11.-7 7s^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mrs* Edwin Grabhom 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVILcrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/danceofdeathOObierrich 
 
The 
 
 Dance of Death. 
 
^?S3 MEtKv?4 
 
 Entered according lo Act of Confess, in the year 1877. by GEORGE N. 'i HOMAS, 
 in the Office- of the Librarian of Cong^ress. at Washingfton, D. C 
 
p 
 
 J„, 
 
 ANCE OF JeATH 
 
 BY 
 
 William I^erman 
 
 San Francisco : 
 
 Henry Kellkr c^ Co., 543 Clay Street. 
 
 1877. 
 
"Wilt thou bring fine gold for a payment 
 
 For sins on this wise ? 
 For the glittering of raiment 
 
 And the shining of eyes, 
 For the painting of faces 
 
 And the sundering of trust, 
 For the sins of thine high places 
 
 And delight of thy lust?" 
 
 *' Not with fine gold for a payment, 
 
 But with coin of sighs, 
 But with rending of raiment 
 
 And with weeping of eyes, 
 But with shame of stricken faces 
 
 And with strewing of dust, 
 For the sin of stately places 
 
 And lordship of lust/' 
 
 Swinburne. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 HE writer of these pages is not 
 foolish enough to suppose that 
 he can escape strong and bit- 
 ter condemnation for his utterances. 
 On this score he is not disposed to be 
 greatly troubled; and for these reasons: 
 Firstly — he feels that he is performing 
 a dtity; secondly — he is certain that his 
 sentiments will be endorsed by hundreds 
 upon whose opinion he sets great value; 
 thirdly — he relieves his mind of a bur- 
 den that has oppressed it for many 
 years; and fourthly — as is evident upon 
 
8 Preface, 
 
 the face of these pages — he is no pro- 
 fessed litterateur, who can be starved 
 by adverse criticism. Nevertheless he 
 would be apostate to his self-appointed 
 mission if he invited censure by un- 
 seemly defiance of those who must read 
 and pass judgment upon his work. While, 
 therefore, he does not desire to invoke 
 the leiiiency of the professional critic or 
 the casual reader, he does desire to 
 justify the position he has taken as far 
 as may be consistent with good taste. 
 
 It will doubtless be asserted by many: 
 That the writer is a ''bigoted parson," 
 whose puritanical and illiberal ideas con- 
 cerning matters of which he has no per- 
 sonal experience belong to an age that is 
 happily passed. On the contrary, he is 
 a man of the world, who has mixed 
 much in society both in the old world 
 
Preface, 9 
 
 and the new, and who knows whereof 
 he affirms. 
 
 That he Is, for some reason, unable to 
 partake of the amusement he condemns, 
 and is therefore jealous of those more 
 fortunate than himself. Wrong again. 
 He has drunk deeply of the cup he 
 warns others to avoid; and has better 
 opportunities than the generality of men 
 to continue the draught if he found it 
 to his taste. 
 
 That he publishes from motives of 
 private malice. Private malice — no. 
 Malice of a certain kind, yes. Malice 
 against those who should know better 
 than to abuse the rights of hospitality 
 by making a bawdy-house of their host's 
 dwelling. 
 
 But the principal objection will doubt- 
 less refer to the plain language used. 
 
lo Preface. 
 
 My excuse, if indeed excuse be needed 
 for saying just what I mean, is, that it is 
 impossible to clothe in delicate terms 
 the intolerable nastiness which I ex- 
 pose, and at the same time to press the 
 truth home to those who are most in 
 need of it; I might as well talk to the 
 winds as veil my -ideas in swee-t phrases 
 when addressing people who it seems 
 cannot descry the presence of corruption 
 until it is held in all its putridity under 
 their very nostrils. 
 
 Finally, concerning the prudence and 
 advisability of such a publication, I have 
 only to say that I have consulted 
 many leading divines and principals 
 of educational institutions, all of whom 
 agree that the subject must be dealt 
 with plainly, and assure me that its 
 importance demands more than ordinary 
 
Preface. 1 1 
 
 treatment — that it is a foeman worthy of 
 the sharpest steel ; for, say they : To 
 repeat the tame generalities uttered from 
 the pulpit, or the quiet tone of disappro- 
 bation adopted by the press, would be 
 to accord to the advocates of this evil a 
 power which they do not possess, and 
 to proclaim a weakness of its opponents 
 which the facts will not justify. 
 
 I have therefore spoken plainly and 
 to the purpose, that those who run — or 
 waltz — may read. 
 
 But there remains yet something to 
 be said, which is more necessary to my 
 own peace of mind, and to that of many 
 of my readers, than all that has gone 
 before. So important is it, indeed, that 
 what I am about to say should be 
 distinctly understood by all those whose 
 criticism I value, and whose feelings I 
 
1 2 Preface, 
 
 respect, that I almost hesitate to consign 
 it to that Hmbo of egotism — the preface. 
 Be it known, then, that although in the 
 following pages I have, without com- 
 punction, attacked the folly and vice of 
 those who practice such, yet I would 
 rather my right hand should wither than 
 that the pen it wields should inflict a 
 single wound upon one innocent person. 
 I am willinof to believe, nav, I know, 
 that there are many men and women 
 who can and do dance without an 
 impure thought or action; for theirs is 
 not the Dance of Death; they can take 
 a reasonable pleasure in one another's 
 society without wishing to be locked in 
 one another's embrace; they can rest 
 content with such graces as true refine- 
 ment teaches them are modest, without 
 leaping the bounds of decorum to 
 
Preface. 1 3 
 
 indulge in what a false and fatal refine- 
 ment styles the "poetry of motion;'' in 
 short, to them the waltz, in its newest 
 phases at least, is a stranger. I would 
 not, like Lycurgus and Mahomet, cut 
 down all the vines, and forbid the drink- 
 ing of wine, because it makes some men 
 driink. Dancers of this class, therefore, 
 I implore not to regard the ensuing 
 chapters as referring to themselves — 
 the cap does not fit their heads, let them 
 not attempt to wear it. 
 
 The same remarks will apply to some 
 of those heads of families who permit 
 and encourage dancing at their homes. 
 Many among them doubtless exercise a 
 surveillance too strict- to admit of any- 
 thing improper taking place within their 
 doors; these stand in no need of either 
 advice or warning from me. But more 
 
14 Preface, 
 
 of them, I am grieved to say, are merely 
 blameless because they are ignorant of 
 what really does take place. The social 
 maelstrom whirls nightly in their draw- 
 ing-rooms; with their wealth, hospitality, 
 and countenance they unconsciously, but 
 none the less surely, lure the fairest 
 ships of life into its mad waters. Let 
 these also, then, not be offended that in 
 this book I raise a beacon over the dark 
 vortex, within whose treacherous em- 
 brace so many sweet young souls have 
 been whirled to perdition. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 ** That motley drama ! Oh, be sure 
 
 It shall not be forgot ! 
 With its Phantom chased for evermore 
 
 By a crowd that seize it not. 
 Through a circle that ever returneth in 
 
 To the self-same spotj 
 And much of Madness, and more of Sin 
 
 And Horror, the soul of the plot !'* 
 
 PoE. 
 
 EADER, I have an engagement 
 to keep to-night. Let me take 
 you with me; you will be inter-* 
 ested. 
 
 But, stay — I have a condition to make 
 before I accept of your company. Have 
 you read the preface ? '* No, of course 
 not ; who reads prefaces ? " Very well, 
 
1 6 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 just oblige me by making mine an ex- 
 ception — it is a Gilead where you per- 
 haps may obtain balm for the wounds 
 you will receive on our expedition. And 
 now, supposing you to have granted this 
 request, let us proceed. 
 
 Our carriage pulls up before the en- 
 trance of an imposing mansion. From 
 every window the golden gaslight 
 streams out into the darkness; from 
 the wide-open door a perfect glory 
 floods the street from side to side. 
 There is a hum of subdued voices with- 
 in, there is a banging of coach doors 
 without; there is revelry brewing, we 
 may be sure. 
 
 ^ We step daintily from our carriage 
 upon the rich carpet which preserves 
 our patent-leathers from the contamina- 
 tion of the sidewalk; we trip lightly up 
 the grand stone stairway to the en- 
 trance; obsequious lackeys relieve us 
 of our superfluous raiment; folding 
 
A GOODLY COMPANY. I 7 
 
 doors fly open before us without so 
 much as a ''sesame" being uttered; and, 
 behold, we enter upon a scene of en- 
 chantment. 
 
 Magnificent apartments succeed each 
 other in a long vista, glittering with 
 splendid decorations; costly frescoes are 
 overhead, luxurious carpets are under 
 foot, priceless pictures, rich laces, rare 
 trifles of art are around us; an atmos- 
 phere of wealth, refinement, luxury, and 
 good taste is all-pervading. 
 
 But these are afterthoughts with us; 
 it is the splendor of the assembled com- 
 pany that absorbs our admiration now. 
 Let us draw aside and observe this 
 throng a little, my friend. 
 
 Would you have believed it possible 
 that so much beauty and richness could 
 have been collected under one roof? 
 Score upon score of fair women and 
 handsome men; the apparel of the 
 former rich beyond conception — of the 
 
l8 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 latter, immaculate to a fault. The rooms 
 are pretty well filled already, but the cry 
 is still they come. 
 
 See yonder tall and radiant maiden, 
 as she enters leaning upon the arm of 
 her grey-headed father. Mark her well, 
 my friend; I will draw your attention to 
 her again presently. How proud of her 
 the old man looks; and well he may. 
 What divine grace of womanhood lives 
 in that supple form; what calm, sweet 
 beauty shines in that lovely face — a face 
 so pure and passionless in expression 
 that the nudity of bust and arms, and 
 the contour of limbs more than sug- 
 gested by the tightly clinging silk, call 
 for no baser admiration than we feel 
 when looking upon the representation of 
 an angel. Observe closely with what 
 high-bred and maidenly reserve she re- 
 sponds to the greeting of the Apollo in 
 a " claw-hammer " who bows low before 
 her — the very type of the elegant and 
 
PRELIMINARIES, TO 
 
 polished gentleman. In bland and gen- 
 tle tones he begs a favor to be granted 
 a little later in the evening. With 
 downcast eyes she smiles consent; with 
 a bow he records the promise upon a 
 tablet in his hand. Gracefully she 
 moves forward again, leaning on her 
 father s arm, smiling and nodding to her 
 acquaintances, and repeating the harm- 
 less little ceremony described above with 
 perhaps a dozen other Apollos before 
 she reaches the end of the room. 
 
 ''Ah, pure and lovely girl!'' I hear 
 you mutter as she disappears, ''happy 
 indeed is he who can win that jewel for 
 a wife. That face w^ill haunt me like a 
 dream!" Likely enough, O my friend! 
 but dreams are not all pleasant. 
 
 Now look again at this young wife 
 just entering with her husband. Is she 
 not beautiful! and how devotedly she 
 hangs upon his arm! With what a 
 triumphant glance around the room he 
 
20 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 seems to say: ''Behold my treasure — 
 my very own; look at the gorgeousness 
 of her attire, ladies, and pray for such a 
 husband; gaze upon the fairness of her 
 face, gentlemen, and covet such a wife/* 
 Again the Apollos step blandly forward, 
 again the little promises are lisped out 
 and recorded. And so the goodly com- 
 pany go on, introducing and being intro- 
 duced, and conversing agreeably to- 
 gether. A right pleasant and edifying 
 spectacle, surely. 
 
 But, hark! The music strikes up; the 
 dancing is about to begin. You and I 
 do not dance; we withdraw to an adjoin- 
 ing room and take a hand at cards. 
 
 The hours go swiftly by and still we 
 play on. The clock strikes two; the 
 card-players are departing. But the 
 strains of the distant music have been 
 unceasing; the game does not flag in the 
 ball-room. You have not seen a dance 
 since your youth, you say, and then only 
 
THE SCENE CHANGES. 21 
 
 the rude gambols of country-folk; you 
 would fain see before you go how these 
 dames and damsels of gentler breeding 
 acquit themselves. 
 
 The dance is at its height; we could 
 not have chosen a better time to see the 
 thing in its glory. 
 
 As we approach the door of the ball- 
 room the music grows louder and more 
 ravishing than ever; no confusion of 
 voices mars its delicious melody; the 
 only sounds heard beneath its strains afe 
 a low swish and rustle as of whirling 
 robes, and a light, but rapid and inces- 
 sant shuffling of feet. The dull element 
 has gone home ; those who remain have 
 better work to do than talking. We 
 push the great doors asunder and enter. 
 
 Ha! the air is hot and heavy here; it 
 breathes upon us in sensuous gusts of 
 varying perfumes. And no wonder. 
 A score of whirling scented robes stir it 
 into fragrance. How beautiful — but 
 
22 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 you look aghast, my friend. Ah, I 
 forgot; these are not the rude country- 
 folk of your youth. You are dazzled — 
 bewiklered. Then let me try to enliven 
 your dulled senses with a description of 
 what we see. 
 
 A score of forms whirl swiftly before 
 us under the softened gaslight. I say a 
 score of forms — but each is double — 
 they would have made two score before 
 the dancing began.. Twenty floating 
 visions — each male and female. Twenty 
 women knit and growing to as many 
 men, undulate, sway, and swirl giddily 
 before us, keeping time with the delirious 
 melody of piano, harp, and violin, 
 
 But draw nearer — let us see how this 
 miracle is accomplished. Do you mark 
 yonder tall couple who seem even to 
 excel the rest in grace and ardor. Do 
 they not make a picture which might 
 put a soul under the ribs of Death ? Such 
 must have been the sight which made 
 
A PRETTY PICTURE. 23 
 
 Speusippas Incontinently rave : '' O ad- 
 mirable, O divine Panareta ! Who 
 would not admire her, who would not 
 love her, that should but see her dance 
 as I did ? O how she danced, how she 
 tripped, how she turned ! With what a 
 grace ! Felix qui Pariareta fruitur ! O 
 most incomparable, only, Panareta!" Let 
 us take this couple for a sample. He is 
 stalwart, agile, mighty; she is tall, supple, 
 lithe, and how beautiful in form and 
 feature! Her head rests upon his shoul- 
 der, her face is upturned to his; her 
 naked arm is almost around his neck; 
 her swelling breast heaves tumultuously 
 against his; face to face they whirl, his 
 limbs interwoven with her limbs; with 
 strong right arm about her yielding 
 waist, he presses her to him till every 
 curve in the contour of her lovely body 
 thrills v/ith the amorous contact: Her 
 eyes look into his, but she sees nothing; 
 the soft music fills the room, but she 
 
24 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 hears nothing; swiftly he whirls her 
 from the floor or bends her frail body to 
 and fro in his embrace, but she knows 
 it not; his hot breath is upon her hair, 
 his lips almost touch her forehead, yet 
 she does not shrink; his eyes, gleamingr 
 with a fierce intolerable lust, gloat satyr- 
 like over her, yet she does not quail ; she 
 is filled with a rapture divine in its in- 
 tensity — she is in the maelstrom of burn- 
 ing desire — her spirit is with the gods. 
 
 With a last, low wail the music ceases. 
 Her swooning senses come back to life. 
 Ah, must it be! Yes; her companion 
 releases her from his embrace. Leaning 
 wearily upon his arm, the rapture faded 
 from her eye, the flush dying from her 
 cheek — enervated, limp, listless, worn 
 out — she is led to a seat, there to recover 
 from her delirium and gather her ener- 
 gies as best she may in the space of five 
 minutes, after which she must yield her 
 body to a new embrace. 
 
FROM DREAMS TO WAKING. 25 
 
 But did you not notice a faint smile 
 upon the lips of her late companion as 
 he turned and left her? a smile of tri- 
 umph, an air of sated appetite, it seemed 
 to me; and see, as he joins his cronies 
 yonder he laughs, rubs his hands 
 together, chuckles visibly, and commu- 
 nicates some choice scrap of news which 
 makes them look over at our jaded 
 beauty and laugh too; they appreciate 
 the suggestion of the ancient : 
 
 ** Tenta modo tangere corpus, 
 Jam tua mellifluo membra calore fluent." 
 
 But she can keep her secret better 
 than they, it is evident. 
 
 And now tell me, friend of mine, did 
 you not recognize an old acquaintance in 
 the lady we have been watching so 
 closely ? No ! Then believe me she is 
 no other than the "pure and lovely girl'* 
 you so much admired earlier in the even- 
 ing, the so desirable wife, the angel who 
 was to "haunt your dreams." 
 
26 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 'What ! that harlot- 
 
 Hush — a spade is not called a spade 
 here ; but I assure you again that the 
 sensuous, delirious Bacchante whose 
 semi-nakedness was so apparent as she 
 lay swooning in the arms of her param — 
 partner just now, was one and the same 
 with the chaste and calm Diana — virgo 
 virgmissima — whose modest mien con- 
 cealed her nudity so well. Moreover 
 the satyr who was her accomplice — I 
 can find no better word — ^the coward 
 who pastured upon her and then boasted 
 of his lechery, was the Apollo who 
 first saluted her ; the little promise which 
 she gave so gracefully, and which he 
 recorded so eagerly, was a deliberate 
 surrender of her body to his use and 
 their mutual enjoyment. Furthermore, 
 the old man who, filled with wine, sits 
 asleep before the fire in the card-room, 
 dreaming he holds thirteen trumps in 
 his hand, is the proud father of our fair 
 
LE JEU EST FAIT, 2"] 
 
 friend. Unselfish old man! he, like 
 you, knows no dances but reels and 
 minuets. '*Why should not the dear 
 girl enjoy herself?" he says; besides, if 
 he grows tired he can go ; Apollo will 
 be glad to see her home. Apollo being 
 rich, the old gentleman has no objection 
 to see him chasing his Daphne; Cupio, 
 Cupid, Cupidity — the Latin always 
 knows what it is about. 
 
