there sits one who had already three times
begun upon some speech, but his bitterness, mourning for the past, so
effectually chokes his over-ardent feelings that he bursts into tears,
amidst general laughter. Another who has already embraced all his
comrades in turn, breaks in among the gypsies and kisses them one after
the other, swearing brotherhood to the bass fiddler and the clarinetist.
At the farther end of the table sits a choleric fellow, whose habit it
is always to end in riotous fights, and he begins his freaks by striking
the table with his fist, and swearing he will kill the man who has
worried him. Luckily he does not know with whom he is angry. The gay
singer is not content with giving full play to his throat, helping it
out with his hands and feet: he begins to dash bottles and plates
against the wall, and is delighted that so many smashed bottles give
evidence of his triumph. With a half crushed hat he dances in the middle
of the room quite alone, in the happy conviction that everybody is
looking at him, while a blessed comrade had come to the pass of dropping
his head back upon the back of his chair, only waking up when they
summon him to drink with him--though he does not know whether he is
drinking wine or tanner's ooze.

But the fever does not increase indefinitely.

Like other attacks of fever, it has a crisis, beyond which a turn sets
in!

After midnight the uproarious clamor subsided. The first heating
influence of the wine had already worked itself out. One or two who
could not fight with it, gave in and lay down to sleep, while the others
remained in their places, continuing the drinking-bout, not for the sake
of inebriety, merely out of principle, that they might show they would
not allow themselves to be overcome by wine.

This is where the real heroes' part begins, of those whom the first
glass did not loosen, nor the tenth tie their tongues.

Now they begin to drink quietly and to tell anecdotes between the
rounds.

One man does not interrupt another, but when one has finished his story,
another says, "I know one still better than that," and begins: "the
matter happened here or there, I myself being present."

The anecdotes at times reached the utmost pitch of obscenity and at such
times I was displeased to hear Lorand laugh over such jokes as expressed
contempt for womankind.

I was only calmed by the thought that "our own" were long in bed--it was
after midnight--and so it were i