From -The Gentlemen's Book of Etiquette and
Manual of Politeness by Cecil B. Hartley
ETIQUETTE FOR THE BALL ROOM.
Of all the amusements open for young people,
none is more delightful and more popular than dancing. Lord Chesterfield, in
his letters to his son, says: “Dancing is, in itself, a very trifling and silly
thing; but it is one of those established follies to which people of sense are
sometimes obliged to conform; and then they should be able to do it well. And,
though I would not have you a dancer, yet, when you do dance, I would have you
dance well, as I would have you do everything you do well.” In another letter,
he writes: “Do you mind your dancing while your dancing master is with you? As
you will be often under the necessity of dancing a minuet, I would have you
dance it very well. Remember that the graceful motion of the arms, the giving
of your hand, and the putting off and putting on of your hat genteelly, are the
material parts of a gentleman’s dancing. But the greatest advantage of dancing
well is, that it necessarily teaches you to present yourself, to sit, stand,
and walk genteelly; all of which are of real importance to a man of fashion.”
Although the days are over when gentlemen
carried their hats into ball rooms and danced minuets, there are useful hints
in the quotations given above. Nothing will give ease of manner and a graceful
carriage to a gentleman more surely than the knowledge of dancing. He will, in
its practice, acquire easy motion, a light step, and learn to use both hands
and feet well. What can be more awkward than a man who continually finds his
hands and feet in his way, and, by his fussy movements, betrays his trouble? A
good dancer never feels this embarrassment, consequently he never appears aware
of the existence of his feet, and carries his hands and arms gracefully. Some
people being bashful and afraid of attracting attention in a ball room or
evening party, do not take lessons in dancing, overlooking the fact that it is
those who do not partake of the amusement on such occasions, not those
who do, that attract attention. To all such gentlemen I would say; Learn to
dance. You will find it one of the very best plans for correcting bashfulness.
Unless you possess the accomplishments that are common in polite society, you
can neither give nor receive all the benefits that can be derived from social
intercourse.
When you receive an invitation to a ball, answer
it immediately.
If you go alone, go from the dressing-room to
the ball room, find your host and hostess, and speak first to them; if there
are several ladies in the house, take the earliest opportunity of paying your
respects to each of them, and invite one of them to dance with you the first
dance. If she is already engaged, you should endeavor to engage her for a dance
later in the evening, and are then at liberty to seek a partner amongst the
guests.
When you
have engaged a partner for a dance, you should go to her a few moments before
the set for which you have engaged her will be formed, that you may not be
hurried in taking your places upon the floor. Enquire whether she prefers the
head or side place in the set, and take the position she names.
In inviting a lady to dance with you, the words,
“Will you honor me with your hand for a quadrille?” or, “Shall I have
the honor of dancing this set with you?” are more used now than “Shall I
have the pleasure?” or, “Will you give me the pleasure of dancing
with you?”
Offer a lady your arm to lead her to the
quadrille, and in the pauses between the figures endeavor to make the duty of
standing still less tiresome by pleasant conversation. Let the subjects be
light, as you will be constantly interrupted by the figures in the dance. There
is no occasion upon which a pleasant flow of small talk is more àpropos,
and agreeable than in a ball room.
When the dance is over, offer your arm to your
partner, and enquire whether she prefers to go immediately to her seat, or
wishes to promenade. If she chooses the former, conduct her to her seat, stand
near her a few moments, chatting, then bow, and give other gentlemen an
opportunity of addressing her. If she prefers to promenade, walk with her until
she expresses a wish to sit down. Enquire, before you leave her, whether you
can be of any service, and, if the supper-room is open, invite her to go in
there with you.
You will pay a delicate compliment and one that
will certainly be appreciated, if, when a lady declines your invitation to
dance on the plea of fatigue or fear of fatigue, you do not seek another
partner, but remain with the lady you have just invited, and thus imply that
the pleasure of talking with, and being near, her, is greater than that of
dancing with another.
Let your hostess understand that you are at her
service for the evening, that she may have a prospect of giving her wall
flowers a partner, and, however unattractive these may prove, endeavor to make
yourself as agreeable to them as possible.
