In the summer of 1842, twenty-three-year-old Queen Victoria, depicted at left in that year by the German painter Franz Xaver Winterhalter, made a Royal Progress to Scotland, the first of many trips to the north and the beginning of her lifelong love of this part of her realm. She was two years married to Prince Albert and already the mother of two children, whom she left behind on this trip. Her third child would be born almost exactly nine months later.
The progress was thoroughly documented, at Victoria's request, by a Scottish baronet and author, Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, who was the author of both novels and nonfiction about travel in Scotland. His work, Memorial of the royal progress in Scotland, was published in 1843 in Edinburgh, London, and Dublin.
Lauder must have had exceptional access to the royal party during the journey. He made a point of documenting every detail he could, including the weather, the guests at each dinner, the gowns worn by the queen and other important women, every attractive corner of the landscape that Victoria paused to survey, lyrics to songs sung to her in both English and Gaelic, and what seemed like every single change of carriage horses during the trip.
Lauder's prose is ornate:
Reclining on her couch, on the deck of a gallant vessel, borne rapidly over those waves, the bulwarks of her island empire, graciously condescending to give her presence in friendly guise to her brave and hardy defenders, whose sinewy forms, and bold and weather-beaten countenances, were pledges for the peacefulness of her shores, whilst their light-hearted jollity, and laughing eyes, bespoke their felicity under the reign of a Sovereign who could thus sympathize with them in their harmless sports, Her Majesty was the very personification of Britannia, riding triumphantly over the ocean, surrounded by the guardian spirits of the waves. (p. 42)
Since the book includes nearly five hundred pages in this style, plus an introduction and a thirty-five page index that gives a diagram of her yacht and a list of every building mentioned, it is quite a chore to plow through. Happily, no one else will need to suffer through it for the sake of dance references!
I'm going to confine myself to discussing the descriptions of dance, but using the page numbers referenced to find the ball descriptions in an online edition will yield a wealth of information on gowns and hall decor. For the dance historian, there is not only a record of specific types of dances performed but also some interesting hints about steps, how country dances were conducted, and common etiquette problems.
I'm including descriptions of both dancing at balls and performances of traditional Scottish dances for the queen, since those dances overlap somewhat with those performed socially.
The queen departed London for the seacoast by train on August 29, 1842. That evening, her yacht was met by two vessels, one of which was the Monarch, a steamer filled with Scottish citizens too excited to wait for her arrival. After cheering for the queen, who was on deck with Prince Albert, the Scottish ladies and gentlemen began to dance reels, thus inspiring the commander of the yacht to order the English sailors up on deck to dance in response:
The cheering being over, and curiosity satisfied, the band on board the Monarch struck up some lively Scottish reels, upon which, many of the ladies and gentlemen, excited by the music and the occasion, began to dance. Their movements were watched with much interest by Prince Albert, who drew the Queen's attention to the gay scene, which she enjoyed very much. Immediately afterwards, Her Majesty had a conversation with Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence, who, by the royal command, piped all hands on board the Yacht to dance. The sailors appeared on deck with great alacrity, and a curly-headed boy coming forward without his coat, and in his usual costume, began to tune his fiddle. The sailors started off with all the agility and grace belonging to nautical dancing, thumping the decks with right good will, till they echoed to the music. Jack puts on a peculiar phasis when dancing commences, and the scene became so merry, that Her Majesty and the Prince were much amused.
