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7 

The Last Dance 
László Kürti 

University of Miskolc, Hungary 

In this article I analyze one area that has for a long time 
interested anthropologists: the way in which dancing and 
dancing rituals—part of traditional life-ways—change 
and eventually disappear. I utilize here the terms “dance” 
and “dancing” principally to mean not only biologically or 
psychologically (emotionally?) motivated and combined 
corporeality and events in society but, together with Fou-
cault, rather as discursively constituted and agency-trans-
formed entities that individuals think and live with in their 
culture. Recent studies have shown that dance and danc-
ing, in fact movement systems in general, form an integral 
part of the cultural territory within which the human 
body is structured and manipulated (Farnell 1999, 2003). 
For my purpose, however, I view both dance and danc-
ing, here to entail not only structured movement systems 
and body representations but activities in specific kinetic 
and space-time dimensions that are culturally controlled, 
negotiated and constructed. [1] Dance, thus, is not only a 
formal body language, as Bloch has argued earlier (Bloch 
1989), but a politically formalized system that is part of the 
controlling mechanism of authority. [2] In fact, it is often 
one of the most revered legitimating forces of authority 
in uneven power relations. At the same time, dance and 
dancing activity could be a source of as well as a force for 
resistance against such legitimacy (Howard 2001). I use 
here dance to mean a single form of a specific movement 
system, and dancing as a referent reserved for social events 
that include various dances. At times, we find that a single 
dance may be a source of conflict between individuals and 
the state, or between various ethnic groups. An individual 
dance may or may not symbolize an ethnic or national 
group, and dance events could also become a source con-
testation between majority and minority ethnic relations. 

It is a tautological comment that the body is culturally 
understood, constructed and monitored by individuals 
and groups but one of the least discussed but, to my mind, 
most important aspect of the body is its conditioning and 
the way in which it is anchored to the discursive practices 
between the state and individuals. [3] The body both a 
source and an object of control has not been addressed by 
anthropologists studying Hungary or Hungarian dance. 
Even though Marcel Mauss has made a rather innocent 
incursion into Hungarian ethnographic studies, the idea 
of the technique du corps has not, we must admit, gained 
a sure footing in the anthropological study of dance. With 
regard to Romania, anthropologists have faired exception-

ally well: folkloric representations (Kligman 1977, 1988), 
reproduction, sexuality and gender relations (Kligman 
1998; Roman 2003), and political forms of funerals and 
reburials (Verdery 1999) are monographic themes privi-
leging the body, both collective and individual. However, 
the use and representation of the body in dances and 
dance events in Hungarian minority culture in Romania, 
especially as a source of power discourse, has not, we must 
admit, been attempted by anthropologists. [4] Therefore 
in this analysis I consider questions of what happens 
when the state defines the dance event, what, if any, are 
the differences when it is not the state, or the Romanian 
majority, but the elite of the minority who defines it. For 
scholars it is intriguing to ask how symbolic representa-
tions, such as dance and dancing, follows various socio-
economic transformations from World War II, the various 
Romanian dictatorships to the multi-party democracy 
in Romania. Under Ceausescu ethnic dance events were 
tightly controlled and monitored by the watchful eyes 
of the state; in fact the secret police were entrusted with 
watching and reporting on all such events. Most aspects of 
minority national identity were scrutinized as musicians 
were requested to offer their repertoire to bureaucrats; 
many were fined if it contained songs and tunes deemed 
unfit for “public consumption.” But under the democratic 
climate such state control has subsided considerably and 
even though those laws concerning minority language and 
culture were passed, they leave a lot to be desired as far as 
their actual implementation on the local level. 

Case 1: (1982) 

It was an uncomfortably hot Saturday afternoon and we 
were waiting outside the protestant church for the wed-
ding party to appear. The church bells just started and at 
the same time the four-man Gypsy orchestra started to 
play dance tunes. As men and women poured out of the 
church one-by-one, they shook the hand of the priest. In 
front of the church there was a fairly large space combin-
ing parts of the churchyard. Everyone gathered there in 
a large circle and it was easy to observe how men and 
women, young and the elderly, all stuck to their own 
gender and generations separated not wholly unlike that 
of the formation inside the church. As soon as there were 
enough people the young lads with the ritual staff in their 
hands stood around the newlyweds as if they were ready 

The Anthropology of East Europe Review 
Volume 22 • Number 1 • Spring 2004 

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© 2004 László Kürti All Rights Reserved
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8 László Kürti 

to protect them should something unexpected happen. In 
Zsobok, dancing started as a natural continuation of the 
church wedding. Middle-aged couples immediately started 
to dance the local version of the couple csárdás. Older 
ones did the same but a bit slower and in a more take-
it-easy manner. Unmarried youth formed a large circle, 
hands hooked behind their backs and danced the circle-
csárdás, a form that is not well-known in the region. Dur-
ing the dancing men and women would start yelling spicy, 
rhymed couplets. Many of these calls (csujogatás in local 
parlance) have double meanings: depending on who does 
it to whom and with what kind of stress on certain words 
the poems could turn sexually explicit (Kürti 2003). Men 
do not shy away from yelling openly obscene verses as [5] 
good friends egg each other to call dirtier and spicier ones. 
As the dance goes faster and faster, more and more people 
join in and soon the entire crowd is whirling in front of 
the church. Meanwhile the young couple and their ritual 
masters of ceremony visit the priest to sign the marriage 
documents. This is the time when gifts of food, wine and 
a few embroidered pieces of clothes are also offered to the 
local minister and his family. In addition, the minister and 
his family are invited to the evening dinner. The dance 
may last 15–20 minutes. Sometimes people ask the musi-
cians to play a favored dance tune, sometimes they also 
sing a few verses that others may join in freely. Drinking is 
not forbidden and there are several young lads whose roles 
include carrying bottles of brandy offering them to both 
dancers and onlookers. Dancers and onlookers would per-
form high-pitched dance-calls (csujogatás), an aspect of the 
wedding rite that is perhaps the most humorous as well as 
sexually explicit. Some of the calls center on bawdy behav-
ior, sexual prowess, and even mock some characteristics 
of the priest and his wife. Calls and dancing end abruptly 
when the best man stops the musicians by announcing the 
closing of the dancing; he then leads the whole group to 
the house of the wife for the “asking for the bride” ritual 
(menyasszony kikérő). The dance-calls become even saucier, 
more open and many are obviously aimed at increasing 
fertility. In a little while, the entire square is emptied. 

Case 2: (1998) 

It was my third full day in following the making of hol-
lowed, syrupy oven-baked cakes (kűrtőskalács, perec), the 
killing of calves, pigs and numberless chickens, fix-
ing up the local cultural center, and the making of the 
ornamented wooden staff (vőfélypálca) young men carry 
throughout the wedding procession. All aspects seemed 
smooth and running well. We were standing in front of 
the local protestant church, hearing well the last lines of 
the drawn-out and solemn hymns, waiting for the crowds 
to pour into the street. Cameras were readied and a perfect 

place was selected by standing on a large rock placed as 
a reinforcement of a ditch built to drain water during 
spring flash-floods. As the beautifully carved church door 
opened the priest exited first standing halfway in the 
doorway allowing enough place for the people to pass by 
him. As the joyous crowd exited the priest shook hands 
with everyone. The entire crowd waited for the newlyweds, 
their ritual co-parents and the ceremonial masters (vőfély, 
násznagy) to arrive. Everyone was laughing and a few 
men were holding bottles in their hands. They contained a 
mixture of home made plum-brandy and mass-produced 
alcohol bought for the occasion. Young men immediately 
began to light cigarettes, and young women, many dressed 
in reconstructed but extremely flashy dresses, hooked 
their arms and stood in a large semi-circle. The three-man 
band consisting of an accordion, saxophone, and a small 
drum, was also waiting on the street—they never go to 
the church ceremony—and started to play some popular 
music that had nothing to do with local flavor. The crowd 
waited for about twenty minutes when all the partici-
pants exited the church. At this point a usual ritual took 
place: the newlyweds and their best men, together with 
the parents, entered the pastor’s home that was also the 
rectory, and took care of the official signing ceremony. All 
the while, the entire group outside just talked and listened 
to the musicians playing quietly. An occasional holler or 
two by a few drunken men were heard but all in all it was a 
surprisingly uneventful quiet event. A little later the young 
couple came out and the bride was immediately escorted 
by her best-man to a car and taken to her family home. 
This ritual escape is a continuation of a former tradition: 
after the church wedding the entire procession goes to 
the wife’s parents’ house where a mock battle takes place. 
When this was done the wedding crowd proceeded to her 
house in a rather quiet way. There was no dancing and not 
a single dance call to be heard. 

