctant to go to another village to borrow one. No girl likes to admit that her Párta is not really hers.