We don't know what they were dancing, exactly, but apparently it was a group dance, because after that there was a solo by one sailor, perhaps a jig or hornpipe. Lauder gives a wonderful description of the dancing and the interaction between the fiddler and the dancer:
After the crew had thus exerted themselves to their hearts' content, and to the high gratification of all who witnessed their laborious exercise, one man was particularly selected to perform a pas seul, whose inimitable execution was unrivalled among his fellows. The musician played in his own style with great skill and rapidity, the toe and heel of the dancer following each other in the same rapid succession as the notes of the violin were produced. Though all his movements were derived from the inspiration of the music at the moment, his unpremeditated steps were never at fault, but were always closely associate with the changes of the tune, to which he most assiduously adapted them with the quickness of thought. Round and round he spun, arms a-kimbo, belabouring the deck with heels and toes in such a manner, as to bring music out of every plank he trod on. The small musician seemed jealous of the dancer's fame. His elbow and his fingers redoubled their pace -- his head was thrust eagerly forward -- his eyes glared -- and his upper teeth caught hold of his nether lip, and pressed it hard, in his anxiety to outdo himself. But it was all one to Jack. His body and feet only doubled the rapidity of their movements, whilst a good-natured leer of triumph sparkled in his eye, as if he would have said, had he not been in the presence of royalty, "That's right, my boy! give way in the bow, old fellow!" and thus they went on, musician and dancer vying with each other, much to the entertainment of the Queen, the Prince, and all present, until young Orpheus was compelled to stop from absolute fatigue. The contrast between the polished figures tripping it to a military band on board the Monarch, and these rude mariners footing it away to the scraping of the curly-headed boy, was singularly striking. (pp. 40-42)
I've danced solos with reel steps, though never as the sole focus of a fiddler's attention. It's an intoxicating pleasure to improvise that way in direct response to lively music.
Having arrived in Scotland, there was a reception and ball at the Assembly Rooms in Edinburgh. Sadly, Lauder (for once) gives no details at all, so we know nothing of the dancing except that it began after eleven:
At night there was a brilliant ball in the Assembly Rooms, George-street, where between 700 and 800 persons were present. This was rendered more gay than usual by many of the ladies and gentlemen appearing in the dresses they had worn at court. There were also uniforms of every possible description, many of them foreign, and Highland dresses were very prevalent. Dancing commenced a little before eleven o'clock, and continued till a late hour. (p. 199)
Victoria and Albert tended to keep very early hours on the trip, and Lauder's descriptions evaporate whenever the queen was not present, so I suspect that Victoria didn't stay up for much, if any, of the dancing at this one.
An interesting bit of historical color turns up in a reading to Victoria of a description of the entry of Charles I into Perth two centuries before:
...for His Majesties welcome and entrie, thretteine of our brothers, of this our calling of glovers, with green cappis, silver strings, red ribbons, quhyte shoes, and bells about thair leggis, shewing raperis in thair handis, and all uther abulgement, dauncit our sword-daunce, with mony deficile knottis, fyve being under, and fyve above, upon thair shoulderis, three of theme dauncing through thair feet and about them, drinking wine and breking glasses. Quhilk (God be praisit) was actit and done without hurt or skaith till ony. (p. 232)
The bells on the legs and the description of the movements sounds like a version of a longsword dance, which is still a part of Morris tradition today. The one in this video, in which the dancers tangle themselves up repeatedly ("deficile knottis"?) and end with their swords locked together in a star pattern, gives some idea of that style, though sadly without either the drinking or the five people riding on the others' shoulders. Many similar videos can be seen on YouTube. It would be worthwhile for someone studying the history of Morris dancing to try to trace this description, if it is not already known in that community.
Lauder confirmed that this description was not of the traditional Scottish dance done by stepping between two crossed swords lying on the ground, which was referred to as the Gillum-Callum and also survives to this day:
This "sword-daunce" must not be confounded with the dance called Gillum-Callum, which Highlanders now perform over naked swords laid across upon the floor. It was the remnant of an ancient Scandinavian war-dance, in honour of Woden, and consisted of a great variety of complicated evolutions, executed by the performers whilst linked in a string by each holding the hilt of his own sword and the point of that belonging to the person next him. In August 1841, the writer of this had the good fortune to collect together a set of the natives of the island of Papa Stour, in Zetland, to which this dance is now entirely confined, who executed it*, but in a less complicated manner than that described in the records of the glovers, where it would appear that when five dancers were engaged with the figure, there were five others upon their shoulders, and three more dancing through the mazes of their legs. (p. 232)
*Vide Wilson's Voyage round Scotland, vol. ii., p. 355
I wouldn't take his dance history too seriously. Any time someone uses the word "ancient" in combination with dance it makes me instantly suspicious. In honor of Woden? Doubtful.
