In the heart of Murska Sobota, where the pulse of the town suddenly softens and asphalt gives way to gentle lawns, stands a Renaissance manor. Not as an intrusive monument, but as a quiet palace among the trees, watching for centuries how the town changes, grows, loses itself, and finds its shape again. The manor is the heart of the town park—not because it is the tallest or the most lavish, but because it carries a story that reaches beyond architecture.
The town park is a natural stage on which the manor has played its role for centuries. The trees surround it like a backdrop that shifts with the seasons: in spring it is wrapped in bright new leaves, in summer hidden beneath deep shade, in autumn sprinkled with gold, and in winter it stands alone, exposed and pure, like a drawing on white paper.
In this quietness, the manor does not feel like a relic of the past but like its living echo. Its Renaissance design is calm, almost reserved, yet in that restraint lies its strength. It is not a castle that seeks to prove its grandeur—it is a home that has survived centuries and learned humility.
The most recognizable feature of the manor is its main portal, a stone poem of the Baroque. Its sculptural richness is abundant but never excessive; elegant but never boastful. It is as if Renaissance calm and Baroque vitality agreed on a compromise—a threshold that is not merely an entrance to a building but a passage into another time.
Standing before the portal, one feels as if the stone shifts slightly, wanting to tell a story. About the craftsmen who shaped it. About the nobles who walked through it. About the centuries that touched its edges. The portal is the face of the manor—and that face is surprisingly alive.
Today the manor is no longer a noble residence but a home of memory. It houses the regional museum, preserving the stories of Prekmurje: archaeological finds, ethnological objects, photographs, and traces of everyday life. The museum is not merely a collection of items but a space where the region reflects upon itself.
As visitors walk through the corridors, it feels as though the manor breathes with the exhibitions. Its walls are not just a backdrop but part of the narrative. Each room is a chapter, each display case a paragraph, each object a word in the long story of Prekmurje.
Although the manor is old, its life is surprisingly contemporary. Exhibitions, lectures, concerts, and meetings take place within its walls. The park around it is a space for walks, children’s laughter, quiet reading on benches. The manor is not an isolated monument but part of everyday life—like a friend who is always there, even when unnoticed.