 But, hark ! The music begins again. 
 Le jeu est fait, faites votre jeu 7nessieurs! 
 Gentlemen croupiers, prepare to rake in 
 lost souls ! All stakes are yours that 
 come within your reach. 
 
 With energies recuperated by stimu- 
 lating refreshments^ matron and maiden 
 rise to the proffered embrace ; with lusty 
 vigor the Bulls of Bashan paw their 
 fresh pastures. This is the last dance, 
 and a furious one. 
 
 *' Now round the room the circling dow'gers sweep, 
 Now in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters leap; 
 The first in lengthened line majestic swim, 
 The last display the free, unfettered limb." 
 
28 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 The Saturnalia will soon be ended. 
 One more picture before we go. 
 
 What right has that face over there 
 to intrude amid this scene of wild 
 festivity.'^ That dark and scowling face, 
 filled with hate, and jealousy, and stifled 
 rage. See how its owner prowls rest- 
 lessly about; continually changing his 
 position, but ever keeping his watchful 
 eyes upon that voluptuous woman who^ 
 surrendering her soul to the lascivious 
 pleasing of opportunity, is reeling, glid- 
 ing, and yielding in the clutch of her 
 partner — her drunken catholicity of de- 
 sire, her long libidinous reaches of im- 
 agination, the glib and facile assent of 
 her emotions, figured in every move- 
 ment, and visible to every eye. 
 
 This was the manner in which Bacch- 
 us and Ariadne danced, which so moved 
 the spectators that, as the old writer tells 
 us, '* they that were unmarried swore they 
 would forthwith marry, and those that 
 
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 29 
 
 were married called instantly for their 
 horses and galloped home to their wives." 
 That miserable, self-despised, desper- 
 ate wretch is the exultant husband 
 whom we noticed on his arrival; it is 
 natural that he should take some interest 
 in the lady, — she is the wife he was ex- 
 ulting over. No wonder that there is a 
 dangerous look in his eye as he takes in 
 the situation ; the gallant who is dancing 
 with his wife may sup with Polonius 
 yet — -late, or rather early, as it is, for 
 ''murder's as near to lust as flame to 
 smoke." No wonder there is a hang- 
 dog expression in his face as his friends 
 clap him on the back and applaud the 
 lady s performance — ask him how he 
 is enjoying the evening, and so forth. 
 But the climax is reached when the 
 sated Lothario restores the partner 
 of his joys to her lawful lord, with the 
 remark that ''your wife, sir, dances most 
 divinely;" then the poor fool must screw 
 
30 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 up a sickly smile and say '* thank you, 
 sir/' knowing- all the while in his heart 
 of hearts that the man before him has 
 just now^ most surely made him cuckold 
 under his very nose. Poor fool! Will 
 he never learn to appreciate the utter 
 vileness of his situation ? Will he always 
 be persuaded next morning that he must 
 have been excited by the champagne — 
 that his jealousy was the acme of all un- 
 reason ? Or will he, as many have done, 
 pop out some fine day a full-fledged dancer 
 himself, and compromise matters with his 
 wife by making the degradation mutual ? 
 
 But while we ponder these things the 
 melody has ceased ; the weary musicians 
 have departed. There is a rush for 
 cloaks and hoods, and rather more ad- 
 justing of the same upon feminine forms 
 by bold masculine hands than is perhaps 
 necessary for their proper arrangement. 
 
 Shift the scenery for the last act of 
 this delectable drama! 
 
THE DROP SCENE. 3 1 
 
 The gentlemen will escort the ladies 
 to their homes! Apollo will still pur- 
 sue the nimble Daphne, Pan will not yet 
 relinquish his hot pursuit of the fleet- 
 footed Syrinx; and verily on this occasion 
 their reward shall be greater than reeds 
 and laurels. Forward, then, to the wait- 
 ing carriages! 
 
 Ah, how grateful to the gas-scorched 
 eyeballs is the thick gloom of the 
 coach — how pleasant to the weary limbs 
 are these luxurious cushions! 
 
 There! close the door softly; up with 
 the windows — down with the curtains! 
 Driver, go slowly, as I heard you 
 ordered to do just now, and you shall 
 not want for future patronage. And 
 you, young man within, strike while the 
 iron is hot. In your comrade every 
 mental sense is stupified, every carnal 
 sense is roused. It is the old, old story: 
 ** NoXy vinum et adolescentia!^ TJie 
 
32 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 opportunity is golden. Society is very 
 good to you,young man! 
 
 Come, my friend, let us go. The 
 play is played out, and so are the play- 
 ers. The final tableau does not take 
 place upon the stage. We read that 
 under one of the Roman Emperors the 
 pantomimic dance was not unfrequently 
 ended by the putting to death by torture 
 upon the stage of some condemned 
 criminal, in order that the spectators 
 might gaze upon death in all its horrible 
 reality. God forbid that any such ghastly 
 finale should take place behind the scenes 
 now that ou7^ pantomime is finished ! 
 But at all events there is no more to 
 see; and lest your imagination spoil your 
 rest let me divert your attention to the 
 speck of dawn over there in the east. 
 At this hour, says the poet, 
 
 " When late larks give warning 
 Of dying lights and dawning, 
 ' Night murmurs to the morning, 
 
 *Lie still, O love, lie still;' 
 
THE AFTERPIECE. 33 
 
 And half her dark limbs cover 
 The white limbs of her lover, 
 With amourous plumes that hover 
 And fervent lips that chill." 
 
 But, mind you, in these lines the poet 
 does not even remotely refer to the 
 occupants of the carriage. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 ** The Dance is the spur of lust — a circle of which 
 the Devil himself is the centre. Many women that 
 use it have come dishonest home, most indifferent, 
 none better." — Petrarch, 
 
 UT," says the worthy reader 
 who has honored me by pe- 
 rusing the preceding Chapter, 
 *'what manner of disofustino^ 
 revel is this that you have shown us ? 
 Have we been present at a reproduction 
 of the rites of Dionysus and Astarte ? 
 Have we held high revel in the halls of 
 a modern Faustina or Messalina? Have 
 we supped with Catherine of Russia ? 
 Or have we been under the influence of 
 a restored Lampsacene ? 
 
IS NOT SAUCE FOR THE GANDER. 35 
 
 Don't delude yourself, my unsophis- 
 ticated friend, you have simply been 
 present at a " social hop " at the house 
 of the Hon. Ducat Fitzbullion — a most 
 estimable and *' solid" citizen, a deacon 
 of the church, where his family regularly 
 attend, a great promoter of charities, 
 Magdalen Asylums, and the like, and 
 President of the " Society for the Sup- 
 pression of Immorality among the Hot- 
 tentots." The fair women whom you 
 have somewhat naturally mistaken for 
 prHresses de la Vagabonde Vdiius, are 
 the pure daughters and spotless wives 
 of our *'best citizens;" their male 
 companions, or accomplices, or whatever 
 you choose to call them, are the creme 
 de la creme of all that is respectable 
 and eligible in society ; and, finally, the 
 dance which you have pronounced out- 
 rageously indecent, is simply the Divine 
 Waltz, in its various shapes of " Dip,'' 
 'Glide," ^'Saratoga," "German." and 
 
36 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 what not — the King of Dances "with all 
 the modern improvements." 
 
 And this, my dear reader, is the abom- 
 ination that I intend to smite hip and 
 thigh — not with fine words and dainty 
 phrases, but with the homely language 
 of truth ; not blinded by prejudice or 
 passion, but calmly and reasonably ; not 
 with any private purpose to subserve, 
 but simply in the cause of common de- 
 cency ; not with the hope of working out 
 any great moral reform, but having the 
 sense of duty strong upon me as I stick 
 my nibbed lancet into the most hideous 
 social ulcer that has as yet afflicted the 
 body corporate. 
 
 That the subject is a delicate one is 
 best shown by the fact that even Byron 
 found himself reduced to the necessity 
 of *' Putting out the light '' and invok- 
 ing the longest garments to cover that 
 which he was unable to describe — hear 
 him: 
 
TOLERATED, YET INTOLERABLE. 37 
 
 " Waltz — Waltz alone — both legs and arms demands ; 
 Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands 5 
 * Hands which may freely range in public sight 
 Where ne'er before — but — pray " put out the light.* 
 
 * » * -x- * * 
 
 **But here the muse with due decorum halts — 
 And lends her longest petticoats to Waltz." 
 
 It should not, then, be a matter of sur- 
 prise, when one so gifted in the use of 
 his mother tongue and writing in a far less 
 prudish age, failed to describe the " voj- 
 uptuous Waltz" without shocking his 
 readers, — if I, sixty-three years later, 
 with so much more to describe and such 
 limited capacity, do not succeed in ren- 
 dering the subject less repulsive. 
 
 Many will urge that a practice in- 
 dulged in by the " best people " of every 
 country — seemingly tolerated by all — 
 cannot be so violently assailed without 
 some motive other than a disinterested 
 desire to advocate a correct principle — 
 but such are reminded that much more 
 than one-half the male adult population 
 
38 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 of every American city are addicted to 
 the use of tobacco. Is its baneful effect 
 upon the nerves of man any the less 
 severe on this account ? So in the case 
 of alcoholic beverages, is it open to de- 
 bate that the great mass of our popula- 
 tion are constantly consuming this ** wet 
 damnation '' ? And is it not known to all 
 that it is the direct source of desolation to 
 hearth and home, the destroyer of happi- 
 ness and character, — that this has bro- 
 ken more hearts, filled more dishonored 
 graves than any other of man s follies ? 
 Does, I say, the fact of its universality 
 render its destroying influence less po- 
 tent ? I think not. Neither do I believe 
 the fact of society permitting itself to be 
 carried by storm into the toleration of 
 the ''modern'' dance, obliterates the fear- 
 ful vortex into which its members are 
 drawn, or compensates for the irreparable 
 loss it suffers in the degradation of its 
 chief ornament — woman. 
 
DELICATE, BECAUSE INDELICATE. 39 
 
 And here is one great difficulty in 
 my self-imposed task, for to lovely and 
 pure woman must I partly address my- 
 self Yet even a partial reference to 
 the various considerations involved, en- 
 tails the presenting of topics not gener- 
 ally admitted into refined conversation. 
 But in order to do any justice at all 
 to the subject, we must not only con- 
 sider the dance itself, but we must follow 
 it to its conclusion. We must look at 
 its direct results. We must hold it re- 
 sponsible for the vice it encourages, the 
 lasciviousness of which it so largely par- 
 takes. And in presenting this subject, 
 I shall steadfastly ignore that line of 
 argument based upon the assumption 
 that because '' it is general," it must be 
 proper. Says Rochester : — 
 
 ** Custom does often reason overrule, 
 And only serves for reason to the fool." 
 
 And Crabbe : — 
 
 ** Habit with him was all the test of truth : 
 It must be right — I've done it from my youth.*' 
 
40 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 No, neither the use of tobacco, the In- 
 dulgence in alcoholic beverages, nor the 
 familiar posturing of the ''Glide'' can be 
 justified or defended by proving that 
 they are common to all classes of society. 
 I repeat that the scene I have at- 
 tempted to describe in the foregoing 
 chapter is no creation of a prurient imagi- 
 nation — would to God that it were — but 
 is a scene that is enacted at every social 
 entertainment which in these days is 
 regarded by the class for whose benefit 
 this work is written as worth the trouble 
 of attending. I repeat that the female 
 portion of the '* class " referred to is 
 not composed of what are commonly 
 known as prostitutes, whatever the un- 
 initiated spectator at their orgies may 
 imagine, but of matrons who are held 
 spotless, and of maidens who are counted 
 pure — not only by the world in general, 
 but by those husbands, fathers, and 
 brothers, whose eyes should surely be 
 
THE FRUIT OF CULTURE. 4 1 
 
 the first to detect any taint upon the 
 character of wife, daughter, or sister. 
 And I repeat, moreover, that the social 
 status of these people is not that of the 
 rude peasant whose lewd pranks are 
 the result of his ignorance, but that of 
 the most highly cultivated and refined 
 among us. These are the people who 
 are expected to, and do, lead the world 
 in all that is elegant and desirable; and 
 the Waltz, forsooth, is one of their arts 
 — one of the choice products of their 
 ultra-civilization — brought to perfection 
 by the grace with which God has gifted 
 them above common folk, adorned by 
 their wealth, and enjoyed by their high- 
 strung sensibilities. The boor could not 
 dance as they do though he were willing 
 to give his immortal soul to possess the 
 accomplishment, for the waltz, in its 
 perfection, is a pleasure reserved for the 
 social pantheon. 
 
 Said one to me, stooping forward in 
 
42 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 the most confidential way ''Do you see 
 that young lady to the left ? How exqui- 
 sitely the closely drawn silk discloses 
 her wasp-like form ! and those motions 
 — could anything be more suggestive ? 
 Every movement of her body is a per- 
 fect reproduction of Hogarth's line of 
 beauty. Look man! Remove just a 
 little drapery and there is nothing left 
 to desire — is'nt it wonderful ? But then/' 
 added he, "it is a perfect outrage never- 
 theless." 
 
 Not so, I answered. Can aught be 
 said against her reputation ? no ! — a 
 thousand times no — and as for her dress, 
 is it not the perfection of what all others 
 in the room are but a crude attempt 
 to acccomplish ? Does it not disclose a 
 form intrinsically beautiful, and admit of 
 a grace and '' poetry of motion " quite 
 unknown to those encumbered with 
 petticoats ? Yes, look at her backward 
 and forward movements — see how she 
 
AN APT PUPIL. 43 
 
 entwines her lithe limbs with those of 
 her enraptured partner as they oscillate, 
 advance, recede, and rotate, as though 
 they were ^'spitted on the same bodkin/' 
 
 **Thus front to front the partners move or stand, 
 The foot may rest, but none withdraw the hand." 
 
 This, sir, is but one of the many improve- 
 ments on the waltz. 
 
 And pray, sir, are not this lady to tne 
 right and that one in the center, vainly 
 endeavoring to achieve the same feat ? 
 The only difference is that this lady is 
 better dressed, more ably taught than 
 either; is she to be censured because 
 she has the talent and industry to do 
 well, that which they have neither the 
 courage, energy, nor ability to perform ? 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness 
 through the lust of their own hearts, to dishonor their 
 own bodies between themselves." 
 
 —Epistle to the Romans. 
 
 OUS 
 
 LREADY I see the face of the 
 reader grow red with indigna- 
 tion. "This is a calumniator, 
 an infamous detractor, an envi- 
 pessimist, a hater of all that is 
 innocently enjoyable!" cries he or she. 
 Very well — I bow my acknowledge- 
 ments for the compliment. I have 
 already stated in my preface that I did 
 not expect you to say anything else. I 
 could be well content to tell what I 
 know and let you say your say in peace. 
 
AN '* INNOCENT AMUSEMENT. 45 
 
 but I will nevertheless go somewhat out 
 of my way to answer your principal 
 objections. 
 
 In the first place, there are certainly 
 many who will deny my charges in 
 tola — who will declare that the waltz is 
 very moral and healthful, and entirely 
 innocent and harmless, and that he who 
 puts it in any other light is a knave and a 
 vile slanderer. These of my opponents 
 I may divide into two classes: First, those 
 who know nothing of the matter, who 
 have never danced, have scarcely ever 
 seen a modern waltz, and are conse- 
 quently unwilling to believe that such 
 terrible things could be going on in 
 their very midst without their knowl- 
 edge ; and, secondly, those who do know 
 and practice the abomination, and find 
 *'the fruit of the tree of knowledge" far 
 too sweet to be hedged about as ''for- 
 bidden." 
 
 To the first of these classes I have 
 
46 THE DANCE OF DEATH 
 
 little to say; it is composed mainly of 
 "old fogies/' the diversions of whose 
 youth were innocent, and who can see 
 no evil that does not sprawl in all its 
 ugliness over the face of the community. 
 If a courtesan accosted one of them on 
 the street, they would be unutterably 
 shocked, and so they certainly would if 
 they on a sudden found themselves ex- 
 periencing the '^perfect waltz," though 
 even then it is doubtful if they would 
 not be shocked into dumbness and 
 grieved into inaction. But of the vailed 
 and subtle pleasures of the waltz they 
 are profoundly ignorant — why should 
 they not be? They see no harm in it 
 because they don't see it at all; they are 
 optimists through ignorance, and lift 
 palms of deprecation at the mention of 
 vice which they cannot understand 
 or attain to. To these I say: open 
 your eyes and look about you, even at 
 the risk of seeing things not exactly 
 
THE IDOL DEFENDED. 47 
 
 as you fancied them to be; or, if you 
 will remain obstinately blind, then pray 
 do not deny that evil exists where you 
 do not happen to see it with your eyes 
 shut. I have painted the picture, you 
 can compare it with the reality at your 
 leisure. 
 
 To the second class that I have men- 
 tioned, namely, those who know and 
 deny what they know, a far stronger 
 condemnation is to be applied. It is 
 composed of the ddinc^v^^'' par excellence y 
 both male and female — who have tasted 
 of the unholy pleasures of the waltz 
 until it has become the very sap of their 
 lives. These are the blushing rakes and 
 ogling prudes who will be most bitter in 
 their denunciation of this book and its 
 author; and no wonder — I only oppose 
 the prejudices of the others, but I con- 
 
 '^ I have stated several times, and I now do so for the last 
 time, that by ** dancers " I mean ivaltzcrs, I hope that my 
 meaning will not be ivilfuUy misconstrued. 
 