We do get a description of the Gillum-Callum a bit later, as well as two instances of groups of four men dancing the Reel of Hoolachan (Rill Thullachan):
After luncheon, the Queen expressed a wish to hear the pipers play, upon which Lord Glenlyon instantly ordered their attendance. They performed a variety of airs, and amongst others Gillum-Callum. After learning what it was, Her Majesty desired to see it danced. On this, Charles Christie was called before the tent; but the ground being too heavy, the platform employed as an entrance to the Royal tent was removed in front of it, and upon it he performed the dance to admiration, displaying great alacrity and expertness in executing the steps, within the angles formed by the blades of two naked broad-swords, crossed upon the floor, so as to avoid suffering from their edges and points. This is erroneously called the sword-dance, but, as already noticed, it has no resemblance to that performed before Charles I. at Perth, now only to met with in the island of Papa Stour in Zetland. The Reel of Hoolachan (Rill Thullachan,) was next danced by four men of the Body Guard, and it was afterward admirably performed by the Hon. James Murray, McInroy of Lude, Mr. Abercromby Dick, and Mr. Andrew David Alston Stewart. (pp. 259-260)
Victoria really loved seeing Highland dancing, and Lauder includes a lengthy description of another such performance, with an accompanying illustration (click to enlarge):
On these stages commenced a series of Highland reels, in which some of the most active dancers performed their wild and manly steps to the shrill and spirit-stirring notes of the bagpipes, their whole action being rendered more picturesque by the red glare flaring and flashing from the torches, and more interesting by the joyous shrieks of the performers and spectators. Lord Breadalbane and Mr. Fox Maule stood by directing and encouraging, and the torches were ordered to be held lower, for the purpose of showing off the steps...As the dancing went on, it was found that there was still a want of light on the stages, and large house lamps were carried out, which had the desired effect. One of these, however, was soon demolished, by a more than ordinarily energetic fling from one of the dancers, but as no one suffered from this accident, it only produced a laugh. The performers made great efforts to excel, and they were watched with extraordinary interest by their fellows, who looked on. The rill Thullachan was danced with the greatest spirit, and one man who executed Gillum-Callum very neatly over the cross swords, was highly applauded. A very old man of the Clan Menzies, also danced extremely well, considering his age. After several reels by men of the Highland corps, the Hon. Fox Maule, and some of the officers, filled the platform for one reel, and performed it with great spirit, energy, and grace, eliciting in a marked manner the smiles and approbation of Her Majesty, and loud cheers from the surrounding Highlanders.
The Queen was so much amused and interested by the whole scene of the dancing, which was not only curious in itself, but extremely pictorial in its effects of light and shadow, that, notwithstanding the very disagreeable nature of the evening, she maintained her position on the balcony for about an hour. Her Majesty and the Prince watched the fine attitudes and the agile pirouettes of the performers, with surprise and admiration, as, transported with excitement, their animating shouts were re-echoed by loud acclamations from the spectators. (pp. 308-310)
Notice that once again it is entirely men performing the reels. Sadly, there's no hint in this description of whether these were all reels for four (such as the Thullachan) or some other formation.
The next description of reels danced for the queen's pleasure despite some rain is notable mainly because it includes the names of several specific tunes, including the famous "Money Musk" (Monymusk). There was also one impressive young man who both piped and danced, presumably not at the same time.