Your conduct will differ if you escort a lady to
a ball. Then your principal attentions must be paid to her. You must call for
her punctually at the hour she has appointed, and it is your duty to provide
the carriage. You may carry her a bouquet if you will, this is optional. A more
elegant way of presenting it is to send it in the afternoon with your card, as,
if you wait until evening, she may think you do not mean to present one, and
provide one for herself.
When you arrive at your destination, leave the
carriage, and assist her in alighting; then escort her to the lady’s
dressing-room, leave her at the door, and go to the gentlemen’s dressing-room.
As soon as you have arranged your own dress, go again to the door of the lady’s
room, and wait until your companion comes out. Give her your left arm and
escort her to the ball room; find the hostess and lead your companion to her.
When they have exchanged greetings, lead your lady to a seat, and then engage
her for the first dance. Tell her that while you will not deprive others of the
pleasure of dancing with her, you are desirous of dancing with her whenever she
is not more pleasantly engaged, and before seeking a partner for any other set,
see whether your lady is engaged or is ready to dance again with you. You must
watch during the evening, and, while you do not force your attentions upon her,
or prevent others from paying her attention, you must never allow her to be
alone, but join her whenever others are not speaking to her. You must take her
in to supper, and be ready to leave the party, whenever she wishes to do so.
If the ball is given in your own house, or at
that of a near relative, it becomes your duty to see that every lady, young or
old, handsome or ugly, is provided with a partner, though the oldest and
ugliest may fall to your own share.
Never stand up to dance unless you are perfect
master of the step, figure, and time of that dance. If you make a mistake you
not only render yourself ridiculous, but you annoy your partner and the others
in the set.
If you have come alone to a ball, do not devote
yourself entirely to any one lady. Divide your attentions
amongst several, and never dance twice in succession with the same partner.
amongst several, and never dance twice in succession with the same partner.
To affect an air of secrecy or mystery when
conversing in a ball-room is a piece of impertinence for which no lady of
delicacy will thank you.
When you conduct your partner to her seat, thank
her for the pleasure she has conferred upon you, and do not remain too long
conversing with her.
Give your partner your whole attention when
dancing with her. To let your eyes wander round the room, or to make remarks
betraying your interest in others, is not flattering, as she will not be
unobservant of your want of taste.
Be very careful not to forget an engagement. It
is an unpardonable breach of politeness to ask a lady to dance with you, and
neglect to remind her of her promise when the time to redeem it comes.
A dress coat, dress boots, full suit of black,
and white or very light kid gloves must be worn in a ball room. A white
waistcoat and cravat are sometimes worn, but this is a matter of taste.
Never wait until the music commences before
inviting a lady to dance with you.
If one lady refuses you, do not ask another who
is seated near her to dance the same set. Do not go immediately to another
lady, but chat a few moments with the one whom you first invited, and then join
a group or gentlemen friends for a few moments, before seeking another partner.
Never dance without gloves. This is an
imperative rule. It is best to carry two pair, as in the contact with dark
dresses, or in handing refreshments, you may soil the pair you wear on entering
the room, and will thus be under the necessity of offering your hand covered by
a soiled glove, to some fair partner. You can slip unperceived from the room,
change the soiled for a fresh pair, and then avoid that mortification.
If your partner has a bouquet, handkerchief, or
fan in her hand, do not offer to carry them for her. If she finds they
embarrass her, she will request you to hold them for her, but etiquette requires
you not to notice them, unless she speaks of them first.
Do not be
the last to leave the ball room. It is more elegant to leave early, as staying
too late gives others the impression that you do not often have an invitation
to a ball, and must “make the most of it.”
Some gentlemen linger at a private ball until all
the ladies have left, and then congregate in the supper-room, where they remain
for hours, totally regardless of the fact that they are keeping the wearied
host and his servants from their rest. Never, as you value your reputation as a
gentleman of refinement, be among the number of these “hangers on.”