48 THE danc;e of death. 
 
 tend with the passions of these. These 
 It is who are forever prating of the 
 beauties and virtues of the waltz. It is 
 an "innocent recreation/' a *' healthful 
 exercise/' it is the ''mother of grace" and 
 the "poetry of motion;" no eulogy can 
 be too extravagant for them to bestow 
 upon their idol. They see no harm in it, 
 not they, and for those who dare hint at 
 such a thing, they have ever ready at 
 their tongue's end that most convenient 
 and abused of legends: Honi soit qui 
 mal y pense. They will catch at any 
 straw to defend their pet amusement. 
 They will tell you that The Preacher says 
 "there is a time to dance," without stop- 
 ping to inquire why that ancient cynic 
 put the words "there is a time to 
 mourn" in such close proximity. They 
 will inform you that Plato, in his Com- 
 monwealth, will have dancing-schools to 
 be maintained, "that young folks may 
 meet, be acquainted, see one another, 
 
THE WORSHIP DESCRIBED. 49 
 
 and be seen/' but they forget to mention 
 that he will also have them dance naked, 
 or to quote the comments of Eusebius 
 and Theodoret upon Plato's plan. They 
 think the secret of their great respect 
 for the waltz is possessed only by them- 
 selves, and hug the belief that by them 
 that secret shall never be divulged. 
 Bah! They must dance with the gas 
 out if there is to be any secrecy in the 
 matter 
 
 Innocent and healthful recreation for- 
 sooth! The grotesque abominations of 
 the old Phallic worship had a basis of 
 clean and wholesome truth, but as the 
 obscene rites of that worship desecrated 
 the principle that inspired them, so do 
 the pranks of the ''divine waltz" libel 
 the impulse that stirs its wriggling devo- 
 tees. The fire that riots in their veins 
 and the motive that actuates their 
 haunches is an honest flame and a 
 decent energy when honestly and de- 
 
50 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 cently invoked, but if blood and muscle 
 would be pleased to indulge their impo- 
 tent raptures in private, the warmer 
 virtues would not be subjected to open 
 caricature, nor the colder to downright 
 outrage. 
 
 What do I mean by such insinuations ? 
 Nay, then, gentle reader, I will not 
 insinuate, but will boldly state that with 
 the class with which I am now dealing — 
 the dancers par excellencey the modern 
 waltz is not merely " suggestive,'' as its 
 opponents have hitherto charitably 
 styled it, but an open and shameless 
 gratification of sexual desire and a cooler 
 of burning lust. To lookers-on it is 
 ** suggestive '' enough, Heaven knows, 
 but to the dancers — that is to say, to the 
 *' perfect dancers" — it is an actual realiza- 
 tion of a certain physical ecstacy which 
 should at least be indulged in private, 
 and, as some would go so far as to say, 
 under matrimonial restrictions. And 
 
THE GREAT SECRET. 5 1 
 
 this is the secret to which I have alluded. 
 It cannot even be claimed as private 
 property any longer. 
 
 " For shame!'' cries the horrified (and 
 non-waltzing) reader; *'how can you 
 make such dreadfully false assertions ! 
 And who are these 'perfect dancers' 
 you talk so much about? And how 
 came you to know their ' secret ' as you 
 terra it ? Surely no woman of even 
 nominal decency would make such a 
 horrible confession, and yet the most 
 immaculate women waltz, and v/altz di- 
 vinely!" 
 
 By your leave, I will answer these 
 questions one at a time. Who are these 
 ''perfect waltzers?" Of the male sex 
 there are several types, of which I need 
 only mention two. 
 
 The first is your lively and handsome 
 young man — a Hercules in brawn and 
 muscle — who exults in his strength and 
 glories in his manhood. Dancing comes 
 
52 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 naturally to him, as does everything else 
 that requires grace and skill. He is a 
 ruthless hunter to whom all game is fain 
 The gods have made him beautiful and 
 strong, and the other sex recognize and 
 appreciate the fact. Is it to be expected 
 of Alcibiades that he scorn the Athenian 
 lasses, or of Phaon the Fair that he avoid 
 the damsels of Mytelene? No indeed! 
 it is for the husband and father to take 
 care of the women — he can take care of 
 himself. Yet even this gay social pirate 
 and his like might take a hint from the 
 poet : 
 
 **But ye — who never felt a single thought 
 
 For what our morals are co be, or ought} 
 
 Who wisely wish the charms you view to reap, 
 
 Say — would you make those beauties quite so cheap?" 
 
 But this fine animal is by no means 
 the most common or degraded type of 
 ball-room humanity. It would be per- 
 haps better it he were. In his mighty 
 embrace a woman would at least have 
 the satisfaction of knowing that she was 
 
A FAMILIAR TYPE. 53 
 
 dancing with a wholesome creature, 
 however destitute he might be of the 
 finer feelings that go to make up what 
 is called a man. 
 
 No, the most common type of the 
 male "perfect dancer'' is of a different 
 stamp. This is the blockhead who 
 covers his brains with his boots — to 
 whom dancing is the one serious 
 practical employment of life, and who, 
 it must be confessed, is most diligent 
 and painstaking in his profession. He 
 is chastity's paramour — strong and lusty 
 in the presence of the unattainable, fee- 
 ble-kneed and trembling in the glance 
 of invitation ; in pursuit a god, in pos- 
 session an incapable — satyr of dalliance, 
 eunuch of opportunity. This creature 
 dances divinely. He has given his 
 mind to dancing, has never got it back, 
 and is the richer for that. He haunts 
 "hops" and balls because his ailing 
 virility finds a feast in the paps and 
 
54 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 gruels of love there dispensed. It is 
 he to whose contaminating embrace 
 your wl — I mean your neighbors wife 
 or daughter, dear reader, Is oftenest sur- 
 rendered, to whet his dulled appetite for 
 strong meats of the bagnio — nay to 
 coach him for offences that must be 
 nameless here. She performs her func- 
 tion thoroughly, conscientiously, wholly 
 — merges her Identity In his, and lo! 
 the Beast with two Backs ! 
 
 A pretty picture is it not ? — the Grand 
 Passion Preservative dragged into the 
 blaze of gas to suffer pious indignities at 
 the hand of worshippers who worship 
 not wisely, but too well ! The true 
 Phallos set up at a cross-roads to re- 
 ceive the homage of strolling dogs — 
 male and female created he them ! Bah ! 
 these orgies are the spawn of unman- 
 nerly morals. They profane our civili- 
 zation, and are an indecent assault upon 
 common sense. It is nea^rly as common 
 
•'C^SAR^S wife/' ETC. 55 
 
 as the dance itself, to hear the male 
 participants give free expresssion, loose 
 tongued, to the lewd emotions, the sen- 
 sual pleasure, in which they indulge when 
 locked in the embrace of your wives and 
 daughters ; if this be true, if by any pos- 
 sibility it can be true, tha^ a lady how- 
 ever innocent in thought is exposed to 
 lecherous comments of this description> 
 then is it not also true tnat every woman 
 possessing a remnant of delicacy, will 
 flee from the dancing-hall as from a 
 pestilence. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "What ! the girl that I love by another embraced I 
 Another man's arm round my chosen one's waist! 
 What ! touched in the twirl by another man's knee ; 
 And panting recline on another than me ! 
 Sir, she's y?urs j you have brushed from the grape its soft blue, 
 From the rose you have shaken the delicate dew j 
 What you've touched you may take — pretty Waltzer, adieu T* 
 
 ET US now consider the female 
 element 'in this immodesty- 
 Is the woman equally to blame 
 with the man? Is she the un- 
 conscious instrument of his lust, or the 
 conscious sharer in it ? We shall see. 
 
 In the first place, it is absolutely nec- 
 essary that she shall be able and will- 
 ing to reciprocate the feelings of her 
 partner before she can graduate as a 
 
EXPERTS AND AMATEURS. 5/ 
 
 "divine dancer." Until she can and 
 will do this she is regarded as a *'scrub'' 
 by the male experts, and no matter what 
 her own opinion of her proficiency may 
 be she will surely not be sought as a 
 companion in that pidce de resistance 
 of the ball-room the "after — supper 
 glide." 
 
 Horrible as this statement seems, it is 
 the truth and nothing but the truth, and 
 though I could affirm it upon oath from 
 what I have myselt heard and seen, I 
 fortunately am able to confirm it by the 
 words of a highly respected minister of 
 the gospel — Mr. W. €. Wilkinson, who 
 some years ago published in bpok form 
 an article on '* The Dance of Modern 
 Society," w^iich originally appeared in 
 one of our American Quarterly Reviews. 
 
 This gentleman gives a remark over- 
 heard on 4 railway car, in a conversation 
 that was passing between two young 
 men about their lady acquaintances, 
 
58 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 ''The horrible concreteness ot the fel- 
 lows expression," says Mr Wilkinson, 
 '' may give a wholesome recoil from 
 danger to some minds that would be 
 little affected by a speculative statement 
 of the same idea. Said one : I would 
 not give a straw to dance with Miss 
 
 ; you can't excite any more 
 
 passion in her than you can in a stick of 
 wood/' Can anything be plainer than 
 this 
 
 " Pure young women of a warmer 
 temperament," the same reverend author 
 subsequently adds, '' who innocently 
 abandon themselves to enthusiastic proc- 
 lamations of their delight in the dance in 
 the presence of gentlemen, should but 
 barely once have a male intuition of the 
 meaning of the involuntary glance that 
 will oiten shoot across from eye to eye 
 among their auditors. Or should over- 
 hear the comments exchanged among 
 them afterwards. For when young men 
 
A BALL-ROOM REMINISCENCE. 59 
 
 meet after an evening of the dance to 
 talk it over together, it is not points of 
 dress they discuss. Their only demand 
 (in this particular) and it is generally 
 conceded, is that the ladies' dress shall 
 not needlessly embarrass suggestion.*' 
 
 But here is one of my own experiences 
 in this connection. At a fashionable 
 sociable, I was approached by a friend 
 who had been excelling himself in Terp- 
 sichorean feats during the whole evening. 
 This friends was a very handsome man, 
 a magnificent dancer, and of course a 
 great favorite with the ladies. I had 
 been watching him while he waltzed 
 with a young and beautiful lady, also of 
 my acquaintance, and had been filled 
 with wonder at the way he had foldled 
 her in his arms — literally fondling her 
 upon his breast, and blending her deli- 
 cate melting form into his ample embrace 
 in a manner that was marvellous to be- 
 
6o THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 hold. They had whirled and writhed 
 In a corner for fully ten minutes — the 
 fury of lust in his eyes, the languor of 
 lust in hers — until gradually she seemed 
 to lose her senses entirely, and must 
 have slipped down upon the floor when 
 he finally released her from his embrace 
 had it not been for the support of his arm 
 and shoulder. Now as he came up to 
 me all flushed and triumphant I remarked 
 to him that he evidently enjoyed this 
 thing very much. 
 
 " Of course I do,'' he answered. 
 -Why not.?" 
 
 *' But I should think,'' said I, not wish- 
 ing to let him see that I knew anything 
 about the matter from experience, " that 
 your passions would become unduly ex- 
 cited by such extremely close contact 
 with the other sex." 
 
 "Excited!" he replied, "of course they 
 do; but not unduly — what else do you 
 suppose I come here for ? And don't 
 
HOW TO DO IT. 61 
 
 you know, old fellow," he added in a 
 burst of confidence, '' that this waltzing 
 is the grandest thing in the worici. 
 While you are whirling one of those 
 charmers — if you do it properly, mind 
 you — you can whisper in her ear things 
 which she would not listen to at any 
 other time. Ah! but she likes it then^ 
 and comes closer still, and in response 
 to the pressure of her hand, your arm 
 tightens about her waist, and then" — but 
 here he grew very eloquent at the bare 
 remembrance, and the morals of the 
 printer must be respected. 
 
 '' But," said I, ''I should be afraid to 
 take such liberties with a respectable 
 woman." 
 
 '' O," he answered, *' that's nothing — 
 they like it; but, as I said before, you 
 must know how to do it; there must be 
 no blundering; they wont stand that. 
 The best place to learn to do the thing 
 correctly is in one of those dance-cellars ; 
 
62; THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 there you can take right hold of them. 
 The girls there are "posted," you know; 
 and they'll soon "post'' you. Let every- 
 thing go loose. You will soon fall into 
 the step. All else comes natural. I go 
 round amongst them all. Come with me 
 a few nights, I'll soon make a waltzer of 
 you — you will see what there is in it." 
 He still rests under the promise to "show 
 me round " in the interests of the diffu- 
 sion of useful knowledge; and if he does 
 not trace the authorship of this book to 
 me, and take offence thereat, I will go at 
 some future time. It must indeed be 
 "jolly," as he called it, to possess such 
 consumate skill in an art which makes the 
 wives and daughters of our "best people" 
 the willing instruments of his lechery. 
 Oh yes — I must learn. This is a su- 
 preme accomplishment I cannot afford 
 to be without. It has been said that 
 out of evil comes good, and assuredly 
 "this is an evil born with all its teeth." 
 
•'TRAIN UP A CHILD,' ETC 63 
 
 "Ah, yes,'' continued my enthusiastic 
 friend, "it isn't the whirling that makes 
 the waltz, and those who think it is are 
 the poorest dancers. A Httle judi- 
 cious handHng will make a sylph out of 
 the veriest gawk of a girl that ever 
 attempted the "light fantastic;" and 
 once manage to initiate one of those 
 stay-at-home young ladies, and Til war- 
 rant you she 11 be on hand at every ball 
 she is invited to for the rest of that 
 season Til wager, sir, that there isn't a 
 "scrub" in this room who just knows 
 the step but what I can make a dancer 
 of her in fifteen minutes — the dear 
 creatures take to it naturally when 
 they are properly taught. But don't 
 forget to come with me to the /dives' 
 one of these evenings and I'll show you 
 what there is in it" And this was the 
 estimation in which this man held the 
 ladies of his acquaintance: this is the 
 kind of satyr to the quenching of whose 
 
64 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 filthy lusts we are to furnisn our wives 
 and daughters; this is the manner of 
 Minotaur who must be fed upon comely- 
 virgins — may he recognize a Theseus in 
 these pages! 
 
 And yet, dear reader, do not imagine 
 that this man was a social ogre of un- 
 usual monstrosity No, indeed, he was, 
 and is, a ''very nice young man;" he is, 
 in fact, commonly regarded as a model 
 young man. Nor must you imagine 
 that his partner had a single stain upon 
 her reputation. She is a young lady of 
 the highest respectability; she takes a 
 great interest in Sunday schools, is reg- 
 ular at the communion-table, makes flan- 
 nel waistcoats for the heathen, and is on 
 all sides allowed to be the greatest catch 
 of the season in the matrimonial market. 
 If she and the young man in question 
 meet in the street, a modest bow on hei 
 part, and a respectful lifting of the hat 
 on his, are the only greetings inter- 
 
A STRANGE ACQUAINTANCE. 65 
 
 changed — he may enjoy her body in the 
 ball-room, but, you see, he is not well 
 enough acquainted with her to take her 
 hand on the street. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Where lives the man that hath not tried 
 How mirth can into folly glide, 
 
 And folly into sin ! " — Scott. 
 
 HE conversation I have given 
 in the last chapter is faithfully 
 reported — it is exact in spirit 
 very nearly so in letter ; we may 
 surely believe that the clergyman from 
 whom I have quoted some pages back, 
 was honest in his statements, and I 
 think that there can be no man who 
 has mixed among his sex in the ball- 
 room and not heard similar remarks 
 made. All this is, it seems to me, 
 ample proof of the fact which I set 
 out to demonstrate, namely, that the 
 
THE woman's part. 67 
 
 lechery of the waltz is not confined to 
 the males, but is consciously partici- 
 pated in by the females, and if further 
 evidence be needed, then, I say, take 
 the best of all — watch the dancers at 
 their sport — mark well the faces, the 
 contortions of body and limb, and be 
 convinced against your will. But even 
 over and beyond this, I shall now lay 
 before you a kind of testimony which 
 you will be surprised to find brought 
 to bear on the case. 
 
 Shortly after I had determined to 
 publish a protest against the abomina- 
 tions of the waltz, it became plainly 
 apparent to me that I must if possible 
 obtain the views on the subject of some 
 intelligent and well known lady, whose 
 opinion would be received with respect 
 by all the world. With this end in 
 view, I addressed one of the most emi- 
 nent and renowned women of America. 
 I could not fortell the result of such a 
 
68 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 Step, I certainly did not expect it to be 
 what it is, I hardly dared to hope that 
 she would accede to my request in any 
 shape. But I knew that if she did 
 speak, it would be according to her 
 honest convictions, and I resolved in 
 that event to publish her statement 
 whatever it might be. This lady freely 
 and generously offered me the use of 
 her name, and as this would be of great 
 value to my undertaking, I had origi- 
 nally intended to print it ; but upon 
 consideration I have concluded that it 
 would be a poor return for her kindness 
 and self-devotion, to subject her to the 
 fiery ordeal of criticism she would in 
 that case have to endure, and for this 
 reason, and this only, I withhold her 
 name for the present. But I do earn- 
 estly assure the reader that if ever the 
 words of a great and good woman de- 
 served respectful attention, it is these : — 
 ''You ask me to say what I think 
 
A woman's EXPERIEiSrCE. 69 
 
 about 'round dances/ I am glad of the 
 opportunity to lay my opinion on that 
 subject before the world; though, in- 
 deed I scarcely know what I can write 
 which you have not probably already 
 written. I will, however, venture to lay 
 bare a young girls heart and mind by 
 giving you my own experience in the 
 days when I waltzed. 
 
