Tolcsva is one of those rare Hungarian villages where time seems to coil like a lazy cat around the hillsides, wrapping itself in the stories of barons, winemakers, and quietly crumbling mansions. If you’re strolling along its undulating main road, you might almost miss one of its loveliest corners—the Stépán-kúria. Set modestly back from the bustle, behind a sweep of overhanging trees, this elegant mansion radiates a tranquil, faded grandeur. Just crossing the courtyard, hearing the gravel crunch beneath your feet, brings up the irresistible sense that you’ve stepped out of the present and into a scene painted by memory.
Stépán-kúria (that’s “Stépán Mansion” to translate loosely, though the Hungarian word suggests something cozier and more personal than ‘mansion’) has a layered story. The building itself was completed in the mid-19th century, sometime around 1857—a era when the spirit of romanticism was sweeping through Europe, infusing country homes with a certain poetic charm. The mansion was commissioned by the Stépán family, a prominent landowning clan whose roots in Tokaj-Zemplén stretch back to the 1700s. Their ventures extended well beyond wine production; the Stépáns were patrons of music, education, and sometimes, depending on their fortunes, scandal. Yet one thing remained constant: their commitment to preserving a certain understated luxury within these walls.
Push open the tall doors (carefully restored, with a patina that only centuries grant) and you’ll find that Stépán-kúria doesn’t strain to impress with ostentation. Rather, the magic is in the details: original parquet floors creak companionably beneath your feet; high, curving windows let in light tinged by the green of the surrounding parkland. Each room is layered with stories—faded silk wallpaper, half-disguised coats of arms on the ceiling, and the sturdy, built-to-last furniture typical of the minor nobility. Unlike the infamously extravagant Esterházy or Andrássy family mansions in other regions, the Stépán house feels distinctly lived-in and relatable. The family portraits—some dashing, some austere, all with those characteristic Central European cheekbones—create an atmosphere that drifts somewhere between nostalgia and grandeur.
Of course, it wouldn’t be Tolcsva if wine weren’t present somewhere beneath the floorboards. The mansion’s original cellars are accessible as part of a visit, and they tell a story almost as rich as the house itself. Cool, slightly cobwebbed, with air scented by oak barrels and earth, these vaulted underground rooms once stored wines destined for Vienna and St. Petersburg. The whisper emerges frequently during tours: “Legend says the Russian tsars once sampled the vineyard’s best.” Whether legend or truth, when you taste the local golden furmint or aszú, the connection to centuries of trade and feasting becomes easy to believe.
The mansion’s grounds themselves invite lingering. In spring, the garden—designed in the English park style favoured around 1850, with winding paths and scattered benches—becomes a small haven for songbirds, flanked by beautifully mature chestnut and linden trees. On a clear day, simply sitting here with a book or a glass of wine feels like an act of quiet rebellion against modern haste. Occasionally, exhibitions are mounted in the artfully renovated outbuildings; past summers have seen everything from contemporary sculpture to hand-painted ceramics, each display a gentle reminder that history is not only preserved, but continuously reimagined.
Meeting the current custodians of Stépán-kúria gives the place its present-day heartbeat. They are descendants of local families, sometimes with a bloodline winding back to the Stépáns themselves, who have taken on the task of maintaining the mansion as both a living space and a cultural site. Their stories—shared over coffee in the sunlit conservatory—add personal texture to the broader sweep of Hungarian history. They speak with affection about the annual grape harvest festival, when the courtyard resounds with laughter and music, and with bittersweet nostalgia for relatives lost to wars or forced migrations.
Visiting Stépán-kúria is not about grand performances or blockbuster museum-style attractions. Its appeal is quieter yet somehow irresistible: a certain stillness, an invitation to slow down, and the prickling awareness that the walls remember more than they let on. History here is woven not just into bricks and mortar, but into daily life—a living thread between past and present. In a world often obsessed with spectacle, it’s a pleasure to encounter a mansion where beauty is found not only in what you see, but in what you feel echoing through time.