The author of a recent work on etiquette,
published in England, gives the following hints for those who go to balls. He
says:—
“When inviting a lady to dance, if she replies
very politely, asking to be excused, as she does not wish to dance (‘with you,’
being probably her mental reservation), a man ought to be satisfied. At all
events, he should never press her to dance after one refusal. The set forms
which Turveydrop would give for the invitation are too much of the deportment
school to be used in practice. If you know a young lady slightly, it is
sufficient to say to her, ‘May I have the pleasure of dancing this waltz,
&c., with you?’ or if intimately, ‘Will you dance, Miss A—?’ The young lady
who has refused one gentleman, has no right to accept another for that dance;
and young ladies who do not wish to be annoyed, must take care not to accept
two gentlemen for the same dance. In Germany such innocent blunders often cause
fatal results. Two partners arrive at the same moment to claim the fair one’s
hand; she vow she has not made a mistake; ‘was sure she was engaged to Herr A—,
and not to Herr B—;’ Herr B— is equally certain that she was engaged to him.
The awkwardness is, that if he at once gives her up, he appears to be
indifferent about it; while, if he presses his suit, he must quarrel with Herr
A—, unless the damsel is clever enough to satisfy both of them; and
particularly if there is an especial interest in Herr B—, he yields at last,
but when the dance is over, sends a friend to Herr A—. Absurd as all this is,
it is common, and I have often seen one Herr or the other walking about with a
huge gash on his cheek, or his arm in a sling, a few days after a ball.
“Friendship, it appears, can be let out on hire.
The lady who was so very amiable to you last night, has a right to ignore your
existence to-day. In fact, a ball room acquaintance rarely goes any farther,
until you have met at more balls than one. In the same way a man cannot, after
being introduced to a young lady to dance with, ask her to do so more than
twice in the same evening. A man may dance four or even five times with the
same partner. On the other hand, a real well-bred man will wish to be useful,
and there are certain people whom it is imperative on him to ask to dance—the
daughters of the house, for instance, and any young ladies whom he may know
intimately; but most of all the well-bred and amiable man will sacrifice
himself to those plain, ill-dressed, dull looking beings who cling to the wall,
unsought and despairing. After all, he will not regret his good nature. The
spirits reviving at the unexpected invitation, the wall-flower will pour out
her best conversation, will dance her best, and will show him her gratitude in
some way or other.
“The formal bow at the end of a quadrille has
gradually dwindled away. At the end of every dance you offer your right arm to
your partner, (if by mistake you offer the left, you may turn the blunder into
a pretty compliment, by reminding her that is le bras du cœur, nearest
the heart, which if not anatomically true, is, at least, no worse than talking
of a sunset and sunrise), and walk half round the room with her. You then ask
her if she will take any refreshment, and, if she accepts, you convey your
precious allotment of tarlatane to the refreshment room to be invigorated by an
ice or negus, or what you will. It is judicious not to linger too long in this
room, if you are engaged to some one else for the next dance. You will have the
pleasure of hearing the music begin in the distant ball room, and of reflecting
that an expectant fair is sighing for you like Marianna—
“He cometh not,” she said. She said, “I am a-weary a-weary, I would I were in bed;”
which is not an unfrequent wish in some ball
rooms. A well-bred girl, too, will remember this, and always offer to return to
the ball room, however interesting the conversation.
“If you are prudent you will not dance every
dance, nor in fact, much more than half the number on the list; you will then
escape that hateful redness of face at the time, and that wearing fatigue the
next day which are among the worst features of a ball. Again, a gentleman must
remember that a ball is essentially a lady’s party, and in their presence he
should be gentle and delicate almost to a fault, never pushing his way,
apologizing if he tread on a dress, still more so if he tears it, begging
pardon for any accidental annoyance he may occasion, and addressing every body
with a smile. But quite unpardonable are those men whom one sometimes meets,
who, standing in a door-way, talk and laugh as they would in a barrack or
college-rooms, always coarsely, often indelicately. What must the state of
their minds be, if the sight of beauty, modesty, and virtue, does not awe them
into silence! A man, too, who strolls down the room with his head in the air,
looking as if there were not a creature there worth dancing with, is an
ill-bred man, so is he who looks bored; and worse than all is he who takes too
much champagne.