Traditional Dances and Dance Events 

The dance occasions described, both connected to wed-
ding rituals in a Hungarian community in the Kalotaszeg 
region of Transylvania, Romania, highlight the turning 
point in traditional dance events as they are fundamentally 
altered by ideological considerations that are not of the 
same vintage. [6] Since I have discussed my fieldwork in 
the Transylvanian village of Zsobok (Jebuc in Romania) in 
my book (Kürti 2001a) here I will only summarize what I 
have written earlier on this settlement and what is neces-
sary to understand the changing contexts of dance events. 

I have conducted research in this region since 1982, a 
date I first entered Hungarian villages in the Transylvanian 
part of Romania. I was struck, as I am sure many of my 
compatriots and tourists were, by the still visible signs of 

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9 the last dance 

folk costumes, the uniformed religious life—they almost 
all belong the protestant faith—ornamented and color-
ful as the ethnographic descriptions make them to be. [7] 
The presence of the buffaloes was novel to me, women 
still used the small meandering stream to wash cloth-
ing by hand, and there were vibrant customs and dance 
performances attached to birth, baptismal, funerals and 
weddings. Women and men carried large gift-baskets 
filled with delicious oven-baked cakes (termőág), a “tree 
of plenty” that traditionally women carried on their heads. 
[8] However, I was looking in vain for the ornate ox-drawn 
coaches (ökrösszekér) traditionally used to carry the bride’s 
dowry to her new home together with the joyous and sing-
ing members of her extended family. As I was assured the 

“cooperative consumed the oxen” (“a kollektív megette az 
ökröket”), a clear reference to the obvious collectivization 
by the state which resulted in families losing all their draft 
animals. But still the whole region has been mentioned for 
its eccentric and showy dances, especially the bachelor’s 
dance, the frightening climb on the bride’s tree during the 
wedding ceremony (menyasszony fára mászás), and the 
rite of “bathing the groom.” [9] These were truly fascinat-
ing aspects of a rural complex that anthropologists are so 
keen to observe and record. I was eager to witness them 
but Hungarian villagers were equally eager to report their 
slow death since the 1950s onward. 

Such was the context of the presence of the past in 
the present when I first lived in Zsobok. The village is a 
protestant rural settlement in the county of Salaj, north-
eastern Transylvania in Romania. Zsobok is situated 6–7 
miles away from the major high-way connecting Cluj 
and Huedin, and even the train stop is half an hour walk 
distance away from the center of the village. Surrounded 
by gently rolling hills that once provided ample grazing for 
sheep, cows and buffaloes, the settlement has been part of 
a region known in history and ethnography as Kalotaszeg 
in Hungarian or Calata in Romania. Roughly this terri-
tory stretches along the number one highway connecting 
Huedin and Cluj with about two dozen settlements on both 
sides of the road. The population is mixed but there are 
strictly Hungarian and Romanian hamlets and a few inhab-
ited by the Gypsy-Roma. In its immediate vicinity there are 
several Hungarian settlements (for the sake of clarity here 
I use their Romanian names) Bicalat, Saula and two mixed 
villages with Romanian majority (Stana, Farnas). 

In the minds of the residents, Zsobok is somewhat 
isolated from the neighboring villages and received paved 
road and telephone only in the early-to-mid 1990s. Zsobok 
and its vicinity has been elevated into the limelight of 
Hungarian ethnographic studies since the late nineteenth 
century by a certain group of elites who found its “archaic 
folk culture” to represent the very essence of Hungarian 
cultural history and identity. Such ideologically charged 

discovery of the region and its population leave a lot to 
be desired. Residents are proud to claim that their village 
has always been a small, single-street hamlet with mostly 
Hungarian (Magyar) speakers. In their mental map they 
separate their village into three equal sections: upper-end, 
lower-end and a side-street named after the Alder-tree 
(Alszeg, Felszeg, Egellő). Throughout its recorded history, 
its population reached a little more than 600 inhabitants, 
but by the 1960s, when industrial jobs forced many to 
leave, this decreased to below 400. From the early twen-
tieth century records it is obvious that a few Jewish and 
Gypsy residents were always part of the village inter-ethnic 
make-up. Occasionally one or two Romanian (formerly 
referred to as oláh in Hungarian parlance) families occu-
pied the position of sheepherders in the village. Accord-
ing to elders Gypsies were entrusted with herding pigs 
and Romanians were always employed as shepherds. [10] 
These few families added to the local flavor but offered 
minimal possibilities for interethnic mingling. The Jewish 
families all disappeared during the mayhem between 1941 
and 1944, a period that has been referred to variously as 
the “Hungarian times” by Hungarians and as the “fascist 
Hungarian terror” by the Romanians. As workers and farm 
laborers, Gypsy and Romanian families did not stay too 
long in the settlement; their huts and houses were always 
placed on the outskirt of the village. Intermarriage was 
almost unknown during the twentieth century. [11] How-
ever, there is at least one family considered by denizens 
to be of Romanian origin but residents do take pride in 
possessing an ethnic “wholeness,” in other words an ethni-
cally “pure” village. In Hungarian the word pure (tiszta) 
refers to cleanliness, wholeness and purity but also means 
special (as in tiszta szoba, a room in the house kept neat at 
all times to receive visitors). [12] 

Agriculture and animal herding were the two most 
important sources of making a living. But throughout the 
centuries, large-scale animal herding (mostly sheep, cattle, 
buffalo, and goat), coupled with that of already rocky hill-
sides did result in extreme soil erosion making wheat and 
vegetable farming less and less viable. Already after the 
turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, amber mining, a cement 
factory and the railroad took most of the men away leav-
ing agriculture to women. [13] This did not change con-
siderably after Stalinist reorganization; land and animals 
were collectivized into state cooperatives, a pattern well-
known throughout the entire Soviet bloc. With the estab-
lishment of farming cooperatives women and the elderly 
remained in the village as part of the collective’s labor 
force. Almost the entire male population, however, found 
jobs in nearby industries: the cement factory of Aghires, 
the railroad company, and various factories in the regional 
center, Huedin, a town that saw an astronomical rise in 
population as the influx of laborers intensified during the 

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10 László Kürti 

1960s. For men to be a socialist worker was expressed by 
the word novétázik (commuter, from Romanian nav’evtă), 
a reference to their constant commuting way of life. They 
spent precious hours on trains and buses traveling to and 
from work, and as a natural consequence they had very 
little time for family life and to upkeep friendship. 

This resulted in even more losses of population as 
families began to move to Cluj and Zalau. Since only a 
small elementary school functioned locally, youth were 
also required to go to school in these cities. Migration, 
coupled with the traditionally low birth-rate characteristic 
to Hungarian protestant families in Romania, resulted in a 
situation that gave an eerie feeling to anyone entering the 
village on a regular day of the week. The local school was 
rather still, the two streets of the village completely empty, 
and the households were kept up entirely by elderly women. 
At least this is how I remember entering Zsobok the first 
time in the early 1980s. My impression was not that differ-
ent in 1992, the year I started to live there. Closed shutters 
on windows, tall grass and lifeless courtyards signaled that 
there were many abandoned homesteads. 

Once I started to live there I realized that life has a 
rhythm of its own in Zsobok. At daybreak whistles indi-
cated that animals, mostly sheep, goat, cattle and buffalo, 
were going to the hills led by either a Gypsy or a Romanian 
herder. This was followed by women both young and old 
heading to the fields carrying suitable tools together with 
small baskets of food and jugs of water. Only on weekends, 
when families returned from the cities and children from 
the boarding schools, did the village start to look more like 
a real living place. Women were baking bread and cakes 
in the outdoor fireplaces (kemence in Hungarian), many 
feverishly slaughtering chickens. Men tended the house 
or worked on the machinery while children were playing 
on the streets. At springtime, after lambs were separated 
and the flocks of sheep were split into organized pastur-
ing units (turma), slaughtering took on an especially 
cruel choreography as hundreds of lambs were sold and 
slaughtered. [14] But before Easter and before Christmas 
men traditionally slaughtered pigs (disznóvágás), family 
celebrations that were extremely jubilant times for the 
extended kin to gather and visit each other. Name-days 
were still held and baptisms and confirmations also pro-
vided joyous opportunities for relatives to feast. 

A more solemn daily cycle was adhered to as people 
dressed up and went to church on Sundays. Both during 
the morning and late afternoon services the small and 
nicely redecorated and recently restored protestant church 
was filled by the inhabitants. The elderly generally stayed 
home to take care of the house and to cook, their service 
was the one during the latter part of the day. 

In Zsobok, like in its immediate vicinity in Cluj and 
Salaj Counties, dance events were connected to rites 

of passage and not to tourism. Together with the vari-
ous work occasions such as grain harvest, grape harvest, 
sheep-counting and sheep-milking (juhmérés), dances 
were also held at baptisms and weddings. In winter, the 
three sections of the village organized their own dances 
on weekends. At winter during the evenings women and 
girls were gathering to make embroidery, an important 
economic activity for maidens to complete their dowries. 
Only at certain nights men were allowed to visit the spin-
ning houses (fonóház, or varróház). At this time, however, 
dancing was not the highlight of the events though a “few 
turns were made” to singing. Mostly jokes and stories 
made the rounds but games were also fashionable. Dur-
ing carnival time (farsang) special masked groups visited 
each spinning house and danced with the girls and tried 
to outwit them. There were no specific dances at this 
time—aside from the highly erotic fox-dance (rókatánc)— 
but everyone danced the fashionable couple’s dance, the 
csárdás, of which a medium tempo and its faster variation 
(ugrálós) was known. 

