_THE SPECTATOR_ AND MR. WEAVER
Queen Anne had long been dead, but she can never have been very
lively when alive, for her period was one when political intrigue,
theological controversy, and the War of Spanish Succession were
the chief subjects that occupied everybody’s attention, especially
her own, and--could anything be duller? Moreover, she was of
somewhat portly proportions, had a solemn husband, and--unlike Queen
Elizabeth--was really no dancer.
With such a queen on the throne, at such a time of stress, can it
be wondered at that theatrical dancing was at a comparatively low
ebb? Why, there were only two theatres, Drury Lane and Lincoln’s Inn
Fields! and they were striving hard to outdo each other--in dullness.
Indeed, it was not until practically the close of Queen Anne’s reign
that stage-dancing began to come to its own; for though the craze for
pantomimes (and his importation of French dancers) started by John
Rich in Anne’s last year, were mainly responsible for this, I cannot
help thinking that Steele and Addison’s ever lively _Spectator_,
together with the works of Mr. John Weaver, had considerable effect
in rousing the attention of playgoers as to the possibilities of
dancing on the stage; for while there are four papers in _The
Spectator_ in which dancing as a _social_ accomplishment is
discussed, Steele, in one of them, makes the interesting suggestion
that “It would be a great improvement, as well as embellishment to
the theatre, if dancing were more regarded, and taught to all the
actors”; and another calls special attention to _An Essay towards
an History of Dancing_, by John Weaver (a 12mo. volume published
in 1712), who was also author of a very interesting _History of
Pantomimes_. These literary efforts cannot have been without their
influence on current taste in things theatrical.
Before the appearance of _The Spectator_, however, Addison had made
amusing reference to a dancing-master in one of his papers for _The
Tatler_. The date is 1709. He heads it as written “From my own
Apartment, October 31,” and goes on: “I was this morning awakened by
a sudden shake of the house; and as soon as I had got a little out of
my consternation, I felt another, which was followed by two or three
repetitions of the same convulsion. I got up as fast as possible,
girt on my rapier, and snatched up my hat, when my landlady came up
to me and told me that the gentlewoman of the next house begged me to
step thither, for that a lodger she had taken in was run mad; and she
desired my advice; as indeed everybody in the whole lane does upon
important occasions,” he slyly adds.
With much detail and delightful humour Addison goes on to describe
his adventure, at greater length than can be given here. Suffice it
to say that he went in next door and upstairs, “with my hand upon the
hilt of my rapier and approached this new lodger’s door. I looked
in at the keyhole and there I saw a well-made man look with great
attention at a book and, on a sudden, jump into the air so high that
his head almost touched the ceiling. He came down safe on his right
foot, and again flew up, alighting on his left; then looked again at
his book and, holding out his right leg, put it into such a quivering
motion that I thought he would have shaken it off.”
Eventually, of course, he discovers the lodger is a dancing-master,
and on asking to see the book he is studying Addison “could not make
anything of it.” Whereupon the _maître_ explains that he had been
reading a dance or two ... “which had been written by one who taught
at an academy in France,” adding the interesting comment “that now
articulate motions, as well as sounds, were expressed by proper
characters; and that there is nothing so common as to communicate
a dance by a letter.” Ultimately Addison begs him to practise in a
ground-room, and returns to his own residence “meditating on the
various occupations of rational creatures.”
To return, however, to the later publication, _The Spectator_, in
which Addison was also assisted by Steele and other writers of such
varied character as Motteaux (debauchee, tea-merchant and translator
of _Don Quixote_), Ambrose Philips (whom Swift nicknamed “Namby
Pamby”), and Isaac Watts--the famous hymn-writer. In a comparatively
early number a short note introduces in very learned fashion a
quaint letter purporting to be from “some substantial tradesman
about ‘Change,’” in which the writer grows querulous over the way in
which his daughter (who “has for some time been under the tuition of
Monsieur Rigadoon, a dancing-master in the city”), has been taught to
behave at a ball he takes her to.
With some of the dancing the old man is delighted, as he is with the
art generally, but presently he has to complain: “But as the best
institutions are liable to corruptions, so, sir, I must acquaint
you that very great abuses are crept into this entertainment. I was
amazed to see my girl handed by and handing young fellows with so
much familiarity,” and he finds that fault especially with “a most
impudent step called ‘Setting.’”
There can be little doubt, however, that the good citizen was shocked
by a dance that was probably quite innocuous, and only seemed to
suggest a familiarity of behaviour unusual to his prim eyes, viewing
a ball-room for the first time.
