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On this evening, András Berecz is not seeking that great, upright, magnificent golden-haired Justice, but rather that worn, small grey one, whose often empty knapsack is her banner, and whose stomach rumbles rather than her mouth. He seeks his subject in the deep memory accumulated in tradition, and in this source it is striking how he does not hesitate for a moment, plunging headfirst into it, thrashing about within it. King Matthias, frivolous courtiers, cunning and power-hungry Falsehood that feeds off Justice, the joy of the lily locked in the stone garden, the rare throne of Justice… all cross his path. The dense images, vivid similes, weighty metaphors carry the fairy-tale genre to the shores of philosophy. There it borders on a place where colors do not fade, good cheer does not wilt, vitality is unwearied, and existence is play.
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