“‘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.
“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 “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.