relative of extremely Low Church proclivities
who was always repeating--for my edification, I suppose--that "man is
but dust;" the dear old lady would have said so in very truth if she had
seen me on this occasion.
After supper I strolled into the summer theatre, a simple erection,
consisting of a stage at the end of a pretty, shady garden. Seats and
tables were placed under the lime-trees, and here the happy people of
Oravicza enjoy their amusements in the fresh air, drinking coffee and
eating ices. Think of the luxury of fresh air, O ye frequenters of London
theatres!
The evening was already advanced, the tables were well filled; groups
gathered here and there, sauntering under the greenery, gay with
lanterns; and many a blue-eyed maiden was there, with looks
coquettish yet demure, as German maidens are wont to appear.
A concert was going on, and I for the first time heard a gipsy band.
Music is an instinct with these Hungarian gipsies. They play by ear,
and with a marvellous precision, not surpassed by musicians who have
been subject to the most careful training. Their principal instruments
are the violin, the violoncello, and a sort of zither. The airs they play
are most frequently compositions of their own, and are in character
quite peculiar, though favourite pieces from Wagner and other
composers are also given by them with great effect. I heard on this
occasion one of the gipsy airs which made an indelible impression on
my mind; it seemed to me the thrilling utterance of a people's history.
There was the low wail of sorrow, of troubled passionate grief, stirring
the heart to restlessness, then the sense of turmoil and defeat; but upon
this breaks suddenly a wild burst of exultation, of rapturous joy--a
triumph achieved, which hurries you along with it in resistless
sympathy. The excitable Hungarians can literally become intoxicated
with this music--and no wonder. You cannot reason upon it, or explain
it, but its strains compel you to sensations of despair and joy, of
exultation and excitement, as though under the influence of some
potent charm.
I strolled leisurely back to the inn, beneath the starlit heavens. The
outline of the mountains was clearly marked in the distance, and in the
foreground quaint gable-ends mixed themselves up with the shadows
and the trees--a pretty picture, prettier than anything one can see by the
light of "common day."
The following morning I set about making inquiries respecting the
mines which I knew existed in the neighbourhood of Oravicza. I found
that an English gentleman owned a gold mine in the immediate vicinity,
and that he was then living in the town. This induced me to go off at
once to call upon him, and I was immediately received in a very
friendly manner. This accidental meeting was rather curious, for on
comparing notes we found that we had been schoolfellows together at
Westminster. H---- being my senior, we had not known each other well;
but meeting here in the wilds, we were as old familiar friends. H----
kindly insisted on my leaving the inn and taking up my quarters with
him in his bachelor residence, which was in fact big enough to
accommodate a whole form of Westminster boys. I was not at all sorry
to avoid a second night at the Krone, and gladly fell into my friend's
hospitable arrangements.
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
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