The other dance well-known in the region is the bach-
elor’s dance, the legényes (literally the “bachelor’s”), or fig-
urás (the “figure”) as referred by the locals. [15] This dance 
form is age and gender-specific for young men of the 
same age group bond together and ritual male friendship 
help men to keep close to their age cohorts. These friend-
ships made in their early years (kom, komja, keresztkoma, 
sógorkoma) then followed men throughout their adult 
and elderly years. [16] Those from the same age-group 
do tend to learn similar dance steps and code of ethics. 
Formerly, dances and balls were also made by youngsters 
belonging to the same age-group. Rituals, such as erecting 
a may-pole and eastern-sprinkling, were always organized 
by such age groups together. With such a small commu-
nity as Zsobok, ritual friendships and god-parenthood do 
criss-cross kinship and descent resulting in large extended 
family network that often involved 60–80 people. Boys and 
girls are also made to go through the protestant church age 
ritual (konfirmáció, confirmation) that gives them an even 
closer sense of belonging to the same generation. 

In the village community of former times, children 
were socialized into the proper code of conduct that 
includes dancing as well. During holiday seasons, Christ-
mas, Easter and the harvest (both grain as well as grape) 
time, organized “dancing of the small ones” (kistánc) was 
put up, an event mimicking that of the bachelors’ (nagy-
tánc) but led and controlled by the village teachers or 
the parents. Young men belonging to an age-group often 
learned dances communally from each other. Most com-
munal work occasions ended with a dance in the barn or 
in someone’s house. At wintertime the women’s spinning 
houses (fonóház, varróház) provided the place for social-
izing to which young men were allowed to visit once their 

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11 the last dance 

work was done. Aside from these, special dance-houses, 
those selected and decorated strictly for that purpose, were 
the single most important occasion for youth during the 
entire winter season to hold dances regularly. The activity 
and organization of these regular weekend dances were 
entrusted to the three officials: the master (gazda), and the 
two bailiffs (pandúr). [17] These were older bachelors, but 
still unmarried, who were selected for their trustworthi-
ness, honesty and honorable status in the village. Their 
tasks included the upkeep of the dance-house, the hiring 
of the musicians for the whole season, and inviting the 
eligible young men and women. Their office also involved 
especially the keeping of order during dances and making 
sure that guests are treated properly. In addition, women 
were required to provide food and men to bring alcohol. 

In the dance-house, the master may order everyone to 
stand in a circle and ask the young men to start the evening 
by introducing the bachelor’s dance. At other occasions 
they would start immediately with the popular couples’ 
dances, both the local versions and the more recent arrivals 
(tango, waltz). The bachelor’s dance is a fancy and highly 
acrobatic form of dancing requiring stamina and a reper-
toire of steps (figures) that each dancer may combine at will 
when performing. Before World War II, young men would 
wear spurs on their boots when performing the bachelor’s 
dance. This made it even more difficult to execute the 
jumping and the fancy legwork (lábfacsaró, cifrázás). Older 
descriptions often describe it as a group dance where 
dozens of men stand in a circle each performing his own 
figures. Young women would ornament the performance 
by dancing their own “shuffle” (csoszogós), a form that was 
peppered with dance-calls. One by one each man would 
enter the center of the dance area and show off his skills 
and excellence in dancing. By so doing this dance has 
become a competitive dance form and no-one with knowl-
edge of this movement system wanted to be left out. Men 
attempted to outdo each other and for this reason invented 
steps that were hard to copy. A description from the early 
1940s presents the performance as follows: 

The bachelor’s dance of Kalotaszeg is a good example 
of competitive dance. The performer stands alone, and 
around him, in a tight circle, forms the ‘circle of judges,’ 
others who know the dance just as well. The space is 
limited; thus the dancer’s movements are also limited 
somewhat. In this way the dance is composed of small 
and delicate, but at the same time, speedy footwork. This 
is accompanied by the rhythmical finger snapping (Mol-
nár 1947:343). 
In order to be competitive, men did not shy away from 

utilizing steps they learned from an older more experi-
enced dancer and added them to their own repertoire or 
changed them at will. It was even to their advantage to 
invent some figures that elevated them in the eyes of the 

locals to the level of an eccentric or noted bachelor. There 
were some figures that were taught to a group of lads that 
later became known as the “figure of so-and-so.” These 
have often been remembered and passed down from 
generation to generation as “the steps of Uncle Steve,” “the 
leg-twist of Pál Varga,” or even [the figures of Mr.] Kalló’s,” 
or “Kosztán’s.” One favored way for men to proceed to 
the center, or alternately in front of the musicians, was by 
performing a Charleston-looking step. I heard this strut 
referred to as “ducking” (kacsázás), a symbolic term recall-
ing perhaps the swaying of the duck’s body. At the same 
time, they usually started strange, but fast finger-snap-
ping with both hands, as they say “to pick up the rhythm” 
(felveszi a ritmust). [18] 

During dancing onlookers, especially fellow youth, criti-
cally judge the performer’s upright posture, seriousness, 
willingness to dance, and even openly and loudly make 
comments if these do not follow the popular criteria for 
strength and power associated with masculinity. If one 
loses the rhythm or cannot keep the fast pace one hears 
comments such as “he is too young, he is too weak to 
dance this dance.” Other critical words often are framed 
with descent and cultural legacy in mind. A phrase such 
as “he does not have his father’s legs” (nem az apja lába) is 
a serious judgment about one’s ability of not being capable 
to live up to his ancestor’s skills, not following the proper 
way as he was taught. Older men would comment on the 
performance of the younger ones sarcastically: “you have 
to put your feet where they belong,” or “you have two feet, 
use them.” This involves the proper execution of figures 
with both legs successively. It is not enough to introduce 
a new step or a combination of new figures. The dancer 
should be able to execute it properly with both legs. 

The dance performance itself had to be brief and fast, 
ending abruptly. In describing this quality the locals would 
say that the bachelor’s dance is best when performed 

“short and fancy,” or “brief and eccentric” (kurtán és 
furcsán). If one performed the dance too long they would 
make comments believed to be really embarrassing to 
dancers: “Why is he repeating himself so much, doesn’t he 
know anything else.” Or, “he thinks that he is the only one 
here who knows how to dance, he is too full of himself.” 
The eccentric and showy figures and especially the shock-
ingly abrupt ending of the dance sometimes elicited a few 
laughs, and mostly some nodding or comments such as 

“Yes that is how you do it. Right on.” [19] Strange as it may 
sound, but good dancers are rarely, if ever, given praise in 
public for their excellent performance. In contrast, nega-
tive criticism is immediately forthcoming: “He is not well,” 
or “Maybe he is losing it.” As I wrote in an earlier note on 
the performance: 

It is considered a great insult to criticize a dancer like 
this: “‘He dances more with his hands than with his legs.’ 

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Volume 22 • Number 1 • Spring 2004 



12 László Kürti 

This kind of remark generally is aimed at dancers whose 
hand movements and gestures overpower the rest of their 
actions: for example, moving the arms too far from the 
body, slapping and clapping too loudly” (Kürti 1983b:11). 

These are mild but noticeable verbalizations of public 
humiliation of a dancer who did not live up to the expec-
tation of a masculine code of conduct. Performing the 
bachelor’s dance, and possessing the strength and body for 
it, is always at the nexus of the ritual and identity. As Marc 
Augé puts it: “Ritual activity combines the two notions of 
otherness and identity; it aims at stabilizing the ever-prob-
lematic relations between people” (1999:57). Naturally, not 
all men are knowledgeable in dancing the bachelor’s dance. 
Not many achieve fame and recognition in the community 
for his excellent dancing skills, body carriage and stamina, 
let alone outside of it. In conversations it is often stressed 
that men are supposed to behave as expected, or at least 
must make every effort to live up to that idealized standard 
of code and manly behavior. Performing the bachelor’s 
dance well is an obvious proof for this. Masculinity has 
often been juxtaposed with the ability of excessive libido 
and drinking but not drunkenness. [20] Men and women 
often told humorous stories about drunken men attempt-
ing to perform the bachelor’s dance while falling on their 
face. But the fact that one does not even try to behave 
according to this code was tantamount to the loss of 
virility and honor. “Why are you a bachelor, if you do not 
know how to perform the bachelor’s dance,” commented a 
villager when we were discussing the art of dancing. This 
is why men felt, and many interviewees admitted to this, 
the need to prove themselves in front of the community 
even though their art only consisted of a few well-known 
figures and steps. “If you have will and power,” argued 
one elderly man in his seventies, “you must reveal it.” This 
is why men go to the extremes to improve their skills 
learning special figures from each other, sometimes even 
from fellow bachelors from neighboring villages. They are 
searching for showy steps and many new combinations are 
improvised in order not to repeat themselves during the 
dance performance. Thus, both will and power are con-
nected to the notion of fanciness or eccentricity, categories 
that all accumulate into having the physical and mental 
state for dancing as well as the qualities of manliness. 