“If you are dancing with a young lady when the
supper-room is opened, you must ask her if she would like to go to supper, and
if she says ‘yes,’ which, in 999 cases out of 1000, she certainly will do, you
must take her thither. If you are not dancing, the lady of the house will
probably recruit you to take in some chaperon. However little you may relish
this, you must not show your disgust. In fact, no man ought to be disgusted at
being able to do anything for a lady; it should be his highest privilege, but
it is not—in these modern unchivalrous days—perhaps never was so. Having placed
your partner then at the supper-table, if there is room there, but if not at a
side-table, or even at none, you must be as active as Puck in attending to her
wants, and as women take as long to settle their fancies in edibles as in
love-matters, you had better at once get her something substantial, chicken, pâté
de foie gras, mayonnaise, or what you will. Afterwards come jelly
and trifle in due course.
“A young lady often goes down half-a-dozen times
to the supper-room—it is to be hoped not for the purpose of eating—but she
should not do so with the same partner more than once. While the lady is
supping you must stand by and talk to her, attending to every want, and the
most you may take yourself is a glass of champagne when you help her. You then
lead her up stairs again, and if you are not wanted there any more, you may
steal down and do a little quiet refreshment on your own account. As long,
however, as there are many ladies still at the table, you have no right to
begin. Nothing marks a man here so much as gorging at supper. Balls are meant
for dancing, not eating, and unfortunately too many young men forget this in
the present day. Lastly, be careful what you say and how you dance after
supper, even more so than before it, for if you in the slightest way displease
a young lady, she may fancy that you have been too partial to strong fluids,
and ladies never forgive that. It would be hard on the lady of the house if
every body leaving a large ball thought it necessary to wish her good night. In
quitting a small dance, however, a parting bow is expected. It is then that the
pretty daughter of the house gives you that sweet smile of which you dream
afterwards in a gooseberry nightmare of ‘tum-tum-tiddy-tum,’ and waltzes à
deux temps, and masses of tarlatane and bright eyes, flushed cheeks and
dewy glances. See them to-morrow, my dear fellow, it will cure you.
“I think flirtation comes under the head of
morals more than of manners; still I may be allowed to say that ball room
flirtation being more open is less dangerous than any other. A prudent man will
never presume on a girl’s liveliness or banter. No man of taste ever made an
offer after supper, and certainly nine-tenths of those who have done so have
regretted it at breakfast the next morning.
“At public balls there are generally either
three or four stewards on duty, or a professional master of ceremonies. These
gentlemen having made all the arrangements, order the dances, and have power to
change them if desirable. They also undertake to present young men to ladies,
but it must be understood that such an introduction is only available for one
dance. It is better taste to ask the steward to introduce you simply to a
partner, than to point out any lady in particular. He will probably then ask
you if you have a choice, and if not, you may be certain he will take you to an
established wall-flower. Public balls are scarcely enjoyable unless you have
your own party.
“As the great charm of a ball is its perfect
accord and harmony, all altercations, loud talking, &c., are doubly
ill-mannered in a ball room. Very little suffices to disturb the peace of the
whole company.”
The same author gives some hints upon dancing
which are so excellent that I need make no apology for quoting them. He says:—
“‘Thank you—aw—I do not dance,’ is now a very
common reply from a well-dressed, handsome man, who is leaning against the side
of the door, to the anxious, heated hostess, who feels it incumbent on her to
find a partner for poor Miss Wallflower. I say the reply is not only common,
but even regarded as rather a fine one to make. In short, men of the present
day don’t, won’t, or can’t dance; and you can’t make them do it, except by
threatening to give them no supper. I really cannot discover the reason for
this aversion to an innocent amusement, for the apparent purpose of enjoying
which they have spent an hour and a half on their toilet. There is something,
indeed, in the heat of a ball room, there is a great deal in the ridiculous
smallness of the closets into which the ball-giver crowds two hundred people,
with a cruel indifference only equalled by that of the black-hole of Calcutta,
expecting them to enjoy themselves, when the ladies’ dresses are crushed and
torn, and the gentlemen, under the despotism of theirs, are melting away almost
as rapidly as the ices with which an occasional waiter has the heartlessness to
insult them. Then, again, it is a great nuisance to be introduced to a
succession of plain, uninteresting young women, of whose tastes, modes of life,
&c., you have not the slightest conception: who may look gay, yet have
never a thought beyond the curate and the parish, or appear to be serious,
while they understand nothing but the opera and So-and-so’s ball—in fact, to be
in perpetual risk of either shocking their prejudices, or plaguing them with
subjects in which they can have no possible interest; to take your chance
whether they can dance at all, and to know that when you have lighted on a real
charmer, perhaps the beauty of the room, she is only lent to you for that
dance, and, when that is over, and you have salaamed away again, you and she
must remain to one another as if you had never met; to feel, in short, that you
must destroy either your present comfort or future happiness, is certainly
sufficiently trying to keep a man close to the side-posts of the doorway. But
these are reasons which might keep him altogether from a ball room, and, if he
has these and other objections to dancing, he certainly cannot be justified in
coming to a place set apart for that sole purpose.