Almost the whole of one issue of _The Spectator_ is taken up with a
letter from John Weaver, to whom Steele gives a fine advertisement by
not only printing the letter _in extenso_, but introducing it with
sapient comments from himself. One point he makes somewhat recalls to
mind the complaint of Arbeau’s young friend, the law-student Capriol,
who had grown dusty over his studies.
Speaking of dancing, Steele says: “I know a gentleman of great
abilities, who bewailed the want of this part of his education to
the end of a very honourable life. He observed that there was not
occasion for the common use of _great_ talents; that they are but
seldom in demand; and that these very great talents were often
rendered useless to a man for want of small attainments.” One can
hardly perhaps consider dancing to-day as a “small attainment,”
however it may have been considered in the reign of Queen Anne.
Weaver’s own letter is too long to quote in its entirety, but I
cannot refrain from giving at least the following, since, while
speaking of his own work, he offers incidentally several peculiarly
interesting glimpses as to the state of the art in 1712.
“MR. SPECTATOR,
“Since there are scarce any of the arts or sciences that have
not been recommended to the world by the pens of some of the
professors, masters, or lovers of them, whereby the usefulness,
excellence, and benefit arising from them, both as to the
speculative and practical part, have been made public, to the great
advantage and improvement of such arts and sciences; _why should
dancing, an art celebrated by the ancients in so extraordinary a
manner, be totally neglected by the moderns, and left destitute of
any pen to recommend its various excellencies and substantial merit
to mankind?_
“_The low ebb to which dancing is now fallen_ is altogether owing
to this silence. _The art is esteemed only as an amusing trifle_;
it lies altogether uncultivated, and is unhappily fallen under the
imputation of being illiterate and ‘mechanic.’ And as Terence, in
one of his prologues, complains of the rope-dancers drawing all the
spectators from his play; so may we well say, that capering and
tumbling is now preferred to, and _supplies the place of, just and
regular dancing in our theatres_. It is, therefore, in my opinion,
high time that someone should come to its assistance and relieve it
from the many gross and growing errors that have crept into it, and
overcast its real beauties; and to set dancing in its true light,
would show the usefulness and elegance of it, with the pleasure and
instruction produced from it; and also lay down some fundamental
rules, that might so tend to the improvement of its professors, and
information of the spectators, that the first might be the better
enabled to perform, and the latter rendered more capable of judging
what is (if there be anything) valuable in this art.
“To encourage, therefore, some ingenious pen capable of so generous
an undertaking, and in some measure to relieve dancing from the
disadvantages it at present lies under, I, who teach to dance,
have attempted a small treatise as an _Essay towards an History of
Dancing_; in which I have enquired into its antiquity, origin and
use, and shown what esteem the ancients had for it. I have likewise
considered the nature and perfection of all its several parts, and
how beneficial and delightful it is, both as a qualification and
an exercise; and endeavoured to answer all objections that have
been maliciously raised against it. I have proceeded to give an
account of the particular dances of the Greeks and Romans, whether
religious, war-like or civil; and taken particular notice of
that part of dancing relating to the ancient stage in which the
pantomimes had so great a share. Nor have I been wanting in giving
an historical account of some particular masters excellent in that
surprising art; after which I have advanced some observations on
the modern dancing, both as to the stage, and that part of it
so absolutely necessary for the qualification of gentlemen and
ladies; and have concluded with some short remarks on the origin
and progress of the character by which dances are writ down, and
communicated to one master from another. _If some great genius
after this would arise, and advance this art to that perfection it
seems capable of receiving, what might not be expected from it._”
All modern students of dancing will be interested especially in the
passages I have italicised in the foregoing excerpt, for one gets
a significant glimpse as to the state of theatrical dancing (they
had no native _ballet_) in London during the reign of Anne; such a
contrast to Paris, where Louis XIV’s _Académie Royale de la Danse_
was beginning to bring forth “rare and refreshing” fruit and the
Ballet was beginning to be understood as a genuine work of art.
“The art is esteemed only as an amusing trifle!” In an earlier paper
had not “Mr. Spectator” introduced the subject with a little apology
for dealing at all with a reputedly trivial theme, and had he not
backed himself up with scholarly reference to classic writers on the
Dance, such as Lucian?
Oh! Anne! That the art should have been, in your reign, “esteemed
only as an amusing trifle!” And when you might have followed a royal
example and, emulating your contemporary Louis, ennobled the art by
founding an English “Royal Academy of Dancing.”
Well, Weaver, at any rate, knew that the art was something more than
an “amusing trifle” when he wrote almost prophetically: “If some
great genius after this would arise and advance this art to that
perfection it seems capable of receiving, what might not be expected
from it.” What would he have said had he lived to see the triumphs of
Noverre, of Blasis, and of the British, French or the Russian Ballet
of modern times?