 "In those times I cared little for 
 Polka or Varsovienne, and still less 
 for the old-fashioned 'Money Musk' 
 or 'Virginia Reel,' and wondered what 
 people could find to admire in those 
 'slow dances.' But in the soft float- 
 ing of the waltz I found a strange 
 pleasure, rather difficult to intelligibly 
 describe. The mere anticipation flut- 
 tered my pulse, and when my partner 
 approached to claim my promised hand 
 for the dance I felt my cheeks glow a 
 little sometimes, and I could not look 
 him in the eyes with the same frank 
 gaiety as heretofore. 
 
70 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 "But the climax of my confusion 
 was reached when, folded in his warm 
 embrace, and giddy with the whirl, 
 a strange, sweet thrill would shake 
 me from head to foot, leaving me 
 weak and almost powerless and really 
 almost obliged to depend for support 
 upon the arm which encircled me. If 
 my partner failed from ignorance, lack 
 of skill, or innocence, to arouse these, 
 to me, most pleasurable sensations, I 
 did not dance with him the second 
 time. 
 
 "I am speaking openly and frankly, 
 and when I say that I did not understand 
 what I felt, or what were the real and 
 greatest pleasures I derived from this so- 
 called dancing, I expect to be believed. 
 But if my cheeks grew red with uncom- 
 prehended pleasure then, they grow pale 
 with shame to-day when I think of it 
 all. It was the physical emotions en- 
 gendered by the magnetic contact of 
 
A "sweet girl graduate/' 71 
 
 strong men that I was enamoured of — 
 not of the dance, nor even of the men 
 themselves. 
 
 "Thus I became abnormally devel- 
 oped in my lowest nature. I grew 
 bolder, and from being able to return 
 shy glances at first, was soon able to 
 meet more daring ones, until the waltz 
 became to me and whomsoever danced 
 with me, one lingering, sweet, and purely 
 sensual pleasure, where heart beat against 
 heart, hand was held in hand, and eyes 
 looked burning words which lips dared 
 not speak. 
 
 "All this while no one said to me: 
 you do wrong; so I dreamed of sweet 
 words whispered during the dance, 
 and often felt while alone a thrill of joy 
 indescribable yet overpowering when my 
 mind would turn from my studies to 
 remember a piece of temerity of unusual 
 grandeur on the part of one or another 
 of my cavaliers. 
 
72 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 ** Girls talk to each other. I was still 
 a school girl although mixing so much 
 with the world. We talked together. 
 We read romances that fed our romantic 
 passions on seasoned food, and none 
 but ourselves knew what subjects we 
 discussed. Had our parents heard us 
 they would have considered us on the 
 high road to ruin. 
 
 ''Yet we had been taught that it was 
 right to dance; our parents did it, our 
 friends did, and we were permitted. I will 
 say also that all the girls with whom I 
 associated, with the exception of one, had 
 much the same experience in dancing; 
 felt the same strangely sweet emotions, 
 and felt that almost imperative necessity 
 for a closer communion than that which 
 even the freedom of a waltz permits, 
 without Jcnowmg exactly why, or even 
 comprehending what. 
 
 *^' Married now, with home and children 
 around me, I can at least thank God for 
 
EXPERIENTIA DOCET. 73 
 
 the experience which will assuredly be 
 the means of preventing my little daugh- 
 ters from indulging in any such danger- 
 ous pleasure. But, if a young girl, pure 
 and innocent in the beginning, can be 
 brought to feel what I have confessed to 
 have felt, what must be the experience 
 of a married woman ? She knows what 
 every glance of the eye, every bend of 
 the head, every close clasp means, and 
 knowing that reciprocates it and is led 
 by swifter steps and a surer path down 
 the dangerous, dishonorable road. 
 
 "• I doubt if my experience will be of 
 much service, but it is the candid truth, 
 from a woman who, in the cause of all 
 the young girls who may be contaminat- 
 ed, desires to show just to what extent 
 a young mind may be defiled by the 
 injurious effects of round dances. I 
 have not hesitated to lay bare what are 
 a young girls most secret thoughts, in 
 the hope that people will stop and con- 
 
74 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 sider, at least before handing their lilHes 
 of purity over to the arms of any one 
 who may choose to blow the frosty 
 breath of dishonor on their petals." 
 
 And this is the experience of a woman 
 of unusual strength of character — one 
 whose intellect has gained her a world- 
 wide celebrity and earned for her the 
 respect and attention of multitudes 
 wherever the English language is spok- 
 en. What hope is there then for ordi- 
 nary women to escape from this mental 
 and physical contamination ? which 
 
 ** Turns — if nothing else — at least our heads.** 
 
 None whatever. 
 
^S^^^j*t 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 '*I1 fault bien dire que la danse est quasi le comble de tou8 
 vices * -x- * * c'cst le commencement d'une ordure, 
 laquelle je ne veux declarer. Pour en parler rondement, il m'est 
 advis que c'est une maniere de tout villaine et barbare * * * 
 A quoy servent tant de saults que font ces filles, soustenues des 
 compagnons par soubs les brasj a fin de regimber plus hault? 
 Quel plalsir prennent ces sauterelles a se termenter ainsi et 
 demener la pluspart des nuicts sans se souler ou lasser de la 
 danse ?" L. Vives. 
 
 ANY Will say — have said — By- 
 ron wrote against the waltz 
 because a physical infirmity 
 prevented him from waltzing — 
 that ne is not a proper person to quote 
 as an example for others to follow. It 
 must be conceded that whatever his mo- 
 tive was, he well knew what he was 
 writing about, and whatever his practices 
 
76 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 may have been in other respects, It is to 
 his credit that his sense of the proprie- 
 ties of Hfe were not so blunted as to 
 render him blind to this cause of gross 
 public licentiousness. 
 
 But, unlike Byron, I have, as has 
 been stated before, practical experience^ 
 and positive knowledge in the matter 
 whereof I speak, and am possessed of 
 the most convincing assurances that my 
 utterances will be received with joy by 
 thousands of husbands and fathers whose 
 views have been down-trodden — their 
 sentiments disregarded, and their notions 
 of morality held up to scorn because 
 they disapprove of this "innocent amuse- 
 ment/' 
 
 It has also been before said that this 
 vice was ''seemingly tolerated by all,'' 
 but I am proud to say that the placard 
 posted about the streets announcing a 
 '' Sunday School Festival — dancing 
 
 TO COMMENCE AT NINE o'CLOCK," doeS 
 
DANCING AND CONFIRMATION. "]"] 
 
 not reflect the sentiments of the entire 
 community; that in all the marts of 
 business, in every avenue of trade, in 
 counting-house and in work-shop, men 
 are to be found who would shrink with 
 horror from exposing their wives and 
 daughters to the allurements of the dance- 
 hall — men who form a striking contrast 
 to those simpering simpletons who sym- 
 pathize with their feelings, but have not 
 the courage to maintain the family honor 
 by enforcing their views in the domestic 
 circle. 
 
 It is only a few years since the Frank- 
 fort Journal announced that the author- 
 ities had decided, in the interest of good 
 morals, that in future dancing-masters 
 should not teach their art to children 
 who had not yet been confirmed. The 
 teaching of dancing in boarding-houses 
 and hotels was also forbidden. It is not 
 desirable that the law should interfere 
 with purely domestic affairs, but really it 
 
78 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 seems as if those unfortunate parents and 
 husbands who shudder at the evil but 
 are awed into silence by ridicule or open 
 rebellion, stand in as urgent need of the 
 law s assistance as the Magdeburg god- 
 fathers and godmothers. 
 
 I well know that many young ladies 
 profess entire innocence of any impure 
 emotions during all this '' palming work." 
 
 To them let me say: If you are so 
 sluggish in your sensibilities as this would 
 imply, then you are not fit subjects for 
 the endearments of married life, and can 
 give but poor promise of securing your 
 husband s affection. But if on the other 
 hand (as in most cases is true) you ex- 
 perience the true bliss of this intoxication, 
 then indeed will the ground of your 
 emotions be pretty well worked over 
 before you reach the hymeneal altar, and 
 the nuptial couch will have but little to 
 offer for your consideration with which 
 you are not already familiar. 
 
DEMAND AND SUPPLY. 79 
 
 A friend at my elbow remarks. *'I 
 agree with you perfectly, but my wife 
 likes these dances, — sees no harm in 
 them, and her concluding and unan- 
 swerable argument is, that if I danced 
 them, I should like them just as well as 
 she does.'' The truth of this latter 
 statement depends upon your moral 
 perceptions. There is but one answer 
 to the former, given by ''Othello/* 
 
 ** This is the curse of Marriage : 
 We call these delicate creatures ours — 
 Bat not their appetites," 
 
 If you are so lax in your attention — 
 so deficient in those qualities which go 
 to make a woman happy — that she seeks 
 the embrace of other men to supply the 
 more than half acknowledged need — if 
 this be true, my friend, I leave the mat- 
 ter with you — it belongs to another class 
 of subjects, treated of by Doctor Acton 
 of London — I refer you to his able 
 works. 
 
8o THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 Another says: Both my wife and I 
 enjoy these dances. We see no par- 
 ticular harm in them — ''to the pure all 
 things are pure.'' The very same thing 
 may be said by the habituds of other 
 haunts of infamy — 
 
 *' Vice is a monster of so frightful mien. 
 As, to be hated, needs but to be seen j 
 Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face. 
 We first endure, then pity, then embrace." 
 
 There is, again, a very large class of 
 dancers who frankly allow that there is 
 immorality in the modern waltz, but in- 
 sist that this immorality need not be, 
 and by them is not, practised. They 
 dance — but very properly, you know. 
 These are the Pharisees who beat their 
 breasts in public places, crying fie! upon 
 their neighbors, and bravo! upon them- 
 selves. 
 
 Of course, they will tell you, there are 
 persons who are excited impurely by the 
 waltz, but these are persons who would 
 
IDEAS OF PURITY. 8 1 
 
 be immoral under any circumstances. 
 '* To the pure all things are pure." It 
 is astonishing how apt they are with 
 these tongue-worn aphorisms. To the 
 pure all things are pure, — yes, but purity 
 is only a relative virtue whose value is 
 fixed by the moral standard of the in- 
 dividual. What would be pure to some 
 would be grossly impure to others, and 
 when you place your wife or daughter 
 in the arms of such salacious gentry as 
 have been described in the foregoing 
 pages are you not pretty much in the 
 position of the gentleman who when 
 gravely informed by a guest who was 
 taking an unaccountably hasty leave 
 that his (the host's) wife had lewdly en- 
 treated him, replied : *' But, my friend, 
 that is nothing ; your wife did as much 
 for me when I visited you last year.'' 
 This gentleman, remember, was also 
 ready to add : ** to the pure all things 
 are pure." The Waltz should assuredly 
 
82 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 have figured among the "pure impuri- 
 ties" of Petronius. 
 
 But even if it be allowed that a lady 
 can waltz virtuously, I have already 
 shown that in that case she must not 
 dance welL And what a pitiful specta- 
 cle, surely, is that of a lady trying "how 
 not to do it" — converting her natural 
 grace into clumsiness in order that she 
 may do an indecent thing decently, and 
 remain 
 
 " Warm but not wanton ; dazzled, but not blind.'* 
 
 But perhaps she cannot waltz. In that 
 case how long will it take her to learn ? 
 Will not one single dance lower her 
 standard of purity if her partner happens 
 to be one of the adepts I have de- 
 scribed ? 
 
 " But," cries the fair dancer " you 
 must remember that no lady will permit 
 herself to be introduced to, or accept as a 
 partner, any but a gentleman, who she is 
 sure will treat her with becoming respect.'* 
 
GENTLEMANLY PARTNERS. 83 
 
 I will not Stop to inquire what her 
 definition of a ''gentleman'' is — whether 
 the most courteous and urbane of men 
 may not be a most desperate roue at 
 heart. The attitude and contact are 
 the same in any case, and if it needs 
 must be that a husband is to see his 
 wife folded in the close embrace of 
 another man, is it any consolation for 
 him to know that her partner is eligible 
 as a rival in other respects than his nim- 
 ble feet — that he who is brushing the 
 bloom from his peach is at least his 
 equal ? Can you stop to consider the 
 intellectual accomplishments and social 
 status of the man who has invaded the 
 sacred domain of your wife's chamber ? 
 No — equally unimportant is it to you, 
 who or what he may be — that has thus 
 exercised a privilege reserved by all 
 pure-minded women for their husbands 
 alone. 
 
 But in this matter of the selection of 
 
84 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 the fittest the ladies have set up a man 
 of straw, which I must proceed to 
 demolish. In order that the lawless 
 contact may be impartially distributed, 
 and that no lady may be free to choose 
 whose sexual magnetism she shall ab- 
 sorb, we have imported from across the 
 water a foreign variety of the abomina- 
 tion, by which ingenious contrivance the 
 color of the ribbon a lady chances to 
 hold determines who shall have the use 
 of her body in the waltz, and places her 
 in the pitiable predicament of the *'poore 
 bryde" at ancient French weddings, who, 
 as we read in Christen, '' State of Mat- 
 rimony," must "kepe foote with all dan- 
 cers, and refuse none, how scabbed, foule, 
 droncken, rude, and shameless soever he 
 be." 
 
 Nor are even the square dances any 
 longer left as a refuge for the more 
 modest, for to such a pitch has the pas- 
 sion for this public sexual intimacy 
 
THE WALTZ QUADRILLE. 85 
 
 come, that the waltz is now inseparably 
 wedded to the quadrille. Even the old 
 fogies are sometimes trapped by this 
 device. A quadrille is called and they 
 take their places feeling quite safe. 
 ** First Gfouple forward!'' "Cross over!'' 
 ''Change partners!" ''Waltz up and 
 down the centre!" "Change over!" 
 "All hands waltz round the outside!" 
 and before they know it their sedate 
 notions are lost in the "waltz quadrille." 
 It may be said that every arrangement 
 of the dance looks to an "equitable" 
 distribution of each lady's favors. It is 
 a recognized fact that a lady dancing 
 repeatedly with the same gentleman 
 shows a marked preference thereby — - 
 and he is deemed rude and selfish who 
 attempts to monoplize his affianced, or 
 shows reluctance in resigning her to the 
 arms of another. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ** Transformed all wives to Dalilahs, 
 
 Whose husbands were not for the cause j 
 And turned the men to ten-hornM cattle, 
 Because they went not out to battle." 
 
 Samuel Butler. 
 % 
 
 OME time ago a lady friend said 
 to me: *'How is it that while 
 so many of you gentlemen are 
 fond of dancing until you are 
 married, yet from that moment few 
 of you can be induced to dance any 
 more. In fact it is a fraud perpetrated 
 upon young ladies; you fall in love with 
 them in the ball room, you court them 
 there, you marry them there, and they 
 naturally think you will continue to take 
 
WIVES SUPPLANT WALTZES. 87 
 
 them there. But no — thenceforth they 
 must Stay at home, or if you are induced 
 to go occasionally, you are as cross and 
 ill-natured about it as possible ; as 
 though it was something dreadful. If 
 the dancing-hall is good enough to get 
 a wife in, is it not good enough to take 
 a wife to?'' 
 
 My dear Jady, said I, you have stated 
 the case with a fairness not often met 
 with in an opponent. There can be no 
 stronger evidence (none other is re- 
 quired) to establish the sexualism of the 
 popular dance than that which you have 
 just cited. The privileges of matrimony 
 relieve the necessity for the dance. The 
 lover is compelled to share that which 
 the husband considers all his own. 
 Those who, while single, were most 
 deeply versed in the mysteries and 
 pleasures of the waltz are, when mar- 
 ried, the first to proclaim their abhor- 
 rence of it, too often, it is true, in a mild 
 and impotent protest, but not always. 
 
88 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 Is the reader acquainted with Boye- 
 sens novel called *'Gunnar?" If so he 
 will remember that Ragnhild was to wed 
 Lars under the pressure of parental au- 
 thority. She preferred, however, the 
 valiant, dancing Gunnar. '*Ha! ha! ha!" 
 cried he, ''strike up a tune and that a 
 right lusty one!" The music struck up, 
 he swung upon his heel, caught the girl 
 who stood nearest him round the waist; 
 and whirled away with her. Suddenly 
 he stopped and gazed right into her face, 
 and who should it be but Ragnhild. She 
 begged and tried to release herself from 
 his arm, but he lifted her from the floor, 
 made another leap, and danced away, so 
 that the floor shook under them." 
 
 "Gunnar, Gunnar," whispered she, 
 ''please, Gunnar, let me go" — he heard 
 nothing. "Gunnar," begged she again, 
 now already half surrendering, "only 
 think what mother would say if she 
 were here." But now she began to feel 
 
IN THE TOILS. 89 
 
 the spell of the dance. The walls, the 
 roof, and the people began to whirl 
 round her in a strange, bewildering cir- 
 cle; at one moment the music seemed 
 to be winging its way to her from an 
 unfathomable depth in an inconceivable, 
 measureless distance, and in the next it 
 was roaring and booming in her ears 
 with the rush and din of an infinite cat- 
 aract of tone. Unconsciously her feet 
 moved to its measure, her heart beat to 
 it, a7td she forgot her scrupleSy her fear, 
 and everything but him in the bliss of 
 the dance. 
 