What Marcus has written on eccentricity fits well with 
the perceived knowledge and having the qualities of the 
bachelor’s dance: “Eccentricity is thus constitutive of 
received myth of power and wealth” (1995:48). Therefore, 
being a good figurás-dancer is obviously connected to the 
possibility of one’s excellence in work, household tasks and 
leading an honorable family life. What Stuart has writ-
ten with regard to honor in the Mediterranean context 
that “what matters is the possession of a well-developed 
sense of honor” (1994:47) is close to the code surrounding 

the bachelor’s dance. Honor thus is connected to diverse 
elements that range from being a trusted friend, a knowl-
edgeable worker with various tasks around the animals, 
the house and the field. A man once boasted to me that 
all night he danced during the evening and, without any 
sleep, and in the morning he went with his friends to work 
on meadow gathering hay. “Bachelors at night, bachelors 
at day,” has been the favored local slogan for such youthful 
behavior. 

Traditionally, there were many occasions for men to 
perform the bachelor’s dance: in front of the church 
at weddings immediately after the religious ceremony 
finished, and during the wedding procession when the 
best man invited individual families to the wedding. Both 
occasions were serious: the air was filled with solemnity 
and a heightened sense of ceremonialism. All eyes were 
on the dancers as they were made the center of attention 
for a short while. Knowing this well, all men who dared 
to perform the dance had to dress properly for the occa-
sions. Since the 1960s, boots and the baggy breeches and 
the ornamented jackets were slowly giving away to regular 
dark suits, white shirts and black shoes as the required 
dress for men. In front of the church only a few men dared 
to dance, but according to their admissions, they feverishly 
practiced the days before to polish their art. Families went 
to great length to hire a local best man for the wedding 
who was known as the “dancing best man” (táncos vőfély) 
or the “whistler best man” (füttyös vőfély), a reference to 
his masterful ability in dancing and singing. Customarily, 
the best man together with the brides man and grooms-
man (násznagy) proceeded noisily with the musicians to 
each house and ceremoniously invited the whole family to 
the wedding. [21] In front of each house musicians would 
play the tune requested by the best man who would then 
perform the bachelor’s dance for a brief period. It was a 
tiring task and only a few could manage successfully. 

Opposing the bachelor’s dance, there is only one form 
of traditional dance for couples, a general term for which 
is the well-known csárdás. It is not fantastically exciting 
to watch as most of it is limited to couples holding each 
other and turning together in close proximity. There are 
minor variations within the Kalotaszeg region but all 
in all most dances for men and women are of medium 
and fast tempi with a fairly small repertoire of steps and 
figures. The way Zsobok couples dance in pairs faithfully 
resembles what Bernard Lortat-Jacobs writes in Sardinian 
Chronicles (1995:10) about age differences in local dance 
style: “Whereas the older people elegantly strut along with 
a most perfect economy of movement, the young dancers 
always enjoy leaping about and especially love the passu 
altu, which enables them to show off their youthful vigor.” 
This is not that different when men lined up in front of the 
Gypsy musicians ready to engage in the highly acrobatic, 

The Anthropology of East Europe Review 
Volume 22 • Number 1 • Spring 2004 



13 the last dance 

fast bachelor’s dance. Young men always danced longer by 
using vigorous and fancy footwork (a beloved native term 
to describe this) and older ones performed few sequences 
perhaps closing their repertoire with a surprising or funny 
final move. 

During the state socialist period—a period that wit-
nessed fundamental societal change, collectivization of 
agriculture and massive industrialization—ritual events in 
the Kalotaszeg region slowly transformed rituals of former 
times into a recreational activity and symbolic gift-giving. 
Individual dancing was slowly transformed into a privi-
leged art form of a selected few. Only some learned how to 
execute it properly, and thus it was elevated into the realm 
of a folkloric remnant of an extinct culture—the terrain 
of avid ethnomusicologists and national researchers. In 
this climate, traditional-looking dancing was foisted into 
the pedagogical curricula of state education. It became 
a prerogative of children’s ensembles to be watched on 
the stage but not to be performed by the community as 
a whole. Thus, stage dancing became a state controlled 
invention through which village youth, no matter where 
from, had shared in the ideology of being a good citizen of 
the socialist Romanian state. What is clear here is that the 
stage art industry became preoccupied with the seemingly 
endless production of new ideas, performers, and settings. 
It is simply sufficient to look at such a newly-invented 
stage performances of folk dances both for home con-
sumption and for the fashionable world-music scene. At 
present, Romania engages in this construction of national 
imagery just as much as Hungary does; Bulgaria and 
countries of the former Yugoslavia are no exceptions either. 
What is questionable in this transformation is that while 
the state and multi-national corporations sponsor such 
megaproductions, on the village level we may witness the 
complete abandonment of the once famous and character-
istic art forms together with the family-centered way of life. 

What happened to the bachelor’s dance is a sad story 
that should have been made part of the UNESCO list of 

“endangered cultural heritage”; similarly it could have been 
shown on the “Disappearing World” series. The political 
reconstruction of the family, as Kligman suggests (1998), 
was truly a fundamental aspect of socialist transformation. 
However, while this is certainly true for other regimes as 
well, what was fundamental to Romania was the deteriora-
tion of life, both public and private. With the state actively 
pursuing an unrealistic dream of communist utopia, pov-
erty, misery and social tension were the order of the day in 
Romania. This was especially so since 1965 when Nicolae 
Ceausescu came to power. Hungarian families, similarly to 
the German and Jewish ones, experienced a double bur-
den: not only to fulfill the desired plans of a megalomaniac 
ruler, but to maintain their minority identity and culture 
or face extinction. As soon as young men were required 

to leave their community a long process of homelessness, 
value reorientation and breakdown of individual identity 
had started. Boys were separated form the household since 
they entered vocational schools at the age of fourteen, 
living often in boarding-schools in the cities only visiting 
their families at weekends and holidays. 

This, too, happened with young women but much lower 
rate since most Hungarian girls only entered high-schools 
at an alarmingly low rate opting instead for work in the 
local state farms. As a natural consequence, opportu-
nities to automatically learn household tasks, animal 
husbandry and farming were diminishing prospects for 
young men. Together with this, knowledge about local 
traditions, rituals, songs and dances had also decreased 
considerably. Boys returning from the cities slowly started 
to switch to the industrial city life, and as their circle of 
friends increased in the cities and workplaces former local 
friendships were abandoned. Customs, such as Easter 
sprinkling, Christmas and New Year dances, were becom-
ing individual hobbies instead of a communal celebration 
of an age-group. By the late 1970s, the sole form of village 
entertainment was the omnipotent disco together with 
that of state-controlled television. During the last two 
decades of state socialism private dances were illegalized 
as permits were not readily available reserved only for 
weddings. However, these too were becoming a source of 
conflict between the Romanian state and the Hungarian 
minority and thus weddings had to be held at the commu-
nal cultural center. 

Not having will, time and occasions for learning the art 
of dancing also resulted in the loss of corporeal qualities 
once associated with the bachelor’s dance. Dancing had 
become such a minor and meaningless activity that the 
village’s name was never mentioned in the region as a 

“dancing-village.” [22] Not having a sizable group, young 
men could not really perform their coming-of-age ritual 
in front of their parents, women and their coevals. The 
bachelor’s dance slowly lost its meaning and significance. 
One man explains the reason for this: “We did not have 
the willpower to dance anymore.” And another remarks: 

“We were too much involved with making a living, we were 
too tired, and nobody was home to organize dances.” More 
and more, young men were viewed by the village society 
as losing complete control over their bodies. They have not 
been associated anymore with the youthful bravado and 
masculine stamina needed for the bachelor’s dance. Even 
the dance music itself, played by famous Gypsy bands 
from nearby settlements, had been forgotten. One of the 
last persons who knew the bachelor’s dance was István 
Gál Máté (1898–1992), who was also the last mayor in 
the village before Stalinism was established. At age 90 he 
was only a shadow of his former self, but still got up and 
performed several figures to show the steps of the real 

The Anthropology of East Europe Review 
Volume 22 • Number 1 • Spring 2004 



14 László Kürti 

bachelor’s dance. During the early to the mid-1990s, when 
I was living in the settlement, seventy- and eighty-year-old 
men could reminisce about dancing the bachelor’s dance 
after they returned from the war and the Soviet Gulags. 
This is how one of them remembered: 

