Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Cachucha
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
Below is the raw OCR text
from the above scanned image.
Do you see an error? Proofread the page now!
Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
Ser du något fel? Korrekturläs sidan nu!
This page has been proofread at least once.
(diff)
(history)
Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
(skillnad)
(historik)
is fettered to his bed with gout. Spare him the pain
of tender memories!
He, too, has worn the sombrero and the hair-net
of many colors; he, too, has worn the velvet jacket
and carried a stiletto in his girdle. Spare old
Örneclou, master.
But Lilliecrona goes on playing the cachucha, and
Örneclou suffers like the lover who sees the swallow
winging toward the distant abode of the beloved,
like the hart driven by the hounds past the cooling
spring.
For a moment Lilliecrona raises his chin from
the violin.
“Ensign, do you remember Rosalie von Berger?” he asks.
Örneclou swears a great oath.
“She was light as a candle-flame, and danced and
sparkled like the diamond at the tip of the
fiddle-bow. You must remember her at the theatre in
Karlstad. We saw her when we were young, if you recall.”
The ensign remembered. She was petite and
bewitching—all fire. Ah, she could dance the
cachucha! And she taught all the young men in
Karlstad to dance it and to play the castanets. At the
Governor’s ball the ensign and Fröken von Berger
danced a pas de deux in Spanish costume. And he
had danced as one dances under fig-trees and magnolias,
like the Spaniard—the real Spaniard. No
one in all Värmland could dance the cachucha as
<< prev. page << föreg. sida << >> nästa sida >> next page >>
