THE WORLD OF BOOKS.

Press, Volume LX, Issue 18129, 19 July 1924, Page 11

THE WORLD OF BOOKS.

HALF-HOURS IN A LIBRARY. (SMCULLY TOITTIB WE "THB PB189.") By A. H. Gbinuno. LXX.—ON DANCING AGAIN. "With very few exceptions the religious sects of the world of the present, while retaining music as a part of their religious services, have done iway with dancing; in fact, the dance is under a ban even in a purely secular way among many of the most prominent sects of the Christian Church." This opinion, expressed by Dr. Brodie Patterson nearly ten years ago, calls for some slight revision today. In Dr. Patterson's own country —in New York, in fact—an attempt has been made to re-introduce dancing as an integral part of the service in a certain episcopal Church in that city and wi£h a measure of success. And

all over'the British Empire and in the Dominions especially, the ban pronounced against dancing in Church circles has largely been removed. Seldom, if ever, are denunciations against modern dancing heard from the pulpit. The old-time puritanical attitude towards dancing is faithfully reflected in an old-fashioned book entitled, "The English Dance of Death," reprinted some twenty years ago in "The Illustrated Pocket Library, of Plain and Coloured Books," a series which included such immortal works as "The Life and Death of John Mytton, Esq.," by Nimrod; "Handley Cross," and "Mr Sponge's Sporting Tour," by N. S. Surtees; ."The Tours of Doctor Syn-

tax," "Life in London," by Pierce Egan and. many others: "The English Dance of Death" consists of a number of designs in colour by T. llowlandson, with Metrical Illustrations by the author of "Doctor Syntax." William Combe, author of "Doctor Syntax," and a large number of other works, was quite a character in his day; he was horn in 1741, and died a hundred years ago. He was a man of fashion, "and was generally known as Count Combe, living in princely fashion while hi 3 money lasted, keeping two carriages, several horses, and a large retinue- of servants.' A dissipated life speedily dissipated a legacy of £2OOO, and with the law as his nominal profession-he took to authorship as a living. Some time between 3809 and 1811 Aekermann issued his "Poetical Magazine," and Rowlandson, the artist, offered hirri a series of plates depicting the varied fortunes of a touring schoolmaster, afterwards named Doctor Syntax. Combe was entrusted with the task of providing suitable letterpress for the illustrations, which he did in a metrical version, muoh of which was sorry doggerel. "Doctor Syntax" at once caught on with" the public, but more on account of the pictures than the verse, and the fortune of the "Poetical Magazine" was made. This led to a close collaboration between Combe - and Rowlandson, and a number of "Doctor Syntax" books 'were issued as well-as "The Dance of. Life," and "The Dance.of Death," the laifer containing some of Combe's best verse. One ,qf the sections of "The Dance of Death" is "The Waltz," which curiously reflects the attitude of many people towards dancing in the early nineteenth century. The concluding lines carry their own moral: Pair Caelia. had some girlish Faults; But .then—Hpw.Caelia.ptepp'd. a Waltx! And in* that Seaaon.it is known ' : *Walt*ing was • everywhere the Ton. Miae Caelia, though a 'sickly Maid, No friendly counsels could.perßuude ' To stay at Home, when Fashion's call Summon'd i;he Darrusol to a Ball; From Party, Opera, or Play, She might be coax'd'td keep away; But she possesa'd the high renown, Of the most pleasing Dailcer known; Besides, she-bop'dj her 'graceful Charms Would Walts her to a Husband's' Arms. Nor the grave Doctor's daily threat. Nor a fond Mother's'keen regret, '•■■■'■' Nor Hectic cough, that oft oppress'd, With strong convulse, her heaving breast,' : Could when th' enchanting fiddle mov'd Keep her from that display she lov'd.' Ana which. each eye that saw approv'd, ■» -iJOne vernal :mora, with great delight, She practised fox tn' approaching night. Some new-invented step she paces,— The Teacher played off his Grimaces; And while he boasted to impart '. Some added Beauties of his Art, She sinks, she-faints, she pants for breath: Alas I it was the Walts of Death. .

The relation of dancing to war, emphasised many times-during the great conflict of 1914-1918, is touched upon by Byron in his "Apostrophic Hymn" entitled "The Waltz," in which the poot, addressing Terpsichore, "Muse of the feet," exclaims: Hail, nimble nymph, to whom the young hussar, The whisfcer'd votary of waltz and war, His night devotes, despite of spur and . boots; A eight unmatched since Orpheus and his brutes: \ . . Byron, following a reference to the "imperial Waltz! imported from the Bhinej" which leads to the exclamation, "Oh, Germany! how much to thee we owe" —indulges iu a com-parison.-between the past and present of dancing:— Not decent David, when before the Ark, His grand pas-soul excited .some remark; Not love-lorn Quixote, when his Sancho thought The knight's fandango friskier than it ought; Not sort Herodias, when, with winning tread, Her nimble feet danced off another's head; Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck, > Display'd so much of leg, or more of neck, Than' thou, ambrosial Waltz, when first the moon .i> Beheid thee twirling to ft Saxon tune. "The Waltz" was written by Byron at Cheltenham in the autumn of 1812, and published anonymously in the spring of the following^year. It was prefaced by a note "To Cue Publisher," signed "Horace Hornem," in which is given a description of a ball given by the Countess of Waltzaway.— I went to a ball at the Countess's, expecting to see a country dance, or at most cotillions, reels, and all the old paces to the newest tunes. But judge of my surprise, on arriving, to see poor dear Mrs • Hornem with her arms half round the loins of a huge, hussar looking gentleman I never set eyes on before; and his, to say truth, rather more than half round "her waist, turning round, and round, »fld round, to a d-—-d .see-saw . np-and-down . sort of tune that reminded me of the "Black-joke," only more "affectupso," till it • made me quite giddy with wondering they were not so. By-and-by they stopped a bit, and I thought they would sit or fall down; but no, with Mrs H.'s hand on his shoulder "quam familiariter" (as Terence said, when 1 was at school), they walked about a minute, and then at it again, like %w-4 cockchafers, spitted on the same bodkin. I asked what all this meant, when with a loud laugh, a child no older 'than our.WUhelmina said, "Lord! Mr Hornem, can't you see they're valtzing" or waltzing (I forget.which); and then up she got' and her mother and sister, and away they went and round-abouted it till supper time. - Now that I know what it -is, I like it beat of all things, and so does Mrs H. ■ (though I'-have broken my shins" and four times overturned'/Mrs Homem's maid in . practising the preliminary steps on a morning).. '■■'..' Which all goes .to show that dancing and objections to dancing were much the same a hundred years ago as they [are to-day. \ Dr. Oesterley in his study