 Gunnar knew how to tread the spring- 
 ing dance, and no one would deny him 
 the rank of the first dancer in the 
 valley, so, it was a dance worth seeing, 
 and of the girls, there was scarcely one 
 who did not wish herself in the happy 
 Ragnhild s place " — (of course they did.) 
 After the music had ceased, it was some 
 time before Ragnhild fully recovered 
 
go THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 her senses — (quite likely) ; she still 
 clung fast to Gunnar's arm, the floor 
 seemed to be heaving and sinking under 
 her — (quite common in such cases), and 
 the space was filled with a vague, dis- 
 tant hum." (Why not ?) 
 
 Later, the gleaming knife in the hands 
 of Lars, showed that he but too plainly 
 understood the nature of the perform- 
 ance in which his future wife had been 
 engaged. And the sequel well attests, 
 that his happiness did not increase with 
 his knowledge. Even the vigor of a 
 NoiVegian climate was not sufficient to 
 cool his fury. What a promising field 
 for future operations must sunnier 
 climes present for such enterprising 
 young gentlemen. 
 
 Follow the subject a little further and 
 it will be seen that Ragnhild lost more 
 than her head in the bewildering whirl. 
 Now let me ask any father or mother 
 (or husband if you will), — any man pos- 
 
WALTZING MATRONS. 9 1 
 
 sessing a grain of common sense, if 
 Ragnhild was in a safe condition to be 
 shown by Gunnar, to one of our com- 
 modious carriages and driven to her 
 home (perhaps miles away) at three 
 o'clock in the morning ? 
 
 *• Lead us not into temptation." 
 
 Yet this is done — is permitted by very 
 many of our so-called *' prudent parents" 
 and while they are crying out about 
 *' social evils," are doing all in their 
 power to furnish recruits for the great 
 army of the infamous. 
 
 " Deliver us from evil." 
 
 . There are two types of married ladies 
 who practise, and of course enjoy, the 
 waltz, and lest either might discover the 
 portrait of the other and take offence 
 that her own lovely face was not used to 
 adorn these pages, each shall have a 
 separate notice. They will probably 
 have already recognized portraits of 
 
92 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 themselves in this volume, but the object 
 here is more particularly to distinguish 
 between the two. 
 
 The first of these we may safely call 
 semi-respectable — she is so partly from 
 necessity, partly from choice — from 
 choice because she regards it as the 
 "proper thing" that her husband should 
 dance attendance while she dances 
 something else, during the performance 
 of which, the poet tells us, 
 
 " The fair one's breast 
 Gives all it can and bids us take the rest." 
 
 She has not yet quite reached that 
 stage of shamelessness when she can ca- 
 rouse the entire night without some 
 lingering regard for what Mrs. Grundy 
 will say; besides this, she is not quite 
 sure of her position, and does not I:now 
 exactly how much her husband will 
 bear. She is afflicted with a bare sus- 
 picion that his docile nature might be 
 over taxed — that in the pigeon holes of 
 
FREE AND INDEPENDENT. 93 
 
 his dull cranium might be found a desire 
 to make it rather lively if too openly 
 slighted. *'Oh, no," she reasons, "take 
 him along — his presence makes it all 
 right — his smile gives sanction to all 
 that may happen. When he is with me 
 who dare complain ?'' 
 
 But the woman whom it would be my 
 joy to describe, whose perfections surpass 
 description, is moved by no such paltry 
 considerations. She glories in an inde- 
 pendence which scorns all such petty 
 restraints. She it is whose insight into 
 domestic politics descries the true posi- 
 tion, "to go with her husband is a bore'' 
 —his very presence is a hindrance to a 
 full and free exercise of all the privileges 
 of the " Boston Dip." She can find it 
 in her heart now to laugh at the ridicu- 
 lous vow she made when playing that 
 old-fashioned farce before the altar — the 
 vow to " leave all others and cleave to 
 him alone.*' How much pleasanter. 
 
94 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 surely, to cleave and cling to all others, 
 and leave him alone. She may be 
 "too ill" to attend with her husband; 
 but let " Mr. Nimblefoot" — sprightly of 
 heel and addled of brain — come along, 
 with an invitation to attend a ball, and 
 in a trice she so far recovers her declin- 
 ing health as to make such an elaborate 
 toilet that 
 
 ** Not Cleopatra on her galley's deck, 
 Displays so much of leg, or more of neck." 
 
 Then it is, when with a disregard for 
 neighborly comments which would do 
 credit to a better cause, we see her in all 
 her naked loveliness. No vulgar re- 
 straint upon her movements, no "green- 
 eyed monster'' to inquire into her 
 absence or take note of her doings. 
 None to say 
 
 "Methinksthe glare of yonder chandelier 
 Shines much too far — or I am much too near.*' 
 
 But a more detailed account of this 
 lady and of " how it all came about," is 
 
TRUE HEROINES. 95 
 
 it not written in the chronicles of the 
 Courts having '' original jurisdiction " in 
 cases of divorce ? 
 
 Who, then, after reviewing this ghastly 
 procession of moral lepers, shall find 
 words wherewith to express his reverence 
 and admiration for those pure-minded 
 girls and wom.en who refuse to dance — 
 071 principle ! No renowned hero of 
 ancient or modern times has a better 
 right to claim the bays than the woman 
 who, seeing the degradation of the mod- 
 ern dance, has the independence and 
 moral courage to avoid it. Her heroism 
 is greater than you might suppose, for 
 she is sorely tempted to do wrong on 
 the one hand, and severely punished for 
 doing right on the other. Tempted — 
 because she is as fair and graceful as her 
 less modest sisters, and naturally as fond 
 oi man's admiration, and as sensible of 
 physical pleasure as they; punished — by 
 the sneers of women who call her ''prude" 
 
96 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 and '' wall-flower," and by the slights put 
 upon her by men who avoid her because 
 she ''doesn't dance." In spite of the 
 example set by those whom she has 
 perhaps been taught to regard as wiser 
 and better than herself, she yet resists 
 the fascination of the Social Basilisk 
 from pure pride of womanhood, and 
 sacrifices her inclinations upon the altar 
 of modesty. 
 
 These are the wives and daughters 
 who do honor to their families. Their 
 reward is the respect and admiration of 
 all honorable men. 
 
 *' My child," said a friend of mine to 
 his daughter who had declined to attend 
 a " sociable " on the ground that dancing 
 was improper, '' my child, I honor your 
 judgment, and let me give you a father s 
 advice: never alloAv a mans arm to en- 
 circle your waist till you are married, 
 and then only your husband! sT And 
 this advice I re-echo to all young ladies. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ** Illic Hippolitum pone, Priapus crit.** 
 
 Ovid. 
 
 •*Le Provcrbe qui a couru i Tegard des Cloitres, dangereux 
 <omme le retour de tnatinesy en pouvoit produire un autre avec un 
 petit changement, dangereux cotnme le retour du balJ** 
 
 Bayle. 
 
 HERE are, of course, many 
 other classes of waltzers to 
 whom I might revert, though 
 I have sought in vain for a 
 single one that is entirely free from re- 
 proach. It is however time that the 
 evil should be viewed from other points. 
 Let us consider some of its results and 
 effects. 
 
 I have repeatedly declared, and I 
 now do so again that the waltz has 
 
98 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 grown to be a purely sexual enjoymeiit^ 
 That I may not be supposed to stand 
 alone in this assertion I will again quote 
 the words of the worthy clergyman 
 before referred to. He writes : 
 
 The dance " consists substantially of a 
 system of means contrived with more 
 than human ingenuity to excite the in- 
 stincts of sex to action, however subtile 
 and disguised at the moment, in its se- 
 quel the most bestial and degrading." 
 And again: ''it is a usage that regularly 
 titillates and tantalises an animal appe- 
 tite as insatiable as hunger, more cruel 
 than revenge." 
 
 Gail Hamilton, to whose words most 
 of us will attach some weight, I think, 
 in a contribution to an Eastern journal, 
 says: ''The thing in its very nature is 
 unclean and cannot be washed. The 
 very pose of the parties suggests 
 impurity." But I must go further than 
 this, and assert that the pose and motions 
 
*'TO THE PURE, ETC. 99 
 
 of the parties cannot even be spoken of 
 by a young lady without danger of com- 
 mitting a double entendre at which many 
 a *' nice young man " will laugh in his 
 sleeve. 
 
 I will illustrate this statement: A 
 charming young lady, just arrived from 
 abroad, informed me that we do not 
 execute these new round dances "quite 
 right" in this country. She describes it 
 as having **two forward and two back- 
 ward movements, then sideways, with a 
 whirl." But she will ''show me how to 
 do it on the first opportunity." 
 
 "That must, indeed, be nicer than the 
 way we do it," said I, "though I have 
 heard of a similar dance in the Sand- 
 wich Islands." Yea, verily, "to the pure 
 all things are pure." 
 
 What says St. Aldegonde in a letter 
 written as long ago as 1577 to Caspar 
 Verheiden ? He says that he approves 
 of the course adopted by the Church of 
 
I(X) THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 Geneva, which by interdicting the dance 
 has abolished many filthy abuses of daily 
 occurrence; it being the custom of the 
 men to take young girls to balls at night 
 and there to vex them by lewd postur- 
 ing. No one, he contends, can look on 
 at such a spectacle without sin; what 
 then shall we say of those who take part 
 in it. Much more he adds, and when I 
 say that I dare not translate it here, the 
 reader will be ready to believe that the 
 worthy Saint is pretty plain-spoken in 
 his strictures on the dance. But he is no 
 more so than is Lambert Daneau in his 
 *'Traite des Danses," the perusal of 
 which might do some modern dancers 
 good. And yet both these old writers 
 only saw the play of Hamlet with Ham- 
 let left out, for the Waltz did not exist in 
 their day. 
 
 Now, this being the case, what are we 
 to suppose are its effects upon those 
 who indulge in it ? Does the scandal 
 
WHAT FOLLOWS f lOI 
 
 end in the ball room, or, as Byron says, 
 may we not marvel 
 
 " If nothing follows all this palming work.*' 
 
 and do we not feel ourselves constrained 
 to believe his assurance that 
 
 " Something does follow at a fitter time." 
 
 That the waltz has been the acknowl- 
 edged avenue to destruction for great 
 multitudes, is a truth burnt into the 
 hearts of thousands of downcast fathers 
 and broken-hearted mothers ; and the 
 husbands are legion who can look upon 
 hearths deserted and homes left desolate 
 by wives and daughters who have been 
 led captive by this magnificent burst of 
 harmony and laying-on of hands. 
 
 One of our ablest writers says : " it is 
 a war on home, it is a war on physical 
 health, it is a war on man s moral nature; 
 this is the broad avenue through which 
 thousands press into the brothel." The 
 "dancing hall is the nursery of the 
 
I02 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 divorce Court, the training ship of pros- 
 titution, the graduating school of in- 
 famy." 
 
 Olaus Magnus tells us that the young 
 people of the North danced among naked 
 sword-blades and pointed weapons scat- 
 tered upon the ground; our young people 
 dance among far deadlier dangers than 
 these. 
 
 Think of it, dear reader, picture to 
 yourself the condition to which a young 
 girl is reduced by the time that her car- 
 riage is announced. All the baser in- 
 stincts of her nature are aroused — to use 
 the words of Erasmus she has '' a pound 
 of passion to an ounce of reason." Ans- 
 wer me, is she not now in a fit state to 
 fall an easy prey to the destroyer? And 
 yet in this condition 
 
 ** Hot from the hands promiscuously applied 
 Round the slight waist or down the glowing side,*' 
 
 she is almost borne to her carriage by 
 an escort, " flown ■ with insolence and 
 
FUGE QUiERERE ! IO3 
 
 wine " and whose condition is othei"wise 
 similar to her own, except that the ex- 
 citement of the moment makes him as 
 bold and ardent, as it renders her lan- 
 guid and compliant. He places her 
 panting form upon the soft cushions, 
 and with a whispered admonition to the 
 coachman not to drive too fast, he en- 
 sconces himself by her side. But here> 
 as upon an earlier page, we must leave 
 them. The hour, the darkness, every- 
 thing is propitious — it is little short of a 
 miracle if she escapes. 
 
 ** Look out, look out and see 
 
 What object this may be 
 
 That doth perstringe mine eye ; 
 
 A gallant lady goes 
 
 In rich and gaudy clothes, 
 
 But whither away God knows.** 
 
 But let us charitably suppose that the 
 sequel is only a continuation of the li- 
 cense of the waltz, and that she reaches 
 her home with merely the smell of the 
 fire through which she has passed upon 
 
I04 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 her garments — let us suppose that 
 the Ah si liceret / of Caracalla has not 
 been answered by the yielding quic- 
 quid libet licet of his mother-in-law — 
 and what is the result? The flame 
 that has been aroused must be allayed. 
 If she is unmarried, then in Gods name 
 let us inquire no farther; but if she 
 is a w4fe then is the dear indul- 
 gent husband at home privileged to 
 meet a want inspired in the embrace of 
 " the first dancer in the valley," and to 
 enjoy some advantage, at least, from the 
 peculiar position which he sustains to- 
 ward the matronly dancer. 
 
 And now may we not take a peep at 
 the fair danseuse as she comes into the 
 breakfast- room at noon next day. Is 
 this broken-down, used-up creature the 
 radiant beauty of the night before 1 Can 
 it be that that " healthful recreation,*' the 
 Waltz, has painted those dark circles 
 round her eyes and planted those wrin- 
 kles on her brow ? 
 
presto! change! 105 
 
 "Alas, the mother, that her bare, 
 If she could stand in presence there, 
 In that wan cheek and wasted air 
 
 She would not know her child," 
 
 She IS paying now for the sweetness 
 of ** stolen waters '' and the pleasantness 
 of bread "eaten in secret/' For the 
 next week what pleasure will husband, 
 father, or brother, derive from her 
 society. She is ill and peevish — she is 
 damaged both in body and soul. For 
 the next week, did I say ? Well, I 
 meant until the next invitation to a 
 dance arrives. That is the magic elixir 
 that will brighten the dull eyes and recall 
 the dead smiles to life. Then invoking 
 the rejuvenating spirit of the cosmetic- 
 box and tricked out in the finery which 
 those most near, but not most dear, to 
 her have toiled to purchase, she will 
 sally forth to lavish upon the lechers of 
 the ball-room a gracious sweetness which 
 she never showed at home. 
 
 But where is Apollo all this time ? 
 
I06 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 We left him burning with half satiated 
 lust before the gate of his paramour s 
 mansion. Where will he go to complete 
 his debauch ? At what strange foun- 
 tains will he quench the flame that is 
 devouring him ? Go ask the harlot ! 
 She will reap the harvest that has ripened 
 in the warm embrace of maids and 
 mothers. She is equally fortunate with 
 the husband described above. Ah, 
 well ! verily it is an ill wind that blows 
 nobody good. 
 
 The Waltz is, therefore, in its effects, 
 fearfully disastrous to both sexes, but 
 nevertheless the woman is the greater 
 sufferer — physically, because what is 
 fatal excess for a woman may be only 
 hurtful indulgence for a man, and mor- 
 ally, because she loses that without 
 which her beauty and grace are but a 
 curse — man's respect. 
 
 And her punishment is just, her fault 
 being more inexcusable than his. For 
 
THE WOMAN AND THE MAN lO/ 
 
 woman is the natural and acknowledged 
 custodian of morals. It is she who fixes 
 the stari'dard of modesty — a variable 
 standard, it is true, different in different 
 ages and countries, but always sufficiently 
 well-defined. She draws across the path 
 of passion, lines limiting, on the one hand, 
 the license of masculine approach, on the 
 other, the liberty of feminine concession. 
 To a certain extent man may blamelessly 
 accept whatever privileges she is pleased 
 to accord him, without troubling himself 
 to consider "too curiously" their con- 
 sistency with the general tenor of her 
 decrees. It is her discretion in such 
 matters that must, in a large way, pre- 
 serve the race from fatal excess. When, 
 therefore, she shamelessly violates this 
 sacred trust which nature and society 
 have confided to her, it is to be expected 
 that the ball-room roud should regard 
 her as something lower than the harlot, 
 who at least ministers to his lusts in a 
 natural manner. 
 
I08 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 But, what IS worse still, she also loses 
 moral caste with those who have more 
 than a negative respect for honorable 
 women. For even your gentleman is 
 no professor of heroic virtues, and the 
 same easy courtesy with which he dis- 
 misses the soliciting courtesan, restrains 
 him from wounding, even by implica- 
 tion, the merely facile fair being whom 
 favoring fortune has as yet prevented 
 from taking to the street. He dissem- 
 bles his disgust, begs the honor of her 
 hand for the next dance, flutters her 
 pulses to her souls satisfaction, and re- 
 gards her ever thereafter with tranquil, 
 philosophical contempt. And so they 
 come to mutually despise each other; she 
 sets no value on his flattering praises, he 
 no longer cares for her good opinion — 
 the wine of woman's approval has gone 
 stale, and the sunshine of man s admira- 
 tion is darkened in her eyes. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "So she looks into her heart, and lo ! Vacuca sedes et inania 
 arcana * ^fr * And the man is himself, and the woman 
 herself; that dream of love is over as everything else is over in 
 life J as flowers and fury, as griefs and pleasures are over.** 
 
 Thackeray. 
 