“But I suspect that there are other reasons, and
that, in most cases, the individual can dance and does
dance at times, but has now a vulgar desire to be distinguished from the rest of his sex present, and to appear indifferent to the pleasures of the evening. If this be his laudable desire, however he might, at least, be consistent, and continue to cling to his door-post, like St. Sebastian to his tree, and reply throughout the evening, ‘Thank you, I don’t take refreshments;’ ‘Thank you, I can’t eat supper;’ ‘Thank you, I don’t talk;’ ‘Thank you, I don’t drink champagne,’—for if a ball room be purgatory, what a demoniacal conflict does a supper-room present; if young ladies be bad for the heart, champagne is worse for the head.
dance at times, but has now a vulgar desire to be distinguished from the rest of his sex present, and to appear indifferent to the pleasures of the evening. If this be his laudable desire, however he might, at least, be consistent, and continue to cling to his door-post, like St. Sebastian to his tree, and reply throughout the evening, ‘Thank you, I don’t take refreshments;’ ‘Thank you, I can’t eat supper;’ ‘Thank you, I don’t talk;’ ‘Thank you, I don’t drink champagne,’—for if a ball room be purgatory, what a demoniacal conflict does a supper-room present; if young ladies be bad for the heart, champagne is worse for the head.
“No, it is the will, not the power to dance
which is wanting, and to refuse to do so, unless for a really good reason, is
not the part of a well-bred man. To mar the pleasure of others is obviously bad
manners, and, though at the door-post, you may not be in the way, you may be
certain that there are some young ladies longing to dance, and expecting to be
asked, and that the hostess is vexed and annoyed by seeing them fixed, like
pictures, to the wall. It is therefore the duty of every man who has no
scruples about dancing, and purposes to appear at balls, to learn how to dance.
“In the present day the art is much simplified,
and if you can walk through a quadrille, and perform a polka, waltz, or galop,
you may often dance a whole evening through. Of course, if you can add to these
the Lancers, Schottische, and Polka-Mazurka, you will have more variety, and
can be more generally agreeable. But if your master or mistress [a man learns
better from the former] has stuffed into your head some of the three hundred
dances which he tells you exist, the best thing you can do is to forget them
again. Whether right or wrong, the number of usual dances is limited, and
unusual ones should be very sparingly introduced into a ball, for as few people
know them, their dancing, on the one hand, becomes a mere display, and, on the
other, interrupts the enjoyment of the majority.
“The quadrille is pronounced to be essentially a
conversational dance, but, inasmuch as the figures are perpetually calling you
away from your partner, the first necessity for dancing a quadrille is to be
supplied with a fund of small talk, in which you can go from subject to subject
like a bee from flower to flower. The next point is to carry yourself
uprightly. Time was when—as in the days of the minuet de la cour—the
carriage constituted the dance. This is still the case with the quadrille, in
which, even if ignorant of the figures, you may acquit yourself well by a calm,
graceful carriage. After all, the most important figure is the smile,
and the feet may be left to their fate, if we know what to do with our hands;
of which I may observe that they should never be pocketed.
“The smile is essential. A dance is supposed to
amuse, and nothing is more out of place in it than a gloomy scowl, unless it be
an ill-tempered frown. The gaiety of a dance is more essential than the
accuracy of its figures, and if you feel none yourself, you may, at least, look
pleased by that of those around you. A defiant manner is equally obnoxious. An
acquaintance of mine always gives me the impression, when he advances in l’été,
that he is about to box the lady who comes to meet him. But the most
objectionable of all is the supercilious manner. Dear me, if you really think
you do your partner an honor in dancing with her, you should, at least,
remember that your condescension is annulled by the manner in which you treat
her.