of "The Sacred Dance" endeavours to get right back to the beginnings ot dancing. "Ite extreme importance m the eves of early man," he writes, "who" regarded it as indispensable at all the crises" of life—initiation, puberty, marriage, burial —who used it as one of the essentials of worship, who saw in it a means of propitiating whatever supernatural powers he believed in a means of communion with the deity, a means of obtaining good crops, _ fruitful marriage, and of communicating with the departed—to mention only its more important uses, shows that it is a subject worth investigating." Pursuing his argument further Dr. Oesterley says:—

Wc suggest, then, that the origin of . the sacred dance was the desire of early man to imitate what he conceived to be the characteristic of supernatural powers. Not that this was, in the first instance, a dance, in the generally accepted sense of the word; but merely a movement, whether * in the form of the swaying of the body in imitation of trees, or a single-file running in imitation of a stream, or a more boisterous movement in imitation of the waves of the sea or of a storm-swept lake . . The whole idea and object of dancing, among civilised peoples, has now become so purely a matter of pastime and enjoyment that it is, at first, difficult to realise its very serious aspect among men of past ages, and among uncivilised races to-day. It may be true enough that dancing has always been a means of exercise and pleasure; but from the earliest historical times—and judging from what can be gathered from its very widespread practice among all human races of uncivilised men, the same is probably true of remote prehistoric times—this purpose has always been subordinated to religious uses primarily. There are, it is true, many instances among savages at the present day of dances being nothing more than a means of exercise and enjoyment; but it is not too much to assert that in every case the elimination, of the religions element is due to extraneous influences. One of the finest references to the dance in modern English literature is to be found in Oscar Wilde's play "Salome," composed in French in 1892, and translated by Lord Alfred Douglas, and published in English in 1893. It was not, as has so often been stated, written for Sarah Bernhardt, but it was read to the actress by the author, and put in rehearsal at the Porte St. Martin Theatre in Paris, when Wilde was arrested and all his plays were at once withdrawn from the boards. The finest scene in the play begins when Herod exclaims: "Salome, Salome, dance for me. I pray thee ■dance for me. I am sad to-night. Yes, I am passing sad to-night. . . Therefore dance for me. Dance for me, Salome. I beseech thee. If thou dancest for me, thou mayest ask for me what thou wilt. I will give it thee. Yes, dance for me, Salome, and what so ever thou ehalt ask of m£ I will give it thee, even unto the half of my kingdom." In contrast to the exotic atmosphere of Salome, and in conclusion of the whole matter, I quote "The Dancer," by Mr Edward Shanks, henchman to Mr J. C. Squire of the "London Mercury" :-~ .

Between the hither and the further woods, On whose dark branches beat 3 the sun in vain, Out in the midst where the intense light broods, There moves a livelier light, a living fire, With speed that seems That still and sleeping radiance to disdain, And yet no more to tire' Than the quick shape* that haunt our happy dreams. ' ; , Light-skirted, feather-footed, laughing, danc- ' 'ing,.'." Borne on a breath of swift and buoyant air, Turning and sidling, retiring and advancing, She moves like thistledown, she floats away, Swings and returns, lifts eyes to take the stare ,Of the delighted watchers. Bise and sway Her skirts about her; and now she slowly moves, As though- an. unseen - choir of flinging Loves Hovered about her thrown back. head -»nd cried : - - ,:-....- • i ■ '.:■■ . ';'■.' '_ ■'' Delicious praise down to her smiling pride. And every turn of her young body makes A silent changing music, fast or alow, Which, as she pauses, breaks And sinks upon itself in shining overthrow. Silence unbroken follows the silent measure, The enraptured group that watched her quietly breathes In the arrested silenoe of that pause An air filled full with the sweet scene of pleasure. ... Then,, as a swordsman slowly sheathes. _ The blade.wherewith he wove a net of light. So she in ordinary flesh withdraws The coloured image, volatile and bright, That danced before thenl and enchanted them. Her arms fall Boftly to her sides, Soft to the knee falls the skirt's airy hem, The taut knees bend, the waist relaxes, swift Down on the grass the unstiung body slides. She lies there huddled, hidden the flushed face, ... Her shoulders heaving [up the filmy shift. One leg outstretched in spent, neglectful grace. Low mutter they their praise that s»ftly leaches .' . , The panting girl. She does not raise her But at the music of their grateful speeches, All her slack body comfortably glows, And in ecstatic weariness she makes The 'sun-warmed turf, a bedr , Her limbs fail looser, the soft eyelids close. She sleeps. No- voice her languid slumber breaks; . . , . But now the watchers, musing deep and Jar, Lift up their eyes. ; . Towards the vague, the sapphinne skies, While like a visionary moving star, Still through their thoughts her dancing image flies.