It was in 1948 when the last great Christmas dance was 
held. Five of us got up to perform the bachelor’s dance. 
We had the musicians from Váralmás [a small town 
about 20 miles away] who played the music. First all five 
of us walked around snapping our fingers and clapping 
our hands, and slowly one by one we all performed our 
figures. That was the last dance that me and my buddies 
performed together since then I have not taught anyone 
from the younger generation a single figure. No one 
asked me to teach them. [23] 
What is obvious from this is that controlling the body, 

and its various techniques, is paramount to the educa-
tion of citizens deemed useful and acceptable by the 
state. Dances and dance events, thus, always have strange, 
often contradictory relationships with regimes and state. 
Monolithic and dictatorial regimes are constantly on 
alert to controlling expressive culture especially if that 
culture belongs to a minority group. This is what hap-
pened throughout the first half of the twentieth century in 
Romania. Márta Belényesy produced a marvelous small 
monograph describing how the Romanian state curbed 
dancing activities of the Hungarian minority in Romania: 

“During the 1920s, throughout Transylvania Romanian 
policy banned the Hungarian csárdás. In Bukovina the 
system was more open but forced the population to dance 
the traditional Romanian hora and the sarba.” (Belényesy 
1958:51). Obviously, there are some dances which regimes 
always prefer and dancing activities that are essential to 
their legitimation. [24] At least this is what the Stalinist 
state, and the fascist one before it, attempted to do when 
various ministries were deciding on the ideological con-
tents and forms of artistic activities. Cultural events were 
politically charged, similarly to nationalistic rallies and 
festivities. Folk festivals and cultural gatherings were filled 
with official rhetoric and symbolism extolling the virtues 
of the state and its leaders. The Soviet model was fairly 
simple, and followed throughout the entire Soviet bloc: 
refashion local and regional dances into an acceptable 
dance form that does not have the feeling and symbol-
ism of the national. Thus, regional forms of dances with 
specific character, were either elevated into the expected 
national dance style or, alternately, deemed unfit for public 
consumption. In most Eastern European states and the 
Soviet Union such directives led to enormous transforma-
tions in dances, both on the stage and in the local settings 
where dance was an important element of the expressive 
culture (cf. Doi 2002). Village dance forms were reconcep-
tualized as broken or simplistic fragments of high-culture 

ballet. For this reason Soviet propagandistic ballet was 
seen as the prime revolutionary body language to refash-
ion the individuality and collective ethnicity anchored 
to distant folkloric performances. New songs, themes, 
costumes and dramatization went hand in hand with the 
ruling ideology to mobilize the masses to support the 
revolution (Souritz 1990:320–321). 

Such an ideologically charged milieu did achieve its 
purpose: throughout the entire Soviet bloc dance became a 
political force of the acceptable stage art while local danc-
ing in communities was devalued as primitive, often as old 
fashioned recreation of a class unfit to build communism. 
Thus, the creation of a new official culture was in order in 
which peasants were required to follow cultural policies 
made for industrial workers and working-class urbanites. 
All this was made in the name of socialist progress and 
modernization where village dances and dancing events 
slowly became the preserves of folk dance ensembles. But 
village groups, imitating the state and a few official ama-
teur ensembles, started to look like carbon copies of each 
other with authenticity and local flavors were becoming 
more and more oxymoronic. 

In Eastern Europe, the backward and wretched states 
of Europe to utilize two well-known phrases (Kürti 1997), 
the prevalence of the peasantry has received numerous 
analyses by historians and ethnographers. The rise of 
the national states all privileged that social class without 
regard to their exploited and often misconceived place 
in the agrarian economies. In Hungary and Romania, for 
instance, the making of the national movements dur-
ing the twentieth century show great differences the way 
in which economic backwardness and social cleavage 
influenced the rise of the new nation-states. [25] Regard-
less of their differences, the two states were remarkably 
similar in one aspect: the objectification of the peasant, 
their bodies and culture. Peasant bodies became objects of 
official displays during folkloric festivals where villagers 
of various regions were made to perform dances and sing 
songs in their best Sunday’s costumes. Such obvious places 
of official pageantries, immersed as they were in socialist 
realist ideology, simply did not allow dances reflecting on 
the life-ways of a by-gone era. But this did not entail the 
actual representation of life in the rural areas especially 
not the regime’s attempt to forcefully eradicate peasant 
life-ways. On the contrary, socialist realism did not reveal 
events and behavior as it really was, but, on the contrary, 
how it was supposed to be. Anangnost describes this drive 
with reference to Chinese socialism rather nicely: 

As a cultural code, socialist realism transcends its usual 
characterization as a mere protocol for art and literature 
and itself becomes a part of lived reality. The represen-
tation of society as it is desired to be, rather than as 
it really is, becomes a means to magically affect one’s 

The Anthropology of East Europe Review 
Volume 22 • Number 1 • Spring 2004 



15 the last dance 

sense of reality. It invites one to participate in the play of 

appearances, which for the moment becomes the reality 

(1994:147).
­
Rural workers rarely, if ever, put up such shows locally; 


their own festivities were not staged for intellectuals and 
tourists but included celebrations of harvests, religious 
holidays or rites of passage of various kinds (birth, bap-
tism, wedding, funeral). As soon as, however, their eleva-
tion into the limelight of national culture was achieved, 
these events became part of the official culture as color-
ful spectacles representing wishful realities. In Romania, 
such an elevation took an extreme form. It was called the 

“Cinterea Romaniei” (Song to Romania), a nation-wide 
festivals and folklore competitions. These pompous local, 
regional and national festivities ranked villages ethno-
graphically into acceptable and proper clusters. Groups, 
performers, singers and musicians were judged by experts, 
from various institutions in Bucharest, as to their level of 
authenticity, artistic merit and socially redeeming features. 
Schools, industrial firms, and agricultural cooperatives 
were urged to participate in these events to achieve fame 
and recognition. Most did and a few were recognized. In 
Hungarian communities in the Kalotaszeg region, teach-
ers were forced to create performing groups and to enter 
local and regional festivals and dance contests. Suddenly, 
old costumes were polished or fabricated anew and if 
there was none, they were invented. Similarly, dances and 
agricultural rituals were choreographed to reveal artistic 
flavor and characteristics. At times, teachers went to great 
lengths to stage something “exciting” and “new.” As one 
local teacher told me, “we could not afford to go to the fes-
tival every year with the same program.” Thus, new forms 
were invented or copied from elsewhere. Teachers also 
watched, however, that their programs did not replicate 
similar staged performances that were popular between 
1933 and 1944, a folkloristic pageantry created under a 
different ideological banner by the Hungarian state into 
which most Transylvanian Hungarians were also made to 
participate. [26] 

As far as the socialist state, and in fact as far as the 
pro-democratic countries of Eastern and Central Europe, 
are concerned the human body is a proper image of the 
world (Barkan 1975), but not quite just that: it is a proper 
image of the state as it is perceived. Since the state is a 
nation state and since, at least the early 1980s, nationality 
has created the idea about the reunification of the Hun-
garian nation, Transylvanian dance and folklore enjoy 
an immense popularity in Hungary. Hungarian state and 
national celebrations profusely mix Transylvanian peas-
ant regional dress, music and dance as organically part of 
Hungarian cultural imagery. Producing a valid and accept-
able national imagery is not a joke: regimes spend enor-
mous sums to offer a sanitized and colorful folklore for 

both home and international consumption (Kürti 2001). 
In this nationalist imagery Transylvanian Hungarians and 
their cultural products fit neatly as the state is bent on 
producing a valid and acceptable Hungarianness. Tran-
sylvanian dance, and through it Hungarian Transylvanian 
cultural history, is at the heart of this political mythmak-
ing and ideological kinetics of contemporary nation-state 
ideology. This is by no means unique to Hungary alone as 
similar mechanisms of elevating past greatness are well-
known in modern day politics elsewhere as well (Herzfeld 
1987; Nurth 1987). 

After 1989, both Romania and Hungary enjoyed a small 
but intense period of international fame. The former has 
been hailed for its brief civil war during Christmas of 1989, 
the latter for its peaceful, or to use the famous expression 

“velvet,” revolution. Both processes have been studied and 
analyzed in detail and I do not want to consider them here. 
It will suffice to mention, however briefly, that in both 
countries the 1990s witnessed similar socio-economic 
processes; single-party rule gave way to multi-party rep-
resentative governments, as private property has become 
the rule rather than an exception, and the states started 
to limit their presence in all aspects in civic, religious, 
and cultural life. Obviously there are differences between 
the way in which Hungary and Romania conduct their 
economic, financial and international businesses. But even 
in inter-ethnic relations the two states are rather similar: 
in Romania it is the Hungarian minority, in Hungary the 
Gypsy-Roma population which seem to be a source of 
headache for the regimes. 