“A lady—beautiful word!—is a delicate creature,
one who should be reverenced and delicately treated. It is, therefore,
unpardonable to rush about in a quadrille, to catch hold of a lady’s hand as if
it were a door-handle, or to drag her furiously across the room, as if you were
Bluebeard and she Fatima, with the mysterious closet opposite to you. This brusque
violent style of dancing is, unfortunately, common, but immediately stamps a
man. Though I would not have you wear a perpetual simper, you should certainly
smile when you take a lady’s hand, and the old custom of bowing in doing so, is
one that we may regret; for, does she not confer an honor on us by the action?
To squeeze it, on the other hand, is a gross familiarity, for which you would
deserve to be kicked out of the room.
“‘Steps,’ as the chasser of the quadrille
is called, belong to a past age, and even ladies are now content to walk
through a quadrille. It is, however, necessary to keep time with the music, the
great object being the general harmony. To preserve this, it is also advisable,
where the quadrille, as is now generally the case, is danced by two long lines
of couples down the room, that in l’été, and other figures, in which a
gentleman and lady advance alone to meet one another, none but gentlemen should
advance from the one side, and, therefore, none but ladies from the other.
“Dancing masters find it convenient to introduce
new figures, and the fashion of La Trénise and the Grande Ronde
is repeatedly changing. It is wise to know the last mode, but not to insist on dancing
it. A quadrille cannot go on evenly if any confusion arises from the ignorance,
obstinacy, or inattention of any one of the dancers. It is therefore useful to
know every way in which a figure may be danced, and to take your cue from the
others. It is amusing, however, to find how even such a trifle as a choice of
figures in a quadrille can help to mark caste, and give a handle for
supercilious sneers. Jones, the other day, was protesting that the Browns were
‘vulgar.’ ‘Why so? they are well-bred.’ ‘Yes, so they are.’ ‘They are
well-informed.’ ‘Certainly.’ ‘They are polite, speak good English, dress
quietly and well, are graceful and even elegant.’ ‘I grant you all that.’ ‘Then
what fault can you find with them?’ ‘My dear fellow, they are people who gallop
round in the last figure of a quadrille,’ he replied, triumphantly. But to a
certain extent Jones is right. Where a choice is given, the man of taste will
always select for a quadrille (as it is a conversational dance) the quieter
mode of performing a figure, and so the Browns, if perfect in other respects,
at least were wanting in taste. There is one alteration lately introduced from
France, which I sincerely trust, will be universally accepted. The farce of
that degrading little performance called ‘setting’—where you dance before your
partner somewhat like Man Friday before Robinson Crusoe, and then as if your
feelings were overcome, seize her hands and whirl her round—has been finally
abolished by a decree of Fashion, and thus more opportunity is given for
conversation, and in a crowded room you have no occasion to crush yourself and
partner between the couples on each side of you.
“I do not attempt to deny that the quadrille, as
now walked, is ridiculous; the figures, which might be graceful, if performed
in a lively manner, have entirely lost their spirit, and are become a burlesque
of dancing; but, at the same time, it is a most valuable dance. Old and young,
stout and thin, good dancers and bad, lazy and active, stupid and clever,
married and single, can all join in it, and have not only an excuse and
opportunity for tête-à-tête conversation, which is decidedly the
easiest, but find encouragement in the music, and in some cases convenient
breaks in the necessity of dancing. A person of few ideas has time to collect
them while the partner is performing, and one of many can bring them out with
double effect. Lastly, if you wish to be polite or friendly to an acquaintance
who dances atrociously, you can select a quadrille for him or her, as the case
may be.
“Very different in object and principle are the
so-called round dances, and there are great limitations as to those who should
join in them. Here the intention is to enjoy a peculiar physical movement under
peculiar conditions, and the conversation during the intervals of rest is only
a secondary object. These dances demand activity and lightness, and should
therefore be, as a rule, confined to the young. An old man sacrifices all his
dignity in a polka, and an old woman is ridiculous in a waltz. Corpulency, too,
is generally a great impediment, though some stout people prove to be the
lightest dancers.
