His statue stands on Bem Square in Buda, if you walk in front of it, you can see what is written on its pedestal: "I will retake the bridge or I will fall. Hungarian forward, if there is no bridge, there is no home" According to the story, this is what father Bem said during the Battle of Pisk. But as so often happens in life, the obvious things hide more depth than we think.
A bone-chilling, cold wind blew from the Carpathians, stirring the snow, and people retreated into the depths of the heated rooms. The old woodcutter from Székely pulled his filter close to his chest and started shoveling snow. His figure was projected far away in the light of the moon that sometimes appeared. "Poor fool brother Áron," thought those who saw him, "he's going to his bridge again. Because that's where they met for the first time... Although now they won't let you there anyway."
He was soon stopped by the guards on the banks of the Sztrigy River. "You can't go any further," said the commander. "The entire Transylvanian army stands on both sides of the bridge, no civilians can loiter here". "My son," said the old man, "Every year for twenty-six years this evening, I pray for an hour on my bridge. I have to get there.” "Tomorrow, if there is tomorrow at all," sighed a young veteran. "But don't they understand?" asked the old man with tears in his eyes. "This great rush is suspicious," said an officer through his teeth. "There is death here for treason!" he added. The old man's hands clenched into fists. "Don't say that again, because you'll regret it." "Well, take cover, but quickly," said a non-commissioned officer with a bullet, losing patience.
"I'll climb my bridge even if I die," he said to himself, and the old man didn't hesitate. He made his way towards the Hungarian reserve and sat down where he saw most of the young faces. He just talked all night. He told about Transylvanian mountains, gorges, old battles and heroes, fairies, witches, and about an old love.
You don't really sleep before a battle, the boys listened with pleasure. Sometimes with an open mouth, sometimes with a glowing look.
It was dawn when Puchner's cannons fired. The soldiers of the Cluj Home Guard battalion were now waiting for the order and begged the old man: "Go home, brother, you can go out on the bridge tonight." The old man didn't say anything, he just stayed.
Bad news arrived, the Hungarian waist army was pushed back on the other side. The enemy's advanced batteries were already firing at the inn and the reserve. Battered and bloody soldiers came. “The battle is lost. The staff does not want to sacrifice the reserve. The order to retreat is about to come.”
"Guys, did I talk to you in vain, did I come out in vain? This is the end for me, but also for our honor," the old man wringed his hands.
“To hell with orders! Once the bridge is there, all is lost. We'll say we misunderstood something," Count Gergely Bethlen burst out in recognition. "Come on, boys, for an old story!"
The battalion moves towards the bridge slowly, then at full speed. The Hungarian cavalry and infantry are coming back on it. But the cannon shots are becoming less frequent, the Austrians are running out of gunpowder, and they are already thinking about the pursuit.
Like a piece of stone, which is thrown into a rush price, the Hungarian reserve arrives. The attack of the people of Cluj is considered by everyone to be a general counterattack. The runners stop, then more and more turn around. "Long live the homeland!" the air trembles. Entering the bridge, the Austrian pursuers are greeted by hideous fire and forced to retreat. And Bem, watching through his binoculars, asks the staff in shock: "How did this attack start? And the people of Cluj, who so far have only shown their backs to the enemy, who understands this?"
On the other side, at the head of the victorious Hungarian army, children are running, pointing bayonets at the enemy, and taking with them a gray-haired Székely man. They carry him in their arms because the old man received a fatal wound in the middle of the bridge.
Written by Dr. György Temesszentandrasi
