THE MANIA THAT LAID HOLD OF LONDON
When London became fully alive to the weird occurrences in its midst,
the first feeling was one of contempt, but it was quickly followed by
the dawn of consternation. An article in the _Lancet_, widely quoted by
the lay newspapers, dealt gravely with the problems that the revival
of the Dancing Mania presented. It foreshadowed possible developments
in terms which led husbands to look at their wives, and fathers at
their daughters, with an uneasy feeling that they, too, might become
victims of what the _Lancet_ described in technical terms as chorea,
and in popular language, as a form of St Vitus’s dance. Like lawyers
searching for precedents, the press-men of the day delved diligently
for the history of the Dancing Plague. The best contribution on the
subject was contained in an anonymous article which appeared in the
_Fortnightly Review_. The writer pointed out that these convulsionary
manifestations were more or less prevalent during a period of quite
two hundred years, dating from the end of the fourteenth century,
and that, human nature being the same in all ages, there was nothing
inconceivable, or even improbable, in a revival of such distressing
symptoms in modern times. The difference would be in treatment rather
than in the disorder itself. In former times chorea was regarded as
curable only by those--the priests--who had the cure of souls. People
who were hurried body and soul into the magic circle of hellish
superstition needed to be rescued by supernatural agencies. The
screaming, foaming men and women who in the Middle Ages swept with wild
gyrations through the towns of Germany and the Netherlands, therefore,
were made the subject of priestly exorcisms. They were forcibly dragged
to the shrines of St John or St Vitus, where, by means of masses and
religious ceremonies, the evil spirits were believed to be cast out. In
regard to St Vitus in particular, the priests invented a legend that
the holy youth had prayed to be protected from the Dancing Mania, and
lo! an answer from heaven--” Vitus, thy prayer is accepted.” Thus, for
all time, had the martyred St Vitus become patron saint of all who were
afflicted with chorea, just as St Martin of Tours was the patron of
all who suffered from small-pox.
It was not until the sixteenth century, the writer said, that the
physicians had made any attempt to take the dire disease scientifically
in hand. One thing was absolutely certain--the deep-seated inclination
of morbidly imaginative persons to imitate the afflictions of others.
In the language of the _British Medical Journal_, “Such attacks
themselves were, as in all nervous complaints, the almost necessary
crises of an inward morbid condition which was transferred from the
sensorium to the nerves of motion.”
On the medical aspect of the modern outbreak it is unnecessary to
dwell. Two significant circumstances, however, may be noticed. Ample
authority was given for the statement that in the Middle Ages the
Dancing Plague had always been most prevalent in the month of June;
and, secondly, had wrought its greatest ravages among shoemakers,
tailors, and others who led a confined or sedentary life. Thus it came
about that those Londoners who were under no compulsion to remain in
town, reading these articles, developed the greatest urgency in leaving
it. Ere midsummer day had passed, scenes at the great railway stations
became quite amazing. Piles of luggage blocked the platforms, bribes
to secure seats were offered freely to the railway men, and though
enormous exertions were made to cope with the outgoing traffic, the
congestion became almost unmanageable. The scenes enacted at Victoria,
Waterloo, and London Bridge in particular were such as had not been
known in the whole history of English railways.
The haste and extent of these departures involved incomplete
arrangements for the protection of vast numbers of London houses and
of the property that they contained. Burglaries, and even daylight
robberies became frequent and daring. It was observed that the victims
of these impudent thieves were mostly those whose names were not in
the lists of subscribing members of the League; and, whether justly
or unjustly, most of the burglaries and robberies with violence
chronicled in the daily press were connected with the operations of
that much-feared and ever-increasing association.
In such circumstances it was inevitable that much abuse should be
showered on the police. But, as a body, the Metropolitan force remained
loyal and zealous. The same must in justice be said of the City police,
on whom depended the safety of the enormous wealth garnered in the
vaults and strong-rooms of the City banks and warehouses.