Romania has enjoyed enormous international reputa-
tion in rekindling its Dracula cult by making it into a tour-
istic theme (Kürti 2000a), but for the Hungarians living in 
Romania tourism has been of a different vintage. Most of 
the travels back and forth between Hungary and Romania 
have been part of either visiting the relatives or as an ever 
growing mass of cultural tourism. This latter included a 
fair share of adventure seekers ready to experience the 
wilderness of the Harghita Mountains learned from school 
textbooks mainly through the novels of József Nyíró and 
Áron Tamási, and the various Transylvanian regions with 
Hungarian native populations there. Included in this was 
also the curiosity to witness the rapid transformation fol-
lowing the disappearance of the hated Ceausescu-clan and 
its nepotistic version of state communism. Changes were 
plenty. Aside from the usual touristic venues, Hungar-
ians now started to flock in increasing numbers to those 
settlements where visible transformations fundamentally 
altered daily life. These have often made the headlines in 
Hungary’s newspapers and television news. 

Since the early-1990s, the transformations in the small 
settlement of Zsobok has managed to make headlines in 
both regional as well as in national, at times even interna-

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16 László Kürti 

tional, media. This rise to stardom was facilitated by the 
eager spirit and energetic tempo dictated by the village’s 
new leaders—a husband and wife team, both protestant 
ministers—to create a model religious settlement. In the 
spirit of revival the couple decided to completely renovate 
the small church and the parish house, a feat that mobi-
lized local craftsmen and villagers. The new church was 
completed in 1992, and on October 15 it started services. 
It was a communal work and nobody received any money 
for it. Since then the beautifully carved ceiling (kazettás 
menyezet) has been the center of attention: both tourists 
from Hungary and those from the west are offered a tour 
even though the church itself is not of great age since it 
was completely rebuilt after the 1876 and 1908 fires. The 
next construction project was to build a paved road with 
hired hands. With their connections in Germany and 
Switzerland, help was on its way: machinery and techno-
logical know-how came to aid locals in this new Herculean 
task. Nearby village communities viewed all this with dis-
belief. Their feeling, however, soon turned to jealousy as in 
the spring of 1994 the village received a paved road. [27] 
Expenses were met in a curious way: Zsobok women were 
required to pay with their embroideries. Those who could 
not were asked to pay in cash. [28] The next project was 
the formation of a local cooperative. Following the Roma-
nian land reform law of 1991, [29] the villagers in Zsobok 
were able to take back their collectivized land. In a few 
days time the entire collective farm was dismantled and all 
the animals were divided according to the original number 
of animals that were collectivized in the early 1960s. The 
original enthusiasm, however, soon turned sour as villag-
ers realized that they were completely left on their own 
unaided by the Romanian state. The solution offered itself: 
to organize and create a mutual assistance cooperative. 
Machinery, fertilizer and seed were given by the protestant 
brethren in the West. In return, women did more embroi-
dery. At first it seemed like a wonderful dream come true: 
the cooperative produced well and individuals started 
to feel the benefit of organized farming. Soon, however, 
serious conflicts emerged as some families objected to 
the strict use of machinery and the uneven allocation of 
cultivated land monitored by the church leadership. The 
local engineer, who dared to object, was dismissed and a 
relative of the leadership was called in to replace him. 

Not letting go of the momentum, the leadership invented 
a new plan: to build an orphanage and boarding school, 
called Bethesda, on the property immediately next to the 
church. Again the bulk of the work, from stonemasonry 
to woodworking, was performed by locals, young and 
old, men and women. But the strenuous work tempo 
achieved its aim: by the fall of 1994, the Bethesda home 
and protestant-school had begun receiving children and 
started teaching. In 1996, the Bethesda orphanage, school 

and kindergarten were working in full swing. From this 
time, that name slowly became synonymous with Zsobok 
and outsiders often used them interchangeably. In order to 
provide the children with daily bread the next large-scale 
project was the completion of the flour-mill. This was an 
understandable choice. Bread had been brought to the vil-
lage from elsewhere and was a constant source of tension 
between locals and the bakery because of the low quality of 
bread produced. The Transylvanian Protestant Church also 
agreed to the building of an old-age home in the nearby visit 
of Sfaras, a project that was also entrusted to the Bethesda 
community. With all this economic rejuvenation life seemed 
to return to a place doomed to become a deserted no-man’s 
land. The settlement was a village where the kindergarten 
was closed in 1990 due to the lack of children and in the 
grade-school only four grades could be taught. By 1995, the 
school yard was noisy with children and teachers had to be 
hired to meet the increasing demand. 

With all these changes protestant ideology has entered 
into all spheres of educational, political and cultural life. 
Now, boys and girls are encouraged to dress in native dress 
during confirmation ritual, an attempt to revitalize local 
fashion to be used at some key moments in life when such 
clothing has obviously become part of museum collec-
tions. Youth are now encouraged to attend regular church 
services and lead a modest life as prescribed by the church 
leadership. As the result, church attendance has been on 
the rise, an increase due also to the presence of the school 
children at the orphanage. In addition, the revitalized 
village started to become a center of religious life (and 
politics) of the Transylvanian protestant church. Protes-
tant women and youth conferences have been regularly 
organized events there. 

But local leadership was not only controlling political 
and economic life. In the 1998 issue of the Transylva-
nian Protestant Calendar (Erdélyi Református Naptár) a 
one-page of text appeared with the title “Order is the soul 
of all things: Some important information of the ways of 
protestant communities.” The “order” reads like a code 
of morals and is structured in nine paragraphs offering 
a thesis-like summary what proper Protestants must and 
must not do. [30] Among the most important ones are 
the sanctity of Sunday and Sunday worship; during Lent 
all revelry is forbidden including weddings, baptisms, and 
christenings; individuals who committed suicide will not 
be buried by the church; those living an improper life must 
follow the code of penitence as specified; godparents must 
swear that they will educate their godchildren properly; 
and other restrictions concerning religiousness. However, 
what is rather striking is the fact that this code specifies 
that former folk customs had to be abandoned. These 
included: playing card games and drinking alcohol during 
wakes, organizing a dinner-dance during a baptismal feast, 

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17 the last dance 

and having a wedding lasting two days. Moreover the code 
specifies that: 

At weddings people should not take part in the proces-
sion with wine bottles in their hands, singing to the 
Gypsy music, and executing dance-calls. What should be 
avoided at any cost is dancing after the church ceremony 
in front of the church while waiting for the bride. [31] 
This code, however, was not only a printed message as 

the two preachers constantly referred to it during their ser-
mons. As has been customary in their sermons, both the 
husband and wife took great pleasures in convincing locals 
about the virtues of religious upbringing, regular church 
attendance, and the faithful following the New Testament. 
Their Sunday services have been exceptionally long lasting 
an hour-and-half or even two hours long services were not 
unknown. This was voiced to me by several informants as 
they complained about such a prolonged church service. 

Yet the leadership did not stop there. In 1994, a young 
couple had decided to open a small private store and a 
tavern in the village since the availability of groceries and 
alcohol was fairly limited. [32] Initially, the store itself 
was not a source of conflict but soon the sermons were 
directed towards the proprietors as the place turned into a 
local disco for village youth. At this time the targets were 
both the owners and the youngsters themselves—of course 
implied were the parents as well—who all participated 
collectively in “sinful” and “aimless” activity. The conflict 
reached its apex when the proprietor received a letter from 
the priest to close his store down. Since that did not hap-
pen, relationship between the establishment and the family 
simply stopped. According to one family member this is a 
disgrace and the whole village is shamed by having such a 
priest who is constantly trying to control local economic 
processes. In his words, “we are burning with shame” 
because of this extreme religious control. [33] 

Another, even more serious conflict, arose from the fact 
that the religious leaders were fairly obvious about control-
ling production and the economic resources in the village. 
Following the disbanding of the local state farm, land and 
animals were returned to their rightful owners. As it was 
customary, villagers originally established a separate sheep 
collective for the three sections but engaged in family 
farming on their land. Soon, however, problems arose. 
With the lack of shepherds, as well as enough households 
to keep separate sheep collectives (turma) villagers opted 
for having only a single large collective for grazing and 
milking sheep. With a general well-being on the increase, 
cows became more widespread and acceptable by most 
people, and sheep and goat were less prestigious animals 
to keep. This was not new, earlier wealthier families also 
opted for buffaloes and cows, but now the change to the 
larger animals was widespread. [34] In addition, with the 
supervision of the local priests one large sheep-collective 

was also formed and a farming collective membership 
encouraged. Most villagers opted for membership in the 
farming cooperative for two reasons only: first, machinery, 
seeds and fertilizers were owned by the cooperative, and 
second, it became obvious soon that family farming was 
not a viable alternative anymore. All this despite the fact 
that most people in the entire region abhorred the idea of 
being in cooperative farming again. 

