The building in No. 2 Gojdu street – Valeria’s second home

Liana Maria Gomboşiu, Valeria Dr. Pintea. A family novel. Marineasa Publishing House, Timişoara, 2013, p. 125, 145 - 146

In her home in No. 2 Gojdu Street, grandmother crowded disparate pieces from the furniture saved from the previous six rooms, and Buna brought a minimum of objects that composed an atmosphere much alike that of end of the 19th century Lugoj. I always found fascinating the rooms in Gojdu street and, if I could have, I would never have parted from any of the out of fashion objects that were distributed in every corner. But, out of necessity, throughout the difficult years following the war, Valeria herself had to let go some of them, and I will never forget neither Isidor Chiriţa’s bureau, a complicated piece of furniture, with two rows of superposed drawers, nor the oval table sustained by a central foot, similar to a huge torsade, ended in turn by three short feet. The Biedermeier “credenţ” was saved and on its shelves the dishes for the showy dinners that did no longer take place were kept, odd pieces from the dinner set for oysters, crabs, salad bowls and sauce pans with sophisticated handles. I will not forget the twelve thick crystal glasses with different colored irisation, a set of silver plates, with edges and handles richly ornamented. Several other objects were in the “credenţ“ situated near one of the windows, charming figurines, the gondola brought from Venice and small bronze animals that enchanted my holidays when I was a child. Every time I left for Bucharest, my grandmother offered me something from the “credenţ”, but it was impossible for me to accept those gifts, because it would have meant to take from her something I considered a real treasure, objects that I was supposed to find in their place, summer after summer. Now, of course, I regret this refusal of mine…

I loved very much the rooms in no.2 Gojdu Street, where Buna and Mama Mi had lived for several years… I still have them very clear in my mind, with every object they contained, and especially the atmosphere of old, welcoming house, where everything was kindness and harmony. How should I refrain from remembering them? How should I forget the commode with three large drawers, sheltering treasures of threads, wools and laces, velvet ribbons, needles and crochets, boxes with various buttons, buckles and buckle clasps, ornaments from dresses that no longer existed… How should I forget the cushions embroidered by Buna, the family photographs soberly framed and hung on the wall next to some genre painting and the oil painting portrait that my mother made to her brother while she was a student at the Academy of Fine Arts (actually her only painting…). And finally, there was a “dog skin”, the diploma signed by Mihály Appafi, the Transylvanian prince, framed as well, placed in the middle of the main wall and reflecting itself in the large mirror on the opposite wall. The seal that hung from the document and which was about to disintegrate after three centuries, was protected by a trivial box of Carbocif, and this detail always scandalized me. “It is the only one whose dimensions fit”, would be Mama Mi’s explanation. Among all the old furniture, the oldest and the most obsolete was the one I loved the most and this one was given to me for use during my stays in Timişoara: a small “bureau à cylindre”, with a drawer that was emptied for me, as was the headboard on which I stack my books and diaries. How did this French furniture enter my grandmother’s life? Her explanations were confusing.