Many of the Clan Menzies were mingled with the Campbells, and their red and white tartan sparkled amidst the green hues of Breadalbane. The reels played by the pipes on this occasion, were Lord Seaforth's rant, and Lady Seaforth's reel, the Clochgorum, the reel of Tulloch, Gillie-Callum, Barbara's Strathspey, and Monymusk. The knowledge that the Royal eyes were upon them was enough to make the Highlanders do their best. But from the wet and slippery state of the boards, there were many awkward tumbles, much to the amusement of the spectators, as well as of the Queen and the Prince. One of the foresters, dressed in the shepherd's tartan, particularly distinguished himself. But that which appeared to please the Queen most, was the dancing of a fine handsome boy, son of John Mackenzie, piper to the Marquess. His movements were light, airy, and graceful, and young though he be, he can employ his fingers upon the pipes with no less skill and adroitness than he uses his limbs upon the boards, when animated by the music he loves. A young Highlander of the Breadalbane Guard, gave great satisfaction by his performance of Gillie-Callum over the naked swords, and excited shouts of applause from the surrounding crowd, as well as great commendations from higher quarters. These sports went on in defiance of the rain for about an hour... (pp. 331-332)
From a social dance historian's perspective, the highlight of the entire book is the description of a grand ball on pages 338-344. I'm going to quote from this at length, though I will spare you the list of all the guests.
First, the opening of the ball. The queen was ready right on time -- and note that the starting time was ten o'clock -- but all the guests not staying on-site, unable to imagine such punctuality, were running fashionably late:
The hour fixed for the ball in Lady Breadalbane's cards was ten o'clock; but many of the families invited came from great distances, and not being sufficiently aware of the Queen's punctuality, they calculated that it could not possibly begin so early. When the hour approached, the Queen said to Lady Breadalbane, "Now, let us have the dance." Not one of the country neighbours had arrived. There were, however, a sufficient number of people in the house to commence the ball, and accordingly Mr. Dewar, the well-known professor of music in Edinburgh, took his place in the window recess at the further extremity of the grand hall...
The musicians are in their little window recess, and the rest of the room is arranged so that the queen and her immediate attendants sit at one end while everyone else has to stand around the edges:
Having ascertained that all was thus in readiness, Lord and Lady Breadalbane conducted the Queen thither from the drawing-room, and her Majesty entered, leaning on the arm of Prince Albert...the Queen was ushered to an ottoman or sofa, on a raised dais, covered with crimson velvet, placed at the northern end of the hall, under a trophy of standards and pennons. On the right were Lady Breadalbane and the Duchess of Sutherland, and on the left, the Duchess of Buccleuch and the Duchess of Norfolk. The rest of the company stood at either side of the hall, leaving its floor perfectly free, and when all were assembled, it was indeed a ball for a Queen to preside over. Nothing could exceed the splendour and brilliancy of the scene; the rich glittering dresses of the ladies appearing prominently among the varied costumes of the nobles and gentlemen, in court dresses, and embroidered uniforms, whilst the majority were attired in the most gorgeously accoutred Highland costumes.
The ball opened with an unspecified quadrille; one can guess that it would likely have been the First Set. The host of the ball, the Marquess of Breadalbane, arranged for side couples and then led out the queen, while Prince Albert led out the ranking female guest, conveniently enabling the royal lovebirds to dance vis-à-vis:
After a few minutes had elapsed, the Queen gave her command for a quadrille. The Marquess immediately went to appoint to couples to dance at the sides, and this having been arranged, Her Majesty honoured him with her hand, having vis-à-vis Prince Albert and the Duchess of Buccleuch.
The queen, being exceptionally gracious, as Lauder noted whenever he could, didn't want to be part of the only set on the floor, so she delayed the dance to allow a few other couples to form sets:
The Marquess then gave the signal for the music to begin, but on Mr. Dewar striking up, the Queen, instead of commencing the quadrille, spoke to Lord Breadalbane -- the music stopped; -- his Lordship then left the Queen for a few moments, and Her Majesty's desire to spread happiness in the widest possible circle around her, was soon manifested by his quickly collecting six more couples to join the quadrille, which began on the music recommencing.