“The morality of round dances scarcely comes
within my province. They certainly can be made very indelicate; so can any
dance, and the French cancan proves that the quadrille is no safer in
this respect than the waltz. But it is a gross insult to our daughters and
sisters to suppose them capable of any but the most innocent and purest
enjoyment in the dance, while of our young men I will say, that to the pure all
things are pure. Those who see harm in it, are those in whose mind evil
thoughts must have arisen. Honi soit qui mal y pense. Those who rail
against dancing are perhaps not aware that they do but follow in the steps of
the Romish Church. In many parts of the Continent, bishops who have never
danced in their lives, and perhaps never seen a dance, have laid a ban of
excommunication on waltzing. A story was told to me in Normandy of the worthy
Bishop of Bayeux, one of this number. A priest of his diocese petitioned him to
put down round dances. ‘I know nothing about them,’ replied the prelate, ‘I
have never seen a waltz.’ Upon this the younger ecclesiastic attempted to
explain what it was and wherein the danger lay, but the bishop could not see
it. ‘Will Monseigneur permit me to show him?’ asked the priest. ‘Certainly. My
chaplain here appears to understand the subject; let me see you two waltz.’ How
the reverend gentlemen came to know so much about it does not appear, but they
certainly danced a polka, a gallop, and a trois-temps waltz. ‘All these
seem harmless enough.’ ‘Oh! but Monseigneur has not seen the worst;’ and
thereupon the two gentlemen proceeded to flounder through a valse à
deux-temps. They must have murdered it terribly, for they were not half
round the room when his Lordship cried out, ‘Enough, enough, that is atrocious,
and deserves excommunication.’ Accordingly this waltz was forbid, while the
other dances were allowed. I was at a public ball at Caen soon after this occurrence,
and was amused to find the trois-temps danced with a peculiar shuffle,
by way of compromise between conscience and pleasure.
“There are people in this country whose logic is
as good as that of the Bishop of Bayeux, but I confess my inability to understand
it. If there is impropriety in round dances, there is the same in all. But to
the waltz, which poets have praised and preachers denounced. The French, with
all their love of danger, waltz atrociously, the English but little better; the
Germans and Russians alone understand it. I could rave through three pages
about the innocent enjoyment of a good waltz, its grace and beauty, but I will
be practical instead, and give you a few hints on the subject.
“The position is the most important point. The
lady and gentleman before starting should stand exactly opposite to one
another, quite upright, and not, as is so common, painfully close to one
another. If the man’s hand be placed where it should be, at the centre of the
lady’s waist, and not all round it, he will have as firm a hold and not be
obliged to stoop, or bend to his right. The lady’s head should then be turned a
little towards her left shoulder, and her partner’s somewhat less towards his
right, in order to preserve the proper balance. Nothing can be more atrocious
than to see a lady lay her head on her partner’s shoulder; but, on the other
hand, she will not dance well, if she turns it in the opposite direction. The
lady again should throw her head and shoulders a little back, and the man lean
a very little forward.
“The position having been gained, the step is
the next question. In Germany the rapidity of the waltz is very great, but it
is rendered elegant by slackening the pace every now and then, and thus giving
a crescendo and decrescendo time to the movement. The Russian men
undertake to perform in waltzing the same feat as the Austrians in riding, and
will dance round the room with a glass of champagne in the left hand without
spilling a drop. This evenness in waltzing is certainly very graceful, but can
only be attained by a long sliding step, which is little practised where the
rooms are small, and people, not understanding the real pleasure of dancing
well, insist on dancing all at the same time. In Germany they are so alive to
the necessity of ample space, that in large balls a rope is drawn across the
room; its two ends are held by the masters of the ceremonies pro-tem.,
and as one couple stops and retires, another is allowed to pass under the rope
and take its place. But then in Germany they dance for the dancing’s sake.
However this may be, an even motion is very desirable, and all the abominations
which militate against it, such as hop-waltzes, the Schottische, and ridiculous
Varsovienne, are justly put down in good society. The pace, again,
should not be sufficiently rapid to endanger other couples. It is the
gentleman’s duty to steer, and in crowded rooms nothing is more trying.