But the police at each end of the town now had to reckon with
unprecedented problems. The Leaguers were far too numerous to
be suppressed, even if a hesitating Government had given the
mandate--which, it seemed, they dared not do. Moreover, it was found
practically impossible to secure convictions or even to complete
prosecutions. The magistrates and judges were prepared to do their
duty, but witnesses were afraid to come forward, and jurymen who
could not manage to get medical certificates to excuse their absence,
nevertheless stayed away from the criminal courts, and submitted,
as a choice of evils, to the payment of heavy fines. Throughout the
long and blazing summer days, bands of Leaguers marched through the
streets, ringing at doors or hoisting collecting boxes on long poles
to the first-floor windows. Shops were invaded in like manner. At the
hotels and clubs defence corps were organised, but so menacing was the
aspect of the wearers of the metal disc that in most instances peace
had to be bought rather than insisted on. Then suddenly the cry would
be raised, “The Dancers are coming; the Dancers: the Dancers!” The
sound of bagpipes, drums, or of accordions, blended with the hum of
many voices and the rush of feet, and bands of girls and men swept into
view, dishevelled, heated, but whirling with fantastic steps through
street and square, dancing and dancing still, while some in the climax
of delirium sank in exhaustion to the ground.
The places of those who fell out of the Dancers’ ranks were constantly
filled with new recruits. Many bystanders, who began by watching and
wondering, felt themselves drawn into the repulsive vortex. Women, more
especially, were thus allured. Girls came rushing from behind shop
counters. The doors of private houses were suddenly thrown open, and
in spite of the efforts to prevent them, unhappy women fought their
way into the street to be absorbed in a moment in the ever-moving
circles of the maddened Dancers. It was noticed that there were certain
instruments and certain types of music which developed the tendency to
join in and exaggerate these deplorable public exhibitions. Night was
rendered hideous by the noise that filled the streets. Indeed, during
the short hours of darkness, the quiet stars looked down on many a
sight that well might make the angels weep. London was become in a more
painful sense than ever a City of Dreadful Night. The Dancing Mania had
got a strengthening grip upon its people. At one time it seemed only
too likely that it would become an epidemic of appalling extent and
characteristics throughout the kingdom.
Regarded thoughtfully, there were many causes that tended to bring
about such an outbreak of hysteria in that exceptionally hot and
rainless summer, (bringing as it did a dearth of water for domestic
use and street cleansing). The state of things was summed up thus
by an able German writer: “Imitation--compassion--sympathy--these
are imperfect designations for a common bond of union among human
beings--for an instinct which connects individuals with the general
body, which embraces with equal force reason and folly, good and evil,
and diminishes the praise of virtue as well as the criminality of
vice.... Far be it from us to attempt to awaken all the various tones
of this chord, whose vibrations reveal the profound secrets which lie
hid in the inmost recesses of the soul.”
But, assuredly, it was to this mysterious instinct of imitation that
one must look for explanation of that loss of will power, of which,
in that distressing time, so many Londoners were either examples or
witnesses. The first morbid condition produced was that of a bird
fascinated by a serpent, and the outcome was surrender to the violent
excitement of the Dancing Plague. There was another feature of the
times, more or less connected with the administration of justice, that
began to cause dismay. The police found it practically impossible to
enforce the provisions of the Licensing Acts. Riotous scenes occurred
when attempts were made to close the public-houses at statutory hours.
Customers, amongst whom the disc-holders figured prominently, refused
to go. They demanded more drink, and they got it. Isolated examples of
this lawlessness could have been put down, but it was so general that
enforced obedience became as impossible as the vindication of criminal
justice in the law courts.
Only when the stage of exhaustion or helpless intoxication had been
reached, did the foul-mouthed and turbulent customers of the publicans
come forth into the streets.
Often they fought and screamed in the grey sadness of the dawning day;
some staggered off in search of home or resting-place; others rolled
in the gutters, and where they rolled they lay, while frightened faces
peered from the upper windows of the neighbouring houses, and startled
children in their cots broke into cries of misery and terror.