The early 1840s were the era in which the fancier French steps of the quadrille are fading away in favor of plain walking steps. But the young queen would have learned her dancing in the 1820s and 1830s, and apparently she was having none of that modern laziness:
The Queen danced beautifully, and with great spirit and grace, and it is to be hoped that Her Majesty's high example may cure the majority of her subjects of that melancholy species of musical somnambulism, which produces so very soporific an effect upon the spectators, and especially upon unfortunate chaperons.
Heaven forbid that boring dancing should put the chaperones to sleep!
The quadrilles played were arranged for the occasion by Mr. Dewar, entirely from Scottish airs. At the conclusion of the dance, the Marquess conducted the Queen to her seat, and the centre of the room immediately cleared, as it always did after the dances while Her Majesty remained.
Note that by "the quadrilles" Lauder means the music, not the choreography. It was quite usual to dance the First Set to a wide variety of sets of tunes.
The next dance was a reel to the bagpipes, especially so commanded by the Queen. As this was general, there were not fewer than sixteen couples on the floor. Most of these went through the common reel, but some of them danced the Reel of Tulloch, or, as it is more properly called, the Rill Thullochan. As this had not been generally danced, the Queen expressed her desire that it should be executed by four gentlemen, and accordingly the Marquess of Abercorn, Mr. Fox Maile, Macpherson of Cluny, and Davidson of Tulloch, stood up to perform it. They danced it with as much spirit and activity as had been displayed in the forenoon by any of the Highlanders on the platform before the castle, but in better taste, and with infinitely more grace.
This is interesting insight into ball practice: a crowd of dancers doing social reels of their own choosing, mostly either the "common reel" or the Thullochan. The common reel was presumably the standard heying-and-setting reel of four, since the dancers were in couples rather than trios. And once again the queen requested an all-male performance. One suspects that the queen really liked seeing athletic young men dancing in kilts! She did admire the dancing of at least one lady, her hosts's sister, however. And Lauder gave us a tiny bit of information about posture and style:
The great perfection of Highland dancing is never to allow the knee to sink, and to keep the person erect, and these are requisites which, though attended to in the chieftain's hall, are very seldom thought of by the retainers. The Queen was delighted with this reel, and complimented the dancers. Her Majesty also very much admired the reel-dancing of Lord Breadalbane's sister, Lady Elizabeth Pringle.
The next dance was an unnamed country dance. I have a strong suspicion that country dances were still as generic in the early 1840s as they were in the Regency era and did not in fact have names. Lauder certainly mentioned the Thullochan and Gillum-Callum often enough that his omission of names for the quadrille and country dances is noticeable and, I think, significant.
The description of the country dance strongly suggests that the dance was started "snowball" style, with the queen and her partner leading off while the other couples waited below for the dancing to spread to them. The queen, as the ranking lady at the top of the set, would have called for whatever figures she pleased, though the specifics are lost to history. Lauder made quite a point of how unready many of the dancers were when the queen arrived at their place in the set, which would not have been the case had they already been engaged in the dancing:
The Queen then commanded a country-dance, and offered her hand to the Duke of Buccleuch, the Prince standing up with the Duchess of Sutherland. There were as many couples as the length of the floor would admit of. The Queen seemed to enjoy it very much, and laughed when she saw that some of the young ladies were not ready to take up the figure in time; indeed, Her Majesty had occasion to tap several of them on the shoulder to make them begin, and this she did without the least expression of displeasure. But still more was it a matter of shame, though, alas, the truth of history requires it to be told, that several of the gentlemen were not ready to present their hands to Her Majesty when she was dancing. But all this has originated in the excessive negligence and apathy which has been creeping into ball-rooms for some time back, to so great an extent, that neither ladies nor gentlemen now-a-days can when they would, just because they would not when they could.
Lauder is starting to sound as grumpy as Regency dancing master Thomas Wilson here, in the same "young people these days!" vein in which older people have been complaining for centuries. He went on to describe one particularly rude habit:
A most improper practice, moreover, prevails, that those who have gone down from the top to the bottom of a country-dance, utterly disregarding the happiness of others, walk off immediately, so that those whose places were at the bottom, after patiently working their way up to the top, for the amusement of those who were placed above them, find that as couple after couple have thus successively disappeared, they are left alone, and condemned to sit down without dancing.