He must keep his eyes open and turn them in every direction, if he would not
risk a collision, and the chance of a fall, or what is as bad, the infliction
of a wound on his partner’s arm. I have seen a lady’s arm cut open in such a
collision by the bracelet of that of another lady; and the sight is by no means
a pleasant one in a ball room, to say nothing of a new dress covered in a
moment with blood.
“The consequences of violent dancing may be
really serious. Not only do delicate girls bring on, thereby, a violent
palpitation of the heart, and their partners appear in a most disagreeable
condition of solution, but dangerous falls ensue from it. I have known
instances of a lady’s head being laid open, and a gentleman’s foot being broken
in such a fall, resulting, poor fellow! in lameness for life.
“It is, perhaps, useless to recommend flat-foot
waltzing in this country, where ladies allow themselves to be almost hugged by
their partners, and where men think it necessary to lift a lady almost off the
ground, but I am persuaded that if it were introduced, the outcry against the
impropriety of waltzing would soon cease. Nothing can be more delicate than the
way in which a German holds his partner. It is impossible to dance on the flat
foot unless the lady and gentleman are quite free of one another. His hand, therefore,
goes no further round her waist than to the hooks and eyes of her dress, hers,
no higher than to his elbow. Thus danced, the waltz is smooth, graceful, and
delicate, and we could never in Germany complain of our daughter’s languishing
on a young man’s shoulder. On the other hand, nothing is more graceless and
absurd than to see a man waltzing on the tips of his toes, lifting his partner
off the ground, or twirling round and round with her like the figures on a
street organ. The test of waltzing in time is to be able to stamp the time with
the left foot. A good flat-foot waltzer can dance on one foot as well as on
two, but I would not advise him to try it in public, lest, like Mr. Rarey’s
horse on three legs, he should come to the ground in a luckless moment. The
legs should be very little bent in dancing, the body still less so. I do not
know whether it be worse to see a man sit down in a waltz, or to find
him with his head poked forward over your young wife’s shoulder, hot, red,
wild, and in far too close proximity to the partner of your bosom, whom he
makes literally the partner of his own.
“The ‘Lancers’ are a revival, after many long
years, and, perhaps, we may soon have a drawing-room adaptation of the
Morris-dance.
“The only
advice, therefore, which it is necessary to give to those who wish to dance the
polka may be summed up in one word, ‘don’t.’ Not so with the galop. The remarks
as to the position in waltzing apply to all round dances, and there is,
therefore, little to add with regard to the galop, except that it is a great
mistake to suppose it to be a rapid dance. It should be danced as slowly as
possible. It will then be more graceful and less fatiguing. It is danced quite
slowly in Germany and on the flat foot. The polka-mazurka is still much danced,
and is certainly very graceful. The remarks on the quadrille apply equally to
the lancers, which are great favorites, and threaten to take the place of the
former. The schottische, hop-waltz, redowa, varsovienne, cellarius, and so
forth, have had their day, and are no longer danced in good society.
“The calm ease which marks the man of good
taste, makes even the swiftest dances graceful and agreeable. Vehemence may be
excused at an election, but not in a ball room. I once asked a beautiful and
very clever young lady how she, who seemed to pass her life with books, managed
to dance so well. ‘I enjoy it,’ she replied; ‘and when I dance I give my whole
mind to it.’ And she was quite right. Whatever is worth doing at all, is
worth doing well; and if it is not beneath your dignity to dance, it is not
unworthy of your mind to give itself, for the time, wholly up to it. You will
never enjoy dancing till you do it well; and, if you do not enjoy it, it is
folly to dance. But, in reality, dancing, if it be a mere trifle, is one to
which great minds have not been ashamed to stoop. Locke, for instance, has
written on its utility, and speaks of it as manly, which was certainly not
Michal’s opinion, when she looked out of the window and saw her lord and master
dancing and playing. Plato recommended it, and Socrates learned the Athenian
polka of the day when quite an old gentleman, and liked it very much. Some one
has even gone the length of calling it ‘the logic of the body;’ and Addison
defends himself for making it the subject of a disquisition.”
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