I was in great luck altogether, for that very evening a dance was to
come off at Oravicza, and my friend invited me to accompany him. Dancing
is one of the sins I compound for; moreover, I had a lively recollection
of the bright eyes I had encountered yesterday.
Oravicza is a central place, in a way the chief town of the Banat. It
has a pleasant little society, composed of the families of the
officials, and of the military stationed there; they are mostly German
by origin. Amongst the belles of the evening I soon discovered my merry
critics of yesterday. I was duly presented, and we laughed together over
my "first appearance." It was one of the pleasantest evenings I ever
remember. I hate long invitations to anything agreeable; this party, for
instance, had the charm of unexpectedness. If unfortunately I should
prove not quite good enough to go to heaven, I think it would be very
pleasant to stop at Oravicza--supposing, of course, that my friends all
stopped there as well.
Here I first danced the _czardas_; it is an epoch in a man's life, but
you must see it, feel it, dance it, and, above all, hear the gipsy music
that inspires it. This is the national dance of the Hungarians, favoured
by prince and peasant alike. The figures are very varied, and represent
the progress of a courtship where the lady is coy, and now retreats and
now advances; her partner manifests his despair, she yields her hand,
and then the couple whirl off together to the most entrancing tones of
wild music, such as St.
Pages:
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30