 ** Wir haben lang genug geliebt, und wollen endlich hasscn.'* 
 
 George Herwegh. 
 
 UT this "innocent amusement'* 
 entails worse consequences than 
 these. It is the high-road to the 
 divorce court, it has brought 
 strife and misery into ten thousand 
 happy homes; truly it is the "abomina- 
 tion that maketh desolation." 
 
 Take the case of the poor, dull, stupid 
 Benedick who, like Byron with his club 
 foot, dances not at all. He is a splendid 
 
no THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 man of business, perhaps, and is highly 
 respected on change; but here, in the 
 ball-room, what is he? A dolt, a ninny, 
 an old fogy, a nuisance — to be snubbed 
 and slighted by the woman he calls wife 
 for every brainless popingay who 
 ** dances divinely." He has been proud 
 to toil from day to day to be able to 
 purchase costly apparel with which to 
 adon^ this far better half of his; now he 
 has the felicity of seeing the fine fruits 
 of his labor dangled about the legs of 
 another man; he had supposed her the 
 *'wife of his bosom," yet, behold! she 
 reclines most lovingly on the bosom of 
 another; she is the mother of his children, 
 yet as she quivers in her partner s arms, 
 her face is troubled with 
 
 **The half-told wish and ill-dissembled flame." 
 
 He has pride enough to attempt to 
 look interested, and to alifect ignorance 
 of his own shame, but the sham is ap- 
 parent. Note how uneasily he sits upon 
 
ONE OF THE MERRY-MAKERS. I I I 
 
 the benches provided for such *' wall- 
 flowers '' as himself. Anyone who will 
 take the trouble to observe him, can see 
 that his heart is not in the waltz in which 
 his spouse is taking such a lively interest. 
 Approach him, now, and tell him that it 
 is a very nice party, and that he seems 
 to be enjoying himself. *' Oh very nice,' 
 he answers with a ghastly grin intended 
 for a smile, " I am enjoying it greatly/' 
 But now incidentally remark that after 
 all you have no great liking for these 
 "fancy dances,'' and see how quickly a 
 fellow-feeling will make him wondrous 
 confidential, as he answers: 
 
 " To tell the truth, I don't like them 
 at all." 
 
 Perhaps you have known him when a 
 bachelor and have seen him dance then. 
 You mention this fact. 
 
 "O yes," he answers, "of course I 
 used to dance; but can't you see that 
 there is a mighty deal of difference be- 
 
112 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 tween hugging other people s wives and 
 daughters to music, and taking your own 
 wife to a place where every fellow can 
 press her to his bosom and dangle his 
 legs among her petticoats ? No, sir, I do 
 not like it, and if my wife thought as I 
 do about it, there would be no more 
 dancing in our family. * I would rather 
 be a toad and feed on the damp vapor 
 of a dungeon, than keep a corner in the 
 thing I love for others' uses.' " 
 
 Follow the conversation up and you 
 will find that if ever Sorrow mocked a 
 festival by its presence it is in the per- 
 son of this man. He is not jealous, he 
 is outraged ; all the finer feelings of his 
 nature are trampled under foot, he is 
 grieved and deeply wounded beyond re- 
 covery. 
 
 This is the beginning of the end ; she 
 is never the same woman to him here- 
 after; he may smile and appear careless, 
 but none the less has that tiny satin slip- 
 
THE END OF IT. I 1 3 
 
 per crushed all the fresh love from his 
 heart. The second volume of his Book 
 of Life is opened ; the first chapter there- 
 of being headed " Estrangement," and 
 the last '' Divorce.'' 
 
 And this is not an exceptional case ; 
 the writer will venture the assertion that 
 out of every fifty husbands who have 
 dancing wives, there are at least a dozen 
 who if spoken frankly to upon the sub- 
 ject would express themselves in terms 
 of most bitter condemnation. 
 
 And what kind of men are those who 
 do 7to^ object to see their wives made 
 common property in this manner ? 
 Well, there is your weak good-natured 
 husband, who would willingly suffer any 
 personal annoyance rather than thwart 
 the wishes of his beloved wife, no matter 
 how ill-advised those wishes may be. 
 
 The writer is personally acquainted 
 with a young and newly-married man, 
 whose experience will illustrate what I 
 
114 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 have just said, though it is true that he 
 eventually came to see the error of his 
 ways He had the misfortune to marry 
 a lady who was excessively fond of 
 dancing. He had never learned to 
 waltz himself, but finding it impossible 
 to remain a looker-on he determined 
 to acquire a knowledge of the intox- 
 icating art. He, poor fool, imagined 
 that when he had conquered the first 
 elements of the dance, his wife would 
 take particular pleasure in attending 
 to his further instruction. Picture, 
 then, his surprise and disgust when on 
 making his ddbut in the ball-room he 
 found that his wife would avail herself 
 of every pretext to leave him to shift for 
 himself — a conspicuous object for com- 
 miseration of the experts — while she 
 accepted the amorous attentions of every 
 clodhopper who possessed the divine 
 accomplishment. 
 
 Were I, dear reader, to reproduce his 
 
A MARTYR TO THE CAUSE. TI5 
 
 exact words in giving expression to his 
 indignation at and contempt for an in- 
 stitution the effect of which is to ignore 
 the relations of husband and wife, and 
 exalt the accomplishments of the heel 
 over those of the head and heart, you 
 would be shocked beyond measure. 
 
 All his happiness was centred in this 
 one woman ; her good opinion was the 
 dearest thing on earth to him. When 
 therefore he found himself unable to 
 partake with her of the pleasures of the 
 dance, he tortured himself to acquire an 
 art which in itself had no attraction for 
 him, merely because he thought it would 
 render him more pleasing in her sight. 
 We have seen the manner in which she 
 encouraged his first attempts ; but the 
 wrong was to be deeper yet. Content 
 that her pleasure should not be spoiled 
 by his bad dancing, he allowed her to 
 choose her own partners, while he ap- 
 plied himself vigorously to his self-ap- 
 
Il6 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 pointed task of learning to waltz 'Mike 
 an angel." Exactly how he achieved 
 this end is not quite clear. He was not 
 seen to practice much at the fashionable 
 gatherings he attended with his wife; he 
 was too sensitive to ridicule for that. 
 Perhaps, like Socrates in his old age, he 
 found some underground Aspasia who 
 was willing to give him lessons in the 
 art. But however this may be, certain 
 it is that before long he had acquired a 
 degree of proficiency which was quite 
 surprising. Now, he triumphantly 
 thought, his fond wife could have all the 
 *' Boston Dip" necessary for her ''health- 
 ful exercise and recreation'' without 
 submitting her charms to the embrace 
 of comparative strangers. 
 
 Alas, for his hopes! After walking 
 through the stately opening quadrille with 
 the "partner of his joys,'' he discovered 
 that as though by magic her card had 
 been filled by the young bloods who 
 
CARIBERT'S DANCING-LESSON. I I 7 
 
 clustered about her ; and then for the 
 first time he was informed that after in-^ 
 troducing his wife to the floor it was a 
 breach of etiquette to monopoHze her 
 any further — he must either sit content to 
 see her whirl, spitted on the same bod- 
 kin with men he had never seen be- 
 fore, or must turn his own skill to the 
 best account and 
 
 ** Give — like her — caresses to a score.** 
 
 It is more than likely that he adopted 
 the latter course — most of his class do. 
 
 Those wives who are so eager, for va- 
 rious reasons of their own, that their 
 husbands should learn to dance, might 
 draw a wholesome lesson from the story 
 of Caribert, king of Paris, whose wife 
 Ingoberge would fain prevent him from 
 spending so much time in the hunting- 
 field. 
 
 To this end she prepared a series of 
 splendid festivities, which she induced 
 
11^ THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 her lord to attend. Now, fairest and 
 most graceful among the dancers were 
 two sisters of surpassing beauty, named 
 M6roflede and Marcovere. Having, at 
 his queen s express solicitation, essayed 
 the ''light fantastic" with these ladies, 
 the good Caribert, who had before no 
 thought for any woman but his wife, 
 suddenly became so enamored with the 
 skill and grace of the sisters, that he not 
 only forswore the chase forever, but with 
 all possible despatch divorced Ingoberge 
 and married first Meroflede and then 
 Marcovere. 
 
 And thus it is that this demon creeps 
 between the husband and the wife, and 
 sooner or later separates their hearts for- 
 ever. The sturdy oak may laugh at the 
 entering of the wedge, but his mighty 
 trunk will nevertheless be riven asunder 
 by It in the end. 
 
 But there is one other type of ball- 
 room husband, whose portrait must not 
 
A SELF-MADE CUCKOLD. II9 
 
 be omitted. This is the miserable, sim- 
 pering, smirking creature who fully ap- 
 preciates the privilege of being permitted 
 to furnish, in the person of his wife, a 
 a well draped woman for other men's 
 amusement; who has an idea that the 
 lascivious embraces bestowed upon his 
 wife are an indirect compliment to him- 
 self ; who is only too happy to be a cool- 
 er to other men s lust in the ball-room, 
 and is content to enjoy a kind of matri- 
 monial aftermath in the nuptial cham- 
 ber. Can any human being fall lower 
 than this ? 
 
 Old Fenton has told us that flattery 
 "supples the toughest fool/' but I regard 
 the man who thus willingly resigns his 
 wife to the palming of these ball room 
 satyrs, merely because her beauty and 
 gorgeous raiment bring notice upon him 
 as the owner of so splendid an article — 
 I regard this beast as a pander of the 
 vilest kind; and a most foolish pander 
 
I20 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 withal, for he simply purchases the title 
 of cuckold at the price of his own dis- 
 honor and his wifes open shame. He 
 loves to hear it said that she ''dances 
 divinely," though he knows that the 
 horns on his forehead are plainer to none 
 than to the fellow who tells him so. 
 Bah ! In the words of Mallet, 
 
 " He who can listen pleased to such applause 
 Buys at a dearer rate than I dare purchase." • 
 
 The budding horns affixed to the hus- 
 band's pow in the fierce light of the ball- 
 room have not the simple dignity of 
 even the most towering antlers prepared 
 by the '' neat-handed Phyllis " of his 
 heart in the domestic seclusion and sub- 
 dued half-lights of a house of assig- 
 nation. In the one case he poses as a 
 suppliant for honors to mark his impor- 
 tunity ; in the other his coronation is 
 the unsought reward of modest merit. 
 The Waltz may not make such despicable 
 creatures as I have described above, but 
 
DEATH TAKES A PIAND. 121 
 
 It at least affords them an opportunity to 
 parade their own degradation. 
 
 But the modern Terpsichore has to 
 answer for, if possible, still worse conse- 
 quences than the seducing of our maids, 
 the debauching of our young men, the 
 prostitution of our wives, and the debas- 
 ing of human nature, both male and 
 female. She is worse than a procuress, 
 there is blood upon her skirts, she is a 
 murderess. 
 
 From the day when Herodias danced 
 John the Baptist's head into a trencher 
 the dance has been the cause of 
 violence and bloodshed. The hate and 
 jealousy which smoulder within the 
 breast of the rejected lover, and which 
 he is struggling to extinguish, burst into 
 flame at the sight of her he loves folded 
 in ecstacy upon the breast of his rival. 
 His cup was already full — this is more 
 than he can bear. 
 
 We may pass by Venetian masquer- 
 
122 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 ade and Spanish fandango — where the 
 knife of the avenger sends the victim's, 
 blood spurting into the face of his part- 
 ner — and may look nearer home, at our 
 fashionable '' hops " and *' sociables," 4 
 where, though the Vendetta may not be 
 carried out upon the floor (and instances 
 of this are not lacking) it is nevertheless 
 declared, and where, though no mute 
 form be borne out from the ball-room to 
 the grave, the dance is none the less a 
 veritable Dance of Death — a dance of 
 murdered love and slain friendship, of 
 stabbed and bleeding hearts, of crushed 
 hopes and blighted prospects, of ruined 
 virtue and of betrayed trust. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 ** To save a Mayd, St. George the Dragon slew • 
 A pretty tale if all that's told be true ; 
 Most say there are no Dragons, and *tis sayd 
 There was no George — pray heaven there was a Mayd.*' 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 ND now if I have succeeded 
 in showing the modern dance 
 as it is and the dancers as 
 they are, together with the 
 almost inevitable effects of the evil upon 
 those who indulge in it, my main 
 object is accomplished. I did not 
 set out to deal with theories, but 
 with facts. Indeed, did those whose 
 godly calling places them on the watch- 
 towers of the church, use a tongue of 
 
124 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 fire to lay bare this pernicious practice, 
 and obey the divine mandate : " Thou 
 shalt teach my people the difference 
 between the holy and profane, and 
 cause them to discern between the 
 unclean and the clean," and did those 
 whose office it is to speak to the mill- 
 ions through the myriad tongued press, 
 use a pen of flame to expose this grow- 
 ing iniquity, then would this thankless 
 task be spared me. But when 
 
 ** Pulpits their sacred satire learn to spare, 
 And vice admired to find a flatterer there," 
 
 then I say a layman must speak, or 
 the stones would cry out against him. 
 
 I have no personal or pulpit popularity 
 to preserve, would not preserve it if I 
 had at the price of divesting this public 
 sensuality of its terrors, or at the risk of 
 not causing the types of dancers herein 
 painted to shrink from their own portraits. 
 
 It only remains for me, then, to make 
 a few concluding and general remarks. 
 
somp: exceptions. 125 
 
 It is often urged that dancing cannot 
 be desperately wicked, because it is *' tol- 
 erated by all except those of narrow and 
 bigotted religious views/' A greater 
 mistake was never made, I assert that 
 there are hosts of men who never per- 
 mit the members of their families to 
 take part in round dances. Nor is 
 this the result of religious bigotry. 
 With most of them " religion," in the 
 popular sense of the word, does not 
 enter into the question at all — they are 
 not too pious, but too chaste to dance. 
 In their eyes this familiar *' laying on 
 of hands " is essentially indecent, and 
 they cannot see that the fact of its being 
 done in public makes it any less inde- 
 cent. They will not allow even omni- 
 potent Fashion to blind them in this 
 matter, especially when they see that 
 the vice is most common among those 
 who lead the fashion. 
 
 Far be it from me, however, to imply 
 
125 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 that even the most ardent votaries of 
 the dance are blind to its impurity. No 
 indeed. I«^ there one so-called respect- 
 able woman among them who would 
 submit to be painted or photographed in 
 the attitude she assumes while dancing 
 the latest variety of waltz — even though 
 her partner in the picture, instead of be- 
 ing a stranger just met for the first time, 
 were her most intimate friend — aye, even 
 though he were her husband ? Not one 
 of them would submit to be thus de- 
 picted ; but if some maiden could be per- 
 suaded, what a pleasing family pictiire it 
 would be for her husband and children 
 to gaze upon in later years ! Had I 
 such an one to illustrate this book with, 
 the success of its mission would be as- 
 sured, with the simple drawback of the 
 author being held amenable to an offended 
 law for issuing obscene pictures. 
 
 Such a representation would imme- 
 diately effect the fulfillment of a proph- 
 
A PROJECTED IMPROVEMENT. 1 27 
 
 ecy made by the writer of 3. recent work 
 entitled '* Saratoga in Nineteen Hun- 
 dred." In those times there is to be no 
 more dancing. The gentlemen, it is 
 true, are to engage the ladies for a por- 
 tion of the evening as in these benighted 
 days; but instead of taking her on the 
 floor, he will retire with her to one of a 
 number of little private rooms with which 
 every respectable mansion is to be pro- 
 vided, and there they will do their hug- 
 ging in private. A great improvement, 
 certainly, upon the present plan, in such 
 matters as decency and comfort, but 
 scarcely in completeness. 
 
 It will only remain for the sons and 
 daughters of that future generation to 
 make dancing their religion. Let them 
 convert their churches into dancing-halls, 
 and set up an appropriate image of their 
 deity — the Waltz — upon the altars ; not 
 the decently draped Terpsichore of the 
 dark, pagan past, but the reeling Bac- 
 
12^ THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 chante — flushed, panting, dishevelled, 
 half-naked, half-drunk, half-mad — of the 
 enlightened, christian present ; let the 
 grave priest give way to the gay master- 
 of-ceremonies, and the solemn benedic- 
 tion to the parting toast ; let the orches- 
 tra occupy the pulpit, and the "wall- 
 flowers " sit in the vestry ; let the pews 
 be swept away, and the floors duly 
 waxed and polished, but let not the tab- 
 lets of the dead be removed — they are 
 the " handwriting upon the wall," the 
 mene, mene, iekel, upharsin, most fitting 
 for those to read who delight in the 
 Dance of Death. Then, when the 
 prayerbooks are programmes, and the 
 hymnbooks the music of Strauss, the 
 jingle of the piano may mock the dumb 
 thunder of the organ, and the whirling 
 congregation may immortalize a bard of 
 to-day by singing the following verses 
 of his composition to the "praise and 
 glory of" — the Waltz : 
 
A HYMN OF THE FUTURE. . 1 2g 
 
 •* In lofty cathedrals the organ may thunder 
 Its echoes repeated from fresco-crowned vaults, 
 
 And the multitude kneeling in rapture may wonder, 
 But give me the music that sounds for the waltz I 
 
 The Angels of Heaven, in glory advancing, 
 Are singing hosannahs of praise to the King; 
 
 Unless they have women, and music, and dancing, 
 Forever unheeded by me they may sing. 
 