In many ways the new construction plans brought salva-
tion to the villagers they otherwise could not even imagine. 
A small village was saved from becoming, if not extinct alto-
gether, certainly much smaller, marginal and poverty-ridden. 
The religious leaders, who were invited by the community, 
together with their local supporters, embarked on a plan 
which made Zsobok an ideal community. This was also a 
community with ideals. But they brought not only positive 
steps but consequently wrought havoc as well. For the lead-
ers recognition was not far away. This came, however, not 
from the Romanian but the neighboring Hungarian state. 
In late 1998, the husband and wife team received the newly 
created Prize for Minorities from the prime-minister of 
Hungary. [35] Ironically, when villagers today only remi-
nisce about their old time dancing and naughty wedding-
celebrations, the school-dance group—taught by teachers 
invited from the outside—is involved with learning steps 
and songs that once were characteristic of their region often 
taught by teachers from Hungary. 

Perhaps one explanation for this fundamentalism in ide-
als and actions must come from the repoliticized nature of 
Hungarian religion and social life with which Romania deals 
with since the early 1990s. [36] With the elevation of László 
Tőkés, the pastor inciting a popular protest in Romania in 
1989, into the national and in fact international limelight, all 
Hungarian minority politics has received a religious edge. At 
the same time, all matters deemed religious before have an 
enormous political overtone. The fusing of the religious and 
the political makes sense once we see how the new national 
identity-making have coalesced in Hungary and Romania 
allowing religious leaders to take an active part in politi-
cal life. [37] Another explanation could stress the fact that 
religious fundamentalism has become an accepted force and 
since 1989 it has been allowed to surface. With this in mind, 
it is easier to see why a young protestant couple would make 
Protestantism not only part of villagers’ religious belief but 
the very cornerstone of the totality of their existence. 

Conclusion 

In conclusion, I must argue that in the community 
described above there were two processes at work which 
contributed to the decline of dancing and dance activities 
in the past fifty years of the twentieth century. The first 
was a slow intricate development that took minority and 

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18 László Kürti 

majority groups by surprise: the making of the socialist 
nation-state of Romania. Following World War II, Roma-
nia experienced a shift from a monarchic pseudo-feudal-
ism to a Soviet-led domination of hard-core Stalinism. In 
this transformation rural areas were extremely hard hit. 
As the country was bent on industrializing, following the 
single-party rule in establishing communism, agriculture 
experienced a downturn in production and technological 
evolution. This was not that different from that of other 
Eastern European states experiencing a massive flight 
of men into industries and contemporaneous with that 
process was the femininization of poverty and agriculture. 
In Zsobok, similar to other small hamlets in Transylvania, 
depopulation, lack of investment funds, and misman-
aged agricultural policies were the causes of enormous 
economic backwardness. This urban-rural divide added 
more hardships to the already mounting minority Hun-
garian and majority Romanian friction. In this socioeco-
nomic pressure-cooker, villagers were slowly abandoning 
ancestral life-ways that connected them to agricultural 
cycles and rites of passage. At first, with modernization 
and technological development, dancing as an activity 
took on a more up-to-date look in its form and content. 
Village musicians, mostly Gypsies, started to play “modern” 
instruments: the accordion, drum, saxophone, guitar, and 
electric organ. By the 1980s, electrified musical instru-
ments, microphones and amplification yielded a sound 
that was more like distorted popular rock music. Balls 
and dances originally organized for age-group gatherings 
were fading out only to be replaced by discos with such a 
modern sound. 

By the late 1980s, there were no more Gypsy musicians 
invited to play at weddings from nearby settlements as 
custom would have it. With such a distorted modernization, 
young men—many of whom became mechanics, truck driv-
ers, and factory workers in distant cities only visiting their 
homes on weekends—did not favor, let alone learn dances 
deemed old-fashioned in their eyes. Consequently, older 
men would not dare perform solo in public anymore feeling 
ridiculed by the younger generations. By the 1980s, there 
were no more “bachelors” left who could perform the once-
so-famous bachelor’s dance. 

The other process I have analyzed has been equally ques-
tionable to say the least. Following the collapse of the much-
hated Ceausescu regime in Romania, ethnonational politics 
has suddenly reinvigorated Hungarian minority identity. 
In economic, religious and cultural matters Transylvanian 
Hungarians found themselves engulfed in a new political 
milieu. With the emergence of new concerns, reinstatement 
of former religious schools, reprivatization of collectivized 
land, and formation of a new ethnonational political party, 
Hungarianness received a hitherto unknown political edge. 
From 1990, all settlements with Hungarian population 

formed a local cell of the leading national party, the RMDSZ 
(UDMR in Romanian). Politics now has fused interchange-
ably with economic development and national cultural 
matters. New leaders came to the fore and Hungarian settle-
ments have begun to create an oppositional national culture 
against the Romanian state. This re-making of nationality on 
the local level has witnessed enormous strides in the small 
village introduced here. The religious leaders transformed 
the marginal and backward hamlet into a dream come true: 
a paved road, telephone service, a flour mill, a religious 
school, an orphanage, and a privately-owned but collectively 
organized farming cooperative. However, there was a price 
to be paid for all this. The new protestant spirit pervaded 
not only the economic and religious spheres but manifested 
itself in the cultural and educational ones as well. A definite 
call was made to abandon all practices deemed unfit for a 
pious and modest protestant community. This effort did not 
fall on deaf ears as denizens followed their leaders’ advice 
and in the process they were forced to give up some tradi-
tions. In no time, collective dancing in the church-yard and 
amusing dance-calls during the wedding procession had 
ceased to exist. What all this really seems to support is that 
peasants, whatever this term really entails (Shanin 1990), 
are a real enigma to the state and the elites, [38] especially, 
if these are also peasants who speak a different language, 
belong to a church other than the state’s own, and identify 
with a national community across the border. 

Malcolm Crick states that: “Human action is a semantic 
fabric, so any social investigation must be a conceptual 
inquiry” (1976:96). Similarly, anthropologists have long 
believed “that dance can be an important tool in the analysis 
of society. If that is so, it is not peripheral, but central to the 
study of society and the education of its citizens” (Brinson 
1985:213). The continual validity of these statements should 
certainly be demonstrated by scholars in various disciplines. 
Moreover, and this is what I want to stress here, adequate 
attention should also be given to the way in which the state 
performs this task according to overt or muted ideologi-
cal aims. Thus, state, society and citizens are engaged in 
interlocking negotiations and constructions that may or may 
not support harmony or progress. This is what the Transyl-
vanian case amply illustrates here. One of the most impor-
tant aspects of modern European states is how to inculcate 
political messages in citizens in order to make them faithful 
subjects of both the state and the nation and, at the same 
time, how they live up to the expected level of “European-
ness.” Songs, dance, rituals, and clothing are all part of the 
official trappings through which national celebrations and 
folkloric events achieve their aims to both subjugate and 
coerce citizens giving them the feeling that they participate 
in events that offer plenty of possibilities for joy, fun and rec-
reation. In this process, as the story of the bachelor’s dance 
demonstrates, some local traditions face their own death. In 

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19 the last dance 

the fall of 2003, all new states entering the European Union 
were keen in pushing for an extension of the EU Constitu-
tion to include Christianity as well as minority rights and 
culture. Politicians and church leaders, party officials and 
minority advocates from Romania and Hungary were 
involved with presenting an “objective” and “sound” claim 
for the pros and cons. Obviously, the case presented here 
offers a partial explanation why these neighborly democratic 
nation-states in the heart of Europe do not quite agree on 
aspects of religion, education and minority culture. 

EndNotes 

1 Sally Ann Ness has written that “Dance is, for some 
powerful reasons, the most shallowly interpreted art 
form in the contemporary United States” (1992:2). I am 
well aware of the fact that dance scholarship has experi-
enced an invaluable boost in its theoretical orientation in 
recent years (cf. for example, Farnell 2003; Morris 1998; 
Washabaugh 1998). Here, however, I cannot really enter 
into detailed discussion as to where it is heading to, espe-
cially in light of the post-modern turn. It could be a novel 
departure, however, to reveal some of the similarities and 
key differences between the US and European anthropo-
logical understandings of dance. 

2 I find it interesting that within the new departures 
in body and movement studies (Farnell 1999, 2003), the 
political questions in general, and Bloch in particular do 
not figure at all. 

3 There have been a plethora of recent attempts to 
describe the body—its use, symbolism and politiciza-
tion—in various historical and cultural settings, see for 
example, Butchart (1998); Costlow, Sandler, and Vowles 
(1993); Featherstone, Hepworth, and Turner (1991); Feher 
(1989); Ryan and Gordon (1994); Zito and Barlow (1994). 
However, there are few studies analyzing the body with 
regard to dance and movement. 

4 Here I do not wish to review dance research as has 
been produced in Hungary in the past decades. I have 
done that elsewhere (Kürti 2002, 1999) and here I refer 
to only a few English-language analyses that may aid the 
reader. 

5 Dance and wedding calls are shouted verses, mostly 
in paired couplets, that end with a high-pitched, rhythmic 
nonsense syllables shriek. Most calls have banal mes-
sages, but could be changed to their shocking opposite. 
Denizens of the village call this latter category “dirty-ones.” 
Some may also have magical messages having to do with 
preserving health, prosperity and fecundity. For texts and 
analysis of both kinds, see Kürti (2003). 

