“Well, in the meantime I went to the Academy. However, I didn't work there under my own name since I had a ban on activity. Besides my husband Kornel, I was also in a group active in music sphere, which was in blossom. New music started to pierce. We got to a bus with our friend and we traveled to Warsaw Autumn, where was new world music presented. We were touched. There were other composers aware of this and they were friends with the Polish people. Back then the Polish were leaders in such art. In the group were Roman Berger, Zeljenka, Malovec, who were personalities, writers, composers, thinkers. It was an amazing movement in thinking back then. I was thrilled by it and I also tried to compose. I wanted to reach deeper, what was prohibited back then. Well, I was among those being excluded from the Union, so my name was also cast aside. Well, in the end, it is not just about the name.”
“They deprived the man of the most productive years. Years, when the man began to work, found success, discovered something new, had a great zeal, and suddenly, got a ban on activity. It was awful regime. It truly struck those, who were able to set up something new. All of this was stopped. Very strange era. And yet after those years are gone, the man realizes how it really was. In the meantime, the line goes on and the creativity doesn't stop in a man. It is an amazing gift, such creativity. Creativity is that a human can participate on something like is the creation of the world. And when one has it rooted inside, it drives him forward, since he feels to owe that. When I can compose and I know how to do it, I simply have to do it. Talent is not only a gift, but also a curse, as it still holds the man in tautness. So it doesn't depend on the form, but on the fact it actually exists. This way it may never perish and whenever possible, it shall be revealed again.”
“Partisans sent us back as it began to be too dangerous. We went down to the village. However, there were Germans already, and they found out that our father wasn't quite kosher. One German used to come to our house to play piano. Not for long. Just for a week or two after they came. The Germans were everywhere. This was such an interesting man, though. He told us: 'Well, we have already lost the war; I have also two beautiful daughters at home, so maybe I could just play the piano to make myself happy for a while.' This way he used to come every evening and play the piano. Once he came and said to my father: 'Go away from here immediately. You are on the morning list.' The Germans were about to shoot him. They wanted to shoot all partisans in the village. 'You know, I shouldn't tell you this, but you shall save your life, if you manage to escape until the morning.' We had a small car, so we got on wearing just sweatpants, not taking anything with us. My mom just took some suitcase. Nothing else was in it, but old photographs. And with those pictures and in sweatpants we went through the front line, because the fight was on already. We had to run down to the trench every time the planes flew above us.”
Because of normalization, a man was deprived of the most productive years
Nadežda Földváriová was born on February 2, 1933 in Bratislava. Her father joined the Slovak National Uprising, however, when it was crushed, the whole family had to hide from Germans. After the war she finished studies of musicology at the Faculty of Arts of the Comenius University and began working in Vydavateľstvo krásnej literatúry (Publishing House of the Belletristic Literature). Later on she moved to the theatre department of the Institute of Literature at Slovak Academy of Sciences. During this era she met her future husband, a writer Kornel Földvári. In times of normalization, Nadežda was excluded from the Union of Slovak Composers and she had a ban to publish texts about music coming from the West and from Poland. Only after the Revolution, she and her husband were able to freely compose and publish again. When her husband died, Nadežda moved to the senior house Ohel David, where she lives until present.