 Oh ! take not the sunshine that knows no to-morro^% 
 The rivers of honey and fountains of bliss, 
 
 Where the souls of the righteous may rest from theif 
 sorrow — 
 They have not a joy that is equal to this. 
 
 When the dead from their graves stand in awe and des- 
 ponding. 
 
 And the trumpet calls loud on that terrible day, 
 To our names on the roll there will be no responding — 
 
 To the music of Love we'll have floated away." 
 
 But having brought this delectable 
 " recreation '' to the utmost pitch of re- 
 finement of which it is susceptible — a 
 condition it bids fair promise to attain 
 in a few more seasons, I feel that it is 
 time, as Byron has it, to " put out the 
 light." I therefore conclude with a very 
 brief exhortation to my readers. 
 
 To dancers one and all I would say : 
 
130 THE DANCE OF DEATH. 
 
 Try and see yourselves as others see you; 
 remember that there are many harmless 
 pleasures that have about them no taint 
 of filthy lust; above all cease to believe 
 Dr to assert that the modern waltz is an 
 "innocent amusement/' 
 
 To the women, in particular, I say : 
 Set your faces against this abomination, 
 which is robbing you of man's respect, 
 and is the primal cause of infinite misery 
 to yourselves. 
 
 To the men I would say: Those who 
 are the natural arbiters of what is per- 
 missible between man and woman, have 
 shown their weakness and betrayed their 
 trust; it is now for you to show your 
 strength and redeem your honor. 
 
 You who are unfavorable to the mod- 
 ern dance, I adjure not to let your oppo- 
 sition be merely negative, but to work 
 positively for the putting down of the 
 evil precisely as you might for the sup- 
 pression of prostitution or any other cor- 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 131 
 
 rupting influence. For as surely as thy 
 soul liveth, this is '* a way that seemeth 
 good unto a man, but the end thereof is 
 death." 
 
THE DANCE OF DEATH, 
 
 The Author to the Public. 
 
 In my preface to " The Dance of Death " I endeavored to show to the reader 
 the absolute necessity for handling my subject with a plainness of speech 
 which, under any ordinary circumstances, would be inadmissible. I felt 
 that such an explanation was due to the public, and to myself, and I, there- 
 fore, pointed out that to merely re-echo the mild remonstrances of the pul- 
 pit, or the conciliatory deprecation of the press, would be worse than useless. 
 I also stated, that being convinced that I must either speak in the most un- 
 mistakeable language or be silent, I had consulted with those better qualified 
 to judge than myself, as to the advisability of speaking at all, and that my 
 work was actually published upon their advice and encouragement. But, al- 
 though I thus assured myself that my course would meet with the support 
 and approval of those whose opinion I most valued, I was by no means un- 
 aware of the opposition I should encounter from other quarters. To attack 
 even those vices which are universally acknowledged to be such, is at best a 
 thankless task; what, then, could I expect when I assailed an evil which is 
 countenanced and cherished by Wealth, Fashion, and Society? Who could 
 enter the lists against three such champions and hope to go unscathed ? 
 
 During the very brief time that my book has been before the public, in 
 which however, the author's edition has been exhausted, its reception has 
 been exactly what I anticipated. From the best and purest sources I have 
 received written expressions of congratulation, encouragement, and approval- 
 Some of these I hasten to print, and shall continue to do so, where per. 
 mission is given, as I receive them. 
 
 I am also aware that a very bitter feeling exists against the book among a' 
 class to which I have already referred. I have, indeed, received a few letters 
 to this effect, but the majority of those who condemn my utterances do not 
 care to commit their own sentiments to writing. I intend, at some future 
 time, when I shall have a larger collection of them, to print these unflattering 
 documents side by side with those that are more pleasing to me. At present, 
 however, I must content myself with answering the principal objection of 
 which these, my censors, seek to avail themselves, for lack of a better, viz : 
 That the book is hkely to do more harm than good to young people, should 
 it fall into their hands, as it will teach many of them what they were before 
 ignorant of. 
 
THE AUTHOR 
 
 This apprehension, I contend, is, in nine cases out of ten, not honestly- 
 entertained, but merely serves as the most convenient and plausible pretext 
 for denouncing any attempt at reform in this matter. But let those who do 
 really believe that the book would be dangerous to young people be reassured. 
 If, at the present day, the youth of either sex are ignorant of anything that 
 "The Dance of Death " can teach, it is not from want of opportunity to be 
 wiser. I am incUned to think that those of them who are pure, are so by 
 natural aversion for impurity, and not by ignorance of its existence. If they, 
 having the sanction, encouragement, and example of parents and friends to 
 indulge in the excesses which I denounce, still remain free from them, is it 
 not absurd to argue that my denunciation will have the very opposite effect? 
 But let it be granted that they as yet know no evil, and it is surely better that 
 they should be warned in time of the rocks that beset their course than th at 
 they should be left to drift suddenly or insensibly upon them, and so acquire 
 a right to cry out bitterly against those who should have furnished them with 
 chart and beacon. 
 
 With regard to that class of young people (and I must reluctantly confess 
 that there are such) who would find an additional incentive to evil-doing in 
 my pages, I can only say, that even were the opportunities which I condemn 
 scrupulously withheld from them, instead of being so liberally accorded, they 
 would still be in full possession of such knowledge as would prevent " The 
 Dance of Death " being in any sort a revelation to them. It is their privilege 
 to find uastiness in stones and bad in everything; and the Bible itself must 
 be kept out of their reach, if we hope to prevent the perversion of good. 
 
 And, in this connection, let me ask those who are so fearful lest "The 
 Dance of Death " suould fall into the hands of this class, whether they are in 
 like manner anxious about certain other works, which I am sure many of 
 them possess, and do not keep under lock and key, either. I had better, 
 perhaps, not include among these the unnatural beastliness of Petronius, 
 Apuleius, and writers of that ilk, lest I be accused of not appreciating the 
 "classics;" though, for the matter of that, the great majority of those who 
 keep Bohn's "unabridged" (always "unabridged," mind you) editions of 
 those chaste writers exposed upon their shelves, know and care as much about 
 the "classics," when it comes to reading Aristotle and Sophocles, as does the 
 ink I write with. For similar reasons I must exclude the inexpressible filth 
 of Rabelais; he is a French "classic," and was very witty, you know; and 
 although the sense and basis of his wit is almost undiscoverable now-a-daya 
 
 to the most learned and indefatigable critics, still he m a " classic," and 
 
 Friar John is so amusing. 
 
 But perhaps I may venture to take as a type of the class of books which, 
 to my thinking, make even worse "family reading" than "The Dance of 
 Death," a work which seems to be held in high favor in this country, not only 
 in the library, but also in the nursery. It was written by a very distinguished 
 
TO THE PUBLIC. 
 
 author, and in the shape in which I have generally seen it here, it certainlf 
 makes a very handsome book, being published by an eminent London firm, 
 and illustrated by one of the most celebrated of modern artists. I have fre- 
 quently seen it on book-shelves and drawing-room tables ; but the last time 
 I met with it was at the house of a friend, under circumstances which deserve 
 narration. 
 
 Nothing pleased the progeny of this friend more than to get a book of pic- 
 tures and have me " tell all about them," and nothing pleased me more than 
 to do so. - On this occasion there was no book to be found until a little one 
 remembered that she had a " splendid picture-book upstairs." The volume 
 was quickly brought. The little heads clustered eagerly about me. I opened 
 the treasure; and, behold 1 a translation of the "Contes Droeatiques " by 
 Balzac, "complete and unabridged, profusely illustrated* by Gustave Dore." 
 Pretty pictures, truly, to " tell all about " 
 
 Now, of course, this may all have been an accident. Children will lay 
 hands on things not intended for their use, and I do not presume to say that 
 in all, or indeed any, of the households where such books are kept, that they 
 are made free to the junior members of the family ; nay, I know that they are 
 usually put where one has at least to climb on a chair to reach them ; nor 
 would I in any way find fault with the keeping of them— I have some myself. 
 But I mention the incident because the father and mother of these innocents 
 had declared that while they agreed with every word that I had written, no 
 copy of the Dance of Death should enter their doors "lest the children should 
 get hold of it." Why then were these " Droll Stories " permitted to enter? 
 for I hold that my book, which is at least written for a moral purpose, what- 
 ever its effect may be, may safely be read by all who can with impunity enjoy 
 a collection of coarse jests, written in the nineteenth century for no better eHd 
 than to imitate the ribaldry of the sixteenth. And on the other hand, if the 
 latter can be kept from the eyes of those whom it would harm to read it, then 
 so can the former. 
 
 I will now proceed to give some extracts from newspaper reviews and from 
 letters I have received concerning the "Dance of Death," purposely omit- 
 ting however, as far as possible, those portions which compliment the book 
 merely as a literary production, these testimonials not being presented here 
 as an advertisement, but to show that I do not stand so entirely alone in mj 
 opinions as my opponents would have it believed. 
 
 It will be noticed that certain of my critics are in doubt whether " William 
 Herman " is my real name, while others are certain that it is not. I may as 
 well own that it is at least not my entire name. But, that I should have used 
 a nom de plume is, I hear, deemed by my opponents a sure sign that I am 
 ashamed of what I have written, or at least they choose to "make a point'* 
 by putting it in that light. They are, however, in error. I have done ao 
 partly as a matter of good taste— to parade my personality when arraigningf 
 
OPINIONS OF 
 
 my fellow-men, would not be modest, but this I do not expect them to 
 xmderstand. I may, perhaps, answer them more intelligibly by giving 
 another motive, namely : that I wish them to deal with the question at issue 
 and not with the individual who has raised th^t question. I give them my 
 ^eas and opinions to combat ; if they can overthrow these, then they will do 
 A good thing for the world ; but if they were to avoid the shock of these and 
 turn their weapons upon me, then they would do just nothing at all. But my 
 nom de plume is to me, after all, only the armor of courtesy, because my real 
 name and identity are Jcnovtm to all who have heard of my book in California, 
 and if / have not attacked personally those whose opinions and practice 
 differed from my own, that is no reason why they should not do so. 
 
 Therefore, here, where I am known, a nom de plume serves as no shield 
 whatever, while elsewhere, where I am not known, I need no shield ; so it is 
 evident that no motives of personal fear have induced me to write as 
 "William Herman." 
 
 [Where the names of those whose words I quote below are not given, it is be- 
 cause I have not received "direct permission" from the writers to use them. 
 It should be rerabered that " The Oance of Death " has been in circulation only 
 ft few days, which will account for most of the sentiments given below being de- 
 rived from local sources. 
 
 Fitzgerald's Home Newspaper and Educational Journal, published 
 
 weekly in San Francisco, and an authority of the highest importance, says : 
 
 " This is a remarkable book. Its publication will make a stir. There is not & 
 dull sentence in it. It is a-blaze witn intense feeling, and abounds in passages of 
 wonderful power. The book is an indictment against the modern waltz and 
 other dances of the round dance order. Parts of it are as keen in satire as 
 Juvenal ; other parts are suffused with a pathos that is startling in its intensity. 
 Every parent ought to read it. Its pictures may be too vivid for immaturity. 
 It is the boldest word yet spoken on the subject of which it treats, and if we 
 mistake not, its publication will affect the public mind somewhat like the shock 
 of a powerful galvanic battery." 
 
 The Evangel (San Francisco), of June 14, contains the following review: 
 "The preaching of to-day is not all done in pulpits. There is much that is 
 more appropriately and effectively done elsewhere. And a layman of San Fran- 
 cisco has preached a sermon which he calls * The Dance of Death,' destined to 
 be the Death of a great deal of Dancing. The book is a most uncompromising 
 attack upon the 'modern waltz.' The writer is well acquainted with his sub- 
 ject — has drunk deeply from the cup he analyzes — and writes in a bold, fearless, 
 and at the same time classical and elegant style. A conscious sense of duty and 
 a conscientious desire to perform it seem to have furnished inspiration for a task 
 from which the boldest might well shrink. The author of the book — a gentle- 
 man of high standing in San Francisco, whose name, were it substituted for its 
 pseudonym on the title page, would furnish all requisite evidence of the integ- 
 rity of his purpose— has most cordial letters of endorsement and encouragement 
 from leading literary men and women, clergymen and others, East and West. 
 He has not entered hastily or unadvisedly upon a task which will bring a storm 
 of condemnation from those most interested in perpetuating the evils he 
 denounces. But waiving his own opinion upon the merits of his book, he has 
 submitted it for months to criticism pro and con. from all classes, literary, 
 religious, fashionable and 'fast.' until convinced that he would have the sym- 
 pathy of all good people in his work. 
 
 " * The Danoe of Death ' will be widely read. The author is met by the objec- 
 tion that it is not an appropriate book for the young. But he very logically and 
 justly answers that if opportunities are presented every night to the young to 
 
THE PRESS. 
 
 obtain practical knowledge of evil, nnder parental sanction, it cannot be very 
 pernicious to warn them beforehand in type. No book was ever put in print so 
 likely to create a revolution in the dancing customs of society. It is not blatant, 
 frothy or bigoted: it is cool, clear, logical, dealing only with facts within the 
 author's range of knowledge, and subject to his proof. It seems hardly possible 
 tJiat any father can tolerate the thought of 'ball-rooms' after reading 'The 
 Dance of Death,' or that any woman can compromise herself by entering one."^ 
 
 Says the California Christian Advocate (June 14), another very able and 
 oonscientiouspaper : 
 
 ** This little volume is from the pen of a ' mac of the world,' yet written in the 
 cause of truth and morality. The author's description of fashionable dances, 
 and their fearfully demoralizing influences on those who engage in them, excels 
 anything we have hitherto seen on the subject — aye, than our imagination had 
 ever conceived. He writes evidently under a deep conviction of the truth, and 
 gives the voice of warning in terms that well-nigh take away the breath of the 
 reader. ******* 
 
 "There are, we doubt not, thousands who are practicing the 'Dance of 
 Death,' waltzing down to perdition. We accept as truth the writer's declara- 
 tion: * The dancing hall is the nursery of the divorce court, the training ship of 
 prostitution, the graduating school of infamy!' " 
 
 The San Francisco Mail, of June 11th, previous to furnishing its readers 
 
 with some very lengthy extracts, says : 
 
 " This is a peculiar book, written for a worthy object, the deprecation of the 
 modern waltz, and written with force and vigor. 
 
 The San Francisco News Letter, of June 9, says : 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Mr. Herman's book is a terrible attack on that monster, the Modern Waltz, 
 which has so long been permitted to disgrace our civilization and outrage com- 
 mon decency unhindered save by an occasional mild protest from pressor pulpit. 
 Now. however, this ninteenth-century Priapus is bearded roughly enough; hi& 
 cult is fully explained, and his admirers need no longer worship the god of the 
 garden in pretended ignorance of his being also god of the 'lustrum.' * * * 
 
 "This evil, the waltz so insidious in its approach and influence, has existed 
 long enough amongst us ; it daily gains power through the sanction of Fashion, 
 and Heaven only knows— though our author hints at it— what stage of legalized 
 lubricity it may reach unless promptly attacked and slain. It has been preached 
 at from the pulpit, but so mildly and man-fearingly that the sermon had better 
 been left unwritten. It has been deprecated by the press, but so carelessly and 
 time-servingly that nobody heeded. But Mr. Herman deals with the subject in 
 a very different manner: he does not prate moral platitudes at us, but strikes 
 boldly at the head and front of our offending. He shows us what is done, with 
 the results of that doing, and leaves it to our consciences whether we ought to 
 stop and consider or not. To his plainness of utterance we have already alluded: 
 this will doubtless be used as a coign of vantage by those whose pet vice he 
 assails. But what would you have? He must speak or be silent; he tells us that 
 he can no longer remain silent, and adds: ' I might as well talk to the winds as 
 veil my ideas in sweet phrases when addressing people who it seems cannot 
 descry the presence of corruption until it is held in all its putridity under their 
 very nostrils.' There is good reason to believe that William Herman is not the 
 real, or, at least, the full name of the author of this book; a gentleman eminent 
 in social and business circles here is said to be its parent. Very natural motives 
 of delicacy may have led him to conceal his identity; but we can only regret that 
 one who was fearless and honorable enough to deviate from his easy patn of life 
 and enter the lists against this abominable lust-idol— the waltz and its vast army 
 of devotees— should have shrunk from the great ordeal — personal vituperation 
 from the enemy. For there can be no doubt that the book will be violently 
 assailed by those against whom its lightnings are hurled; the portraits he draws 
 are too exact; not, perhaps, of individuals, but of classes: and the draught is 
 too bitter altogether to be meekly swallowed by those for whose benefit it is pre- 
 scribed. Many ladies, whose position and breeding should render them impassa- 
 ble and immovable, will doubtless lose their temper and confess their sin by 
 
LETTERS 
 
 their indignation. Many gentlemen, of oily manners and principles, will, of 
 course, be furious at finding a looking-glass in the pages of ' The Dance of 
 Death.' But we nevertheless do plainly advise Mr. Herman, if that be not hii 
 true name, to publish another edition (for the present will soon be sold out) witk 
 his veritable praenomen, nomen, and cognomen upon the title page, and to fear- 
 lessly rely upon the support and countenance of all pure and honest men and 
 women for his vindication." * * * * 
 
 The San Francisco Golden Era, of June 3, speaks thus : 
 
 •* • The Dance of Death,' by a San Franciscan, is a powerful attack on dancing: 
 as a licentious amusement. Certainly no gentleman having a high respect for 
 his chastity will indulge in such an idiotic and demoralizing fandango." 
 