6 Traditional dance events go hand in hand with tradi-
tional dance descriptions offered by indigenous scholars and 
in contrast their adversaries, the other indigenous scholars, 

the Romanian researchers (Kürti 1999, 2002). In order to 
progress with caution I am not eager to describe the specif-
ics of Hungarian dancing and how they “belong” to the 
functionalist categories of Hungarian “dance culture,” for I 
have done that elsewhere in more detail and more critically 
(Kürti 1983a, 1983b, 1987, 1994, 1996). 

7 Among the forty or so villages in the region only two 
adhere to the Roman Catholic faith the rest being all prot-
estant. Protestantism in the Hungarian speaking areas is a 
special form known as the Reformed Church, a mixture of 
Calvinism and Lutheranism. For the region see Kürti (2000b). 

8 This gift-basket—“the branch of creation” as it is 
referred to literally by locals—is a large branch completely 
surrounded by sweets. Cakes and small cookies are hung 
on the branches in addition to ribbons and scarves. Even 
in the 1950s, these baskets were carried by women on their 
heads on their way to the site of a wedding celebration. 
Since the early 1960s, the baskets grew enormously in size 
making it impossible for one person to balance it on the 
top of one’s head. For a description of the wedding and 
its many-fold variations within the Kalotaszeg region see 
Vasas and Salamon (1986). 

9 In most villages of the region both rituals have been 
known. In Zsobok, only the tree-climb ritual—during 
which colorful scarves must be brought down by a 
bachelor from the groom’s party in order to continue with 
the bride’s farewell—survived. Elders, however, still recall 
these as highlights of wedding rites during their youth. 

10 This labor segmentation based on ethnicity started 
with the onslaught of industrialization when men left the 
village and migrant herders took their jobs mostly tending 
animals. But already in the early 20th century popular 
memory mentions only the presence of Romananian 
shepherds. In nearby villages, however, sheepherding 
was a regular profession for Hungarian families. I have 
summarized classic Hungarian ethnohistorical studies on 
sheepherding in this region see Kürti (1987). For a recent 
survey see Szabó (2002). 

11 Church records are conscpicously silent about 
intermarriages. Locals only mention one, possibly two 
marriages between Hungarians and Romanians. Obviously, 
there were youngsters who married outside their ethnicity 
but most of these marriage rituals did not take place in the 
village. 

12 A medical doctor living in the village during the 
early 1940s remarked about the contradictory conditions 
characteristic of poor families with an inclination toward 
extravagant lifestyle. She was, for example, appalled by the 
sight of dirt and the unkept rooms and, at the same time, 
the plenty of beautiful embroidery and colorful pottery on 
the walls (G. Czimmer 1944:10–11). 

13 Already during the late 19th century, a chalk-pit 
(gypsum, or calcium sulphate) was opened in the vicinity 

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20 László Kürti 

and also a mine for the low-quality amber that was found. 
Although both were mined during the first decades of the 
twentieth century giving jobs for a few dozen men neither, 
however, became viable industries. 

14 Working rituals connected to sheepherding in this 
region of Transylvania are described in Kürti (1987) and 
Szabó (2002). For comparative studies on sheepherding 
elsewhere in Europe see Campbell (1979), Kavanagh (1994), 
and Schweizer (1988). 

15 I have described the bachelor’s dance, its structure 
and local characteristics earlier (Kürti 1983b). 

16 Godparenthood and ritual brotherhood is a complex 
and intricate network that fundamentally effects kinship 
and social organization in Europe. A detailed discussion 
of this would require a separate treatment on its own but 
for an insightful English-language analysis of a similar, but 
not identical system among Hungarians in Transylvania, 
see Vincze (1977). 

17 These native terms are obviously heavily loaded 
words that may mean different things in different contexts. 
The gazda for instance, may refer to a master, head of the 
household, landlord, proprietor, owner, and so on. 

18 According to some historians (Burt 1998:68), the 
Charleston-type of move first appeared in Europe in 1925 
originally introduced by the famous African-American 
dancer, Josephine Baker, during her first performances 
in Paris. In light of the fact that Katherine Dunham also 
found this step in folk dances in Haiti (Burt 1998:70), one 
should view such introduction-theory with caution. 

19 Special and ornate closing figures of bachelor’s 
dances are remembered for generations. A few have been 
passed down to sons and grandsons as well. Such funny 
closing figures include shoving one hand between the legs 
from behind, simulating a penis; salutation like in the 
military; or performing difficult moves such as jumping up 
high and then immediately kneeling to the ground. 

20 Connected to this as well is the belief that young men 
show their best masculine characteristic when they have 
plenty of sexual experiences with women. The fairly open 
relationships in the small village community, however, 
prove it beyond the shadow of doubt that most of the 
youthful talk about having many lovers is part of men’s 
folkloric wishful thinking. 

21 There are some early descriptions of traditional 
village weddings from this region, see Gyarmathy (1896), 
and Jankó (1993). 

22 This label has a curious history. It first refers to the 
native knowledge that prestigious and excellent dancers 
are known to live in the village. Secondly, a “dancing-vil-
lage” label was attached to those Transylvanian commu-
nities who in the late 1930s and early 1940s entered into 
the national competition and participated in the Pearly 
Bouquet movement. 

23 Interview with Sándor Bódizs 1992, 1994, 1998.
­
24 See the discussion on historical ballet and 


choreographic works by Mark Franko (1993:4).
­
25 The comparison of the two neighbouring states 

is not without its benefits as I have tried to show in my 
book (Kürti 2001a). For another, though rather different, 
attempt see Barkey (2000). 

26 This was the Pearly Bouquet folkloristic movement 
that I have discussed elsewhere in more detail (Kürti 
2001a, 2002). 

27 The organic connection between religious funda-
mentalism and the construction projects may be seen in 
the small English-language brochure published locally: 

“The visitor who arrives to the village on the newly built 
road, before he can be amazed at what people have built, 
first meets the stone on which is written: “Soli Deo Gloria” 
and also the words of the Scripture: “In all thy ways 
acknowledge him, and He shall direct thy paths” (Prov. 
3:6). 

28 In this context it should be mentioned that the 
region of Kalotaszeg has been known for its ornateness in 
embroideries and woodcarving. The local saying illustrates 
this well but it does also reflect gender division of labor 
as well: “Men do woodcarving, women embroidery.” At 
present, the famous Zsobok embroidery is not the 
colorful needlework so well known in Kalotaszeg but the 
completely white fine needlework. 

29 Decollectivization has received a fairly large share in 
the anthropological attention of post-communist Eastern 
Europe. For recent analyses on the Transylvanian situation 
see Cartwright (2000a, 2000b). 

30 I am in no way representing this case as a judgment 
of all protestant communities or how ministers attempt 
to control and regulate traditional practices. It is also far 
from me to argue that all protestant leaders behave in such 
a strict manner. I have known others who have them-
selves enjoyed village traditions as they were and never 
attempted to influence the way in which locals organized 
their rituals and dances. 

31 The Code of Morals was printed by the editors of the 
Transylvanian Protestant Calendar (Kolozsvár: Erdélyi 
Református Egyházkerület, 1998, 28). The Calendar is 
published yearly by the Transylvanian Protestant Bishopry, 
with the assistance of the Protestant College of Theology 
in Kolozsvár. 

32 This is not to say that there is no home-made alcohol 
available. There is and plenty of it. However, household 
comsumption is one thing, and visiting the local tavern 
and disco is quite another because for young people, 
meeting and carousing had largely stopped once they 
finished school. 

33 The word “burning” here is also a reference to sad 

previous events in the community’s history: the village 


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21 the last dance 

was burned completely to the ground in 1876, 1908, and 
1911 due to carelessness as well as the straw used for roofs. 
Since then there is the saying in the village: “burned like 
Zsobok three times in its history.” 

34 Interestingly, Kavanagh (1994:127) also describes 
this shift in central Spain among cattle and goat herders 
following the country’s admittance into the European 
Community. 

35 The ceremony, with a picture of the leaders and the 
prime-minister, did make the headlines in Hungary’s 
dailies, see, Népszabadság, 1998, December 19, p. 5. It 
should be added here that Viktor Orbán, prime-minister of 
Hungary between 1998 and 2002, is also a devout protestant. 

36 For the connection between religion and the emer-
gence of new nation-states see the chapters in Wolf (1991). 

37 For those interested in the political role of the prot-
estant leaders in Hungarian national politics I recommend 
Pungur (1994, 1999). 

38 Monique Nuijten (2003:196), in the Mexican context 
writes similarly: “peasants have a complicated and contra-
dictory relation with the Mexican state.” 

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23 the last dance 

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The Anthropology of East Europe Review 
Volume 22 • Number 1 • Spring 2004