This was an old complaint indeed; it comes up over and over again in earlier sources. Here's Thomas Wilson himself on the matter in An analysis of country dancing (London, 1808):
It is a great breach of good manners for any couple to leave a dance before it is finished.
Wilson's rival, G. M. S. Chivers, found it necessary to address the matter twice in The Modern Dancing Master (London, 1822):
No person should leave the Set, until the dance be finished.
[...]
It is highly improper for a person to call a Dance, and leave the room immediately after it is finished, or even to sit down when at the bottom.
The queen, of course, was a paragon of good manners:
Nothing can be more rude or selfish than such conduct, and it is to be hoped that the high example of the Queen may put a stop to it in future. After having danced down to the very bottom, Her Majesty continued in the dance, and stood always ready to join in the figure, until the very last couple had danced down. This was a truly royal feeling of consideration, most worthy of humble imitation, and much to be lauded, as manifesting the excellence of the heart from which it emanated.
This was the last dance in which the Queen and Prince joined...
Given that the set went the length of the room, this could have been a very lengthy dance indeed, lasting thirty minutes or more.
The entire ball so far had taken less than two hours, which may or may not have included other dances, when the queen retired. The party went merrily on, though Lauder did not describe any more of the dancing:
Her Majesty retired at about a quarter after twelve o'clock...The company then went off to supper, after which they danced till an early hour of the morning in another apartment, where there was no risk of the Queen being disturbed by the sound of the music.
The queen was fond of Scottish music in general, and at a later point she mentions some of her favorite pieces, including two dance tunes:
As Her Majesty remarked upon the different tunes she had heard, she expressed her preference for the Hullachan, the reel of Tullochgorum, the Macintoshes' Lament, and There's nae luck aboot the hoose. (p. 361)
There was a final ball, at Drummond Castle, on Monday, September 12, before the queen returned to England, described on pages 406-407:
After the party had retired from the banqueting hall, the table was cleared away, and a magnificent dancing-room was at one produced -- though, from its limited dimensions, the number invited to the ball was necessarily select.
I'll once again spare you the list of guests; you can find it in the online edition if you're curious.
The greater number of the gentlemen appeared in the Highland costume, and the Master of Drummond wore a dress of the clan tartan, the splendour of which was peculiarly admired...The ball opened with a reel, by the Duchess of Buccleuch, Lady Abercorn, the Master of Drummond, and Monzie, which delighted the Queen and Prince Albert. After it was over, His Royal Highness beckoned Monzie to come to him, and said, "Are you not tired?" To which Monzie replied, "No--not at all, your Highness." Upon which the Prince turned to the Queen and said-- "There,--you have seen him dance,--you see how he dances,--and yet he has been with me all day on those wild hills--and he says he is not tired.--It is wonderful!"
The standard for reels in social settings seems to have been mixed genders.
The reel was followed by another nameless country dance, in which the queen once again led the dance with her host and displayed excellent manners by dancing to the bottom and then all the way up again.
A country-dance was then commanded by the Queen, who honoured the Master of Drummond by standing up with him; her graceful dancing was admired by every one, and her scrupulous attention to the strict rules of the dance, charmed all present. As at Taymouth, the Queen, after dancing to the bottom, continued to stand up till she had again reached her proper place at the top, showing the utmost courtesy to every one. The ball went on with much spirit, and several people were presented during the course of the evening. The Queen and the Prince retired about eleven o'clock, and here, too the grace with which her Majesty bowed to every one as she passed through the company in retiring, was the general theme of admiration. After the ball there was a splendid supper.
And after this description of the ball, there were no more mentions of dance.
This post is dedicated to Rostik, because of the word progress (private joke) and because he's done such a grand job with my professional progresses through Russia this year.
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