 The San Francisco Chronicle says : 
 
 ** The argument is in many respects consistent and admirable, and the writinaf 
 shows a practiced hand, large reading and accomplished scholarship. The author 
 is said to be a gentleman of San b rancisco and an artist of repute. 
 
 Here is part of what the San Francisco Daily Evening Post, of June 16, 
 has to say: 
 
 ** It will require something more than scoffing to negative the force of this 
 earnest attack. The redhot shot have too much of truth to be lightly turned 
 aside. The votaries of the mazy whirl must needs call up their entire reserves, 
 if they would meet the onset of this uncompromising reformer. The spirit in 
 which the book is written, its strong illustrations of the evil it deplores, and 
 the pointed, earnest, courageous sentiments of morality it espouses, will com- 
 mand for it the sincere respect of all lovers of purity and home. Parents will 
 find it a reminder to renewed watchfulness over daughters whose sacred mod- 
 esty is ' their wall of defense and the bower of our delight.' Honorable young 
 men, even if denying the full extent of the mischief herein portrayed, must 
 still see the opportunities for evil involved in this certainly questionable pas- 
 time, and will hesitate to encourage what they cannot without reluctance com- 
 mend to their own sisters. The tendency of late years has been against indul- 
 gence in 'round dances.' but the opposition has been so indeterminate, individual, 
 unorganized and desultory, that when importuned to its indulgence many good 
 people have ' still refusing, yielded.' This book is such a crystallization of all 
 the evil influences of the voluptuous dance that it dispels all doubt in tho 
 premises, and will determine many a vacillating soul to nerve its resolve against 
 over again indulging in the Dance of Death." 
 
 The Daily Alta California of June 17, contains the foUo wing notice : 
 
 " A fierce denunciation of the waltz, as a dance in which the rules of modesty 
 are frequently violated, in which youn^ ladies learn to tolerate liberties that 
 would never be permitted under otner circumstances, and in which the first ap- 
 proaches are often made toward dangerous license. The author discusses the 
 subject with bold thought and vigorous language, looking at it from many sides, 
 and bringing up illustrations and evidences from a wide range of reading. 
 Much has been written by others for the same purpose, but usually in brief 
 paragraphs or in dull style, and this, as the most comprehensive and forcible 
 essay against round dancing, will be received with satisfaction by many persons 
 who entertain the same idea, but have never found a satisfactory argument on 
 their side. The author confines his remarks to the waltz, but the principle ap- 
 plies with nearly equal force to the schottische, polka, galop and various other 
 round dances." 
 
 The lady principal of one of the chief female educational establishments on 
 the Pacific Slope, writes to request that a copy of " The Dance of Death " be seni 
 to the principle male educational establishment as she particularly desires is 
 to be read there. 
 
 The same lady has introduced many of her personal friends to the author, to 
 enable them to procure advance copies, but in no way has she shown her approval 
 of the work more plainly than by reading it. "chapter and verse," to her senior 
 
 ■class, a member of which writes; " Mrs has begun to read your book to our 
 
 class; she spoke to me about it, and said she agreed with you perfectly." Nor 
 was this done unadvisedly, as the following letter will show. 
 
AND EXTRACTS. 
 
 '• Dio Lewis " writes to the lady above alluded to, by whom he had been 
 furnished with an "author's copy:" 
 
 " I thank yoti for the volume—' Dance of Death.' Please 
 say to the author that, in my humble opinion, he has done his work most power- 
 fully and effectively. It is the vulnerable point in the enemy's works. No one — 
 no decent woman of any age, can read the volume without finding it difficult, or 
 impossible, to waltz again. I feel myself greatly indebted to Mr. Herman. Is 
 that his real name? Please tell me how I may address him. Can't you, dear 
 madam, read that volume to your young ladies? It will do great good." 
 
 The Pastor of a Presbyterian Church, writes : 
 
 "I am glad you have written it. » * * With the object of the book, 
 the abatement of a dangerous amusement — dangerous as now conducted to the 
 moral purity of its devotees— I am in full accord. * * * Any treatment 
 that will aid in abating the evil must be not only justified, but commended. I 
 sincerely hope your book will go into the hands of the fathers and mothers of 
 our whole land." 
 
 A lady well known in social and literary circles in San Francisco, writes: 
 
 "I have read your emphatic protest—' The Dance of Death,' with the deepest 
 interest and the most critical observation. It seems to me to occupy the same 
 relative position in respect to a great social malady that many valuable medical 
 works do in respect to great physical maladies, and that its vocation and mission 
 are not less important. You have laid the axe at the very root of the evil— not 
 content to lop off some of its branches. Desperate diseases demand desperate 
 remedies. * * * I think your work should have room and range wherever the 
 enervating and destructive tendencies of the modern waltz are felt. * * It is 
 time that some clarion-note of alarm sounded out bold and intrepid against this 
 corrodingcurse— the modern waltz. * * * * jf. will not do to dismiss so 
 2:rave a matter with a few ad captavdnm phrases, calculated to tickle the pub- 
 lic taste. There is surgical work to be done before the cancerous tendencies are 
 eliminated. Hence, I believe your work will do good." 
 
 A Key. Father of St. Ignatius College, San Francisco, writes to a friend : 
 
 " The author describes one of the greatest evils of present as well as past times. 
 His colors, no matter how heavily laid on. are far from exaggeration. The evil 
 is there— ?cc know it, who are left to heal the sores of the soul; they know it, 
 who, with the indulgence of easy parents and the sanction of law and fashion, 
 avail themselves of the opportunity to satisfy their morbid passions. * * * i 
 would that every father and mother should read it, and even young ladies. * * 
 * With us. Catholics, the matter is settled ; we know all about it. It is difficult 
 to speak such things from the pulpit; but we are glad that truth is made acces- 
 sible through books of this kind." 
 
 A. S. Barnes, of the well-known New York school-book publishing firm 
 
 writes : 
 
 " You have evidently taken the bull by the horns, and produced a book which 
 should be read by every parent and guardian. The writer is a little at a loss to 
 decide whether it is a book for young girls and boys to read, and yet he is not 
 certain but that it should have a free circulation. If you are inclined to send U8 
 the plates, we will either publish it or find a publisher for you." 
 
 Gen. Albert Pikk, of Washington, I). C, writes: 
 
 "I have received and read "The Dance of Death." I think it is true, every 
 word of it. The waltz is only fit for houses of prostitution, and I never have 
 been able to understand how any father could permit his daughter, or any hus- 
 band his wife, to waltz with other men. But, chacun- i fion gout. The chief 
 object of dress and action of young women now seems to be to excite men's pas- 
 sionate desire. A general reform is needed, and the preachers will have to talk 
 as plainly to women, by and by, as they did some centuries ago in France." 
 
 fi' 
 
LETTERS 
 
 Mr. Stephen Masbett ("Jeems Pipes, of Pipesville,") writee: 
 
 "Among those who have spoken in praise of your powerfully written little 
 book—** The Dance of Death," let my name be enrolled." 
 
 Geo. T. BRoaiLEY, the California humorist and lecturer, writes: 
 
 ♦'I have been deeply interested in your forthcoming work— "The Dance of 
 Death," and the impression left upon my mind after its perusal was, that as a 
 restraining influence in this fast age. the book should be in the possession of 
 every parent, and earnestly read by all who have an interest in the moral welfare 
 of the present generation as well as that to come," 
 
 A prominent member of the California Theatre Company, writes: 
 
 " I have no doubt but that your volume will have a very large circulation, and 
 that its opinions will sink deeply into the minds of those to whom it is add ressed. " 
 
 Mr. Charles A. Mokse, a naval gentleman, well-known in Cal., writes: 
 
 "I must say I have an admiration for the author who has the boldness and in- 
 dependence to probe so popular and fashionable a moral ulcer, and express his 
 ideas and convictions in good old Saxon, without half concealing them in gener- 
 alities, for fear of offending the sensitive reader. * * * In my judgment, these 
 are truths to which we must not close our eyes, and they are here presented with 
 an earnestness of expression that carries conviction of the author's sincerity of 
 purpose. It must work a great good in time." 
 
 J. F. Ryder, of Cleveland, Ohio, writes : 
 
 "I am in sympathy with ^ou on the "waltz" subject. I have always pro- 
 claimed against the impropriety of so much ardent hugging on short acquaint- 
 ance as the customary waltz admits of. Your shaking up of it is powerful." 
 
 Mr. J. S. Jones, a well-known merchant of San Francisco, writes : 
 "You have photographed the ball-room correctly." 
 
 C. W. M. Smith, a lawyer of San Francisco, writes : 
 
 Your work "has opened up to my mind new fields of thought which it would 
 not be wise or prudent to ignore. The proofs therein contained of the lascivious 
 thoughts and actions incident to participation in the round dances, should load 
 us to sincerely consider whether or not we should permit our wives and daugh- 
 ters to share in them." 
 
 A lady of high social standing in Washington, D. C, writes : 
 
 " I admit that you represent a certain class in a truthful light. The waltz i» 
 a temptation to grow old in sin, and should be avoided." 
 
 8. D. Stevens, of San Francisco, writes : 
 
 " When we come to look back to what we know ourselves, we must admit that 
 you have not overdrawn the picture. It is a book that from its very boldness 
 will be eagerly sought for and read, and cannot help but do much good. Many 
 will condemn it who fear the truth ; so much the better, for they show their 
 colors, or ignorance of the subject treated." 
 
 Bracebridge Hemykg ( •' Jack Harkaway,") writes : 
 
 "You have brought to bear long study and deep research— not sparing the 
 knife, in laying bare this excresence on the body social." ^ 
 
 G. H. LooMis, a journalist and artist, writes from East Cambridge, Mass. : 
 " No doubt these things are true * ♦ » i shall, with many others, re- 
 joice when cause and consequences are as apparent to others that ought to know 
 and comprehend as they are to you." 
 
AND EXTRACTS. 
 
 Says Henry L. Chamberlaiu, a (gentleman eminent in religions circle« tn 
 San Francisco : 
 
 " I do not think you have exaggerated the dangers, nor spoken too plainly of 
 the corrupting influences of the modern waltz, I believe the book will do good, 
 and cannot see how it can do any harm." 
 
 One of the most favorably known lawyers in San Francisco, writes : 
 
 "I have read your little book aloud to the Principal of the High School of one 
 of our neighboring cities, and he endorses everything I say when I declare that 
 you have done a good, compared with which, the preachings and teachings of 
 the ordinary lifetime of ordinary men pass into insignificance. What can I say 
 more ? * * * In regard to the plainness of your talk, this only can be 
 said, that the subject admits of no other treatment." 
 
 The Kev. Father Accolti, S. J., an eminent Catholic clergyman of San 
 
 Francisco, writes: 
 
 " Having carefully perused your excellent book, ' The Dance of Death,' I can- 
 not forbear expressing my full approval thereof, and I cheerfully endorse every 
 line contained therein, * * * Some persons may think that you 
 
 have employed colors too high in depicting the moral dangers of the fashionable 
 dances of the day. But if those who practice them would read your pagea 
 with an unprejudiced mind, I am sure they would ov/n, at least within their own 
 heart, that you are perfectly right, and perhaps would confess that the reality is 
 still much worse than its portraiture. You have opened, dear sir, a campaign 
 against a public evil." 
 
 Another Catholic Clergyman writes: 
 
 " I am full of admiration for your bold, learned, and irresistible condemnation 
 of a public and domestic evil, no less scandalous and ruinous than common and 
 attractive. * * * You are a true Seneca— stigmatizing the 
 
 most corrupting, widespread, lascivious practice of our age. I am glad to en- 
 dorse every word of your valuable work. I should also be glad if your work were 
 put into the hands of every father and mother. As for boys and girls, if they are 
 Dad, it will render them no worse: if good, it will open their eyes. * * 
 
 The Catholic Church has long since anticipated your views, and through her 
 Bishops, Pastors and Confessors, condemned these demoralizing evils, and 
 deterred her children from this disorder— denouncing them with the severest 
 penalties." 
 
 The same reverend father, received a letter from a lady to whom he had 
 submitted a copy ot the book for examination, from which the following are 
 extracts : 
 
 " I agree^ with this same William Herman in all he says concerning this mat- 
 ter. He will, I imagine, be more readily endorsed by those of his own sex than 
 by those of mine. We are not apt to admit that it is possible to sin, when we 
 MAY only be the innocent cause of others sinning. Better a thousand times 
 that our children's eyes should be opened by the truths contained in the book, 
 than that their soul's honor should be sullied." 
 
 George' Howard, a gentleman well known in San Francisco as President 
 of the Knights of Pythias Library Association, writes: 
 
 " I am .convinced that it Is a work that is much needed. • » • 
 
 I have often watched the lascivious dances you have so ably described, and baviajt 
 resided for several years in the Hawaiian Islands, I am thoroughly convinced 
 that the Hulihula of the natives is not half so demoralising in its effect as tlu> 
 modern walte." 
 
LETTERS 
 
 Major A. F. Bbkdeb, of San Francigco, writes: 
 
 •* I have never been a dancer, and did not know that such effects as you desorib e 
 could result from what has always seemed to me a harmless amusement: but 
 Hince the book has become a subject of conversation, I have heard enough to 
 convince me that it has not appeared at all too soon. I think that parents can- 
 not enough recommend the courage that has enabled you to oppose in so public a 
 way an evil of such proportions." 
 
 A lady, well known in the best society of Santa Barbara, writes: 
 " You have fully, completely and artistically expressed my opinions and ex- 
 perience. Your choice, yet plain, language leaves no room for misinterpretation, 
 and I can only add, I trust the work will reach the wide circulation it so richly 
 merits." 
 
 Mr. W. T. Carlton, of Hess' Grand English Opera Troupe, says: 
 " I can only record my entire concurrence in your views. All who read 'The 
 Dance of Death ' should first carefully familiarize themselves with the preface 
 and should they then censure the author, their objections will surely be based 
 upon vicious bigotry or a wilful blindness to the truths expounded." 
 
 An Artist, of San Francisco, says: 
 
 '* I admire the boldness with which you have attacked this vice, and commend 
 the language you have used. * * * Every good man and woman should 
 read your book and thank you as I do." ' 
 
 Mr. Joseph Brown Ex-mayor of St. Louis writes: 
 
 "It is a shame that society countenances such things, and it is more responsi- 
 ble for the ruin that grows out of it than the victim. Your little gem of a book 
 should be in the hands of every mother who has children growing up." 
 
 Mr. Edwabd Wilson, of the firm of Wilson & Adams, Philadelphia, writes: 
 
 " I have a copy of your remarkable book. I began reading it the evening it 
 came, and did not go to bed until I had finished it, for it was most fascinating. 
 I fear I shall be a poor critic, however, for I do so entirely agree with you. I am 
 sure you are right, and if the book is as widespread as it should be, there will be 
 many to thank you. for it will awaken the guilty to a sense of the evil they are 
 cultivating and make them 'hold on.' I think you have most graphically de- 
 tailed the norrors of one of the most citing evils." 
 
 A surgeon in the navy, writes : 
 
 "I have read " The Dance of Death " with unusual interest, on account of its 
 merits. The subject is graphically treated, with a commendable terseness. 
 * * * It forces the attention alike of those who approve and oppose." 
 
 Dr. J. C. Tucker, of San Francisco, writes: 
 
 *• Many young (and old) ' Society men ' have admitted to me their knowledge, 
 ' from others,' of the bestial horror you so boldly war against. I trust your 
 righteous crusade against this fearful moral iniquity may prevail." 
 
 General Lucius H. FooTE, of San Francisco, writes: 
 
 "I have read and re-read 'The Dance of Death:' it is a remarkable book; 
 written with a wonderful vigor, and. more than all, it is the naked truth. You 
 have unc9vered a hissing serpent, and it will do good. I predict that men and 
 women will read it and stand aghast. Yoa have shown admirable courage in 
 attacking the dragon singly and alone, but thousands will rally to your support. , 
 *Let the galled jade wince,' you will De sustained." 
 
 Prof. Alonzo Phelps, A. M., of Boston, Mass., writes: 
 
 *' It is a masterly production, and cannot fai I in its laudable and worthy pur 
 pose and endeavor— to redeem society from a degrading social indulgence." 
 
AND EXIRACTS. 
 
 E. D. Farn8"wokth, a very prominent Odd Fellow, writes: 
 
 "The bold and fearless manner in which you have handled the subject should 
 entitle you to the gratitude of all parents. * * * I have no 
 
 word of censure to express, but would say to all: read 'The Dance of Death,' 
 and answer for yourselves as to its justness. The preface should be assurance 
 that you have endeavored to deal fairly with the subject, and without condem- 
 natioQ of the innocent." 
 
 A well-known naval officer, after bestowing praise which I do not care to 
 
 repeat upon the book as a literary production, goes on to say: 
 
 " And as for the matter of the book, the author deserves yet higher praise, for 
 he says a truth that should be told, but which few dare tell." 
 
 H. M. BoswoRTH, of San Francisco, writes : 
 
 " Of the subject, as you have experienced it, I know nothing; but as one of the 
 most immaculate women of my acquaintance, who knows something of ball- 
 room annoyances, says 'Ameril' to the book, I can safely say I think you are 
 ri{rht." 
 
 J. H. FiTZGiBBON, a prominent business man of St. Louis, writes: 
 
 " There is a moral to be drawn f rcttn it— never let your wife or daughters in- 
 dulge in round dances, for thisis the road to perdition. * * * It is a 
 book that should be in every well regulated family." 
 

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