Word: hungarian
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...arranger and two lyricists set to work. From Mendelssohn's Ruy Bias Overture and the slow movement of the Violin Concerto in E Minor they pasted together a scene in an "opera" they billed as Marie Antoinette; from Liszt's Les Préludes, Hungarian Rhapsody No. 14 and Liebesträume they contrived another called My Country. Sample lyrics...
...Hungarian-born George Tabori, 32, is almost unknown as a novelist. Educated in Germany, trained as a journalist in the Balkans and the Middle East, he now lives in England, has worked for the BBC since 1943. Companions of the Left Hand,* his second novel (the first: Beneath the Stone, 1945), is a sardonic political parable, overwritten in spots, preachy in others, but crafty, speculative and Koestler-like in its ambiguities and undertones...
Iturbi mugged with Sinatra in Anchors Aweigh, played The Donkey Serenade and conducted an 18-piano ensemble in a Technicolor thrashing of Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2. In his fifth picture (Holiday in Mexico) he appears with three other Iturbis-his sister, Amparo Iturbi, and his two grandchildren, Antonia and Teresa...
Remember Bratislava. Slovakia's deviation from the national pattern was the first concern of the Communists and their veteran boss, Vice Premier Klement Gottwald (who was a good bet to be Czechoslovakia's next Premier). Pipe-puffing Comrade Gottwald started out by fighting Russia as an Austro-Hungarian sergeant major in World War I, has been fighting for Communism ever since. Like Yugoslavia's Tito he is a former metalworker, and like France's Thorez he sat out the war in Moscow. Like both, he knows how to deal with overly independent elements...
...naive rightists assumed that power would mellow their driving determination. Thorez shows no sign of softening. His 5 ft. 10 in., 165-lb. body is solid and strong, his blue eyes clear. As vice president of France, he sits in the fussy luxury of the Hotel Matignon, which Austro-Hungarian ambassadors occupied before 1914. The Gobelin tapestries on the walls neither fit nor affect his revolutionary ardor. He doesn't even know the name of the Roman Emperor whose bust faces him. When Thorez laughs (he is one of the few Marxists who laugh), his bellow shakes...