"The Art of Flirting -- A Guide for Girls -- Chapter XXII. -- Of the Polka, its rise and progress, and adaptability to the requirements of the Flirt" appeared in the pages of Judy, or The London Serio-Comic Journal, Volume 26, Feb. 25, 1880. Judy was a British humor magazine published from 1867 to 1907; it's significance in comic history is discussed briefly here.
"Of the Polka" is a rambling article that jumps around from the history of the polka to the author's own memories of it and, eventually, to the nominal point of the article: whether or not the polka is a suitable dance for flirtation. It's supposed to be funny, and probably was more so a hundred and thirty-eight years ago when it was published. But even though it doesn't really work for me as humor, it contains several interesting little tidbits worth highlighting for dance research. The image at left (click to enlarge), captioned "The Old Dance Back Again", a reference to the supposed renewed popularity of the polka which was the excuse for writing the article.
I'll include a full transcription of the article at the end of the post, but here are the parts that caught my eye:
The article opens with a heavily edited quotation from The Physiology of Evening Parties, by Albert Smith (1816-1860) a famous satire first published in Punch in 1842. I doubt the polka material was in that earliest version, since in 1842 it was not yet wildly popular in England. The article mentions 1846 in this section ("The polka was, in 1846, a fashionable dance..."), so I suspect the author was referring to the 1846 edition, which was published with "additions and corrections", presumably including the chapter on polka and the Cellarius. It may be found online at Google Books. At some point I should dedicate a whole series of blog posts to going through all the dance material in it.
Among the interesting material in this first part is a reference to the "back step", which is among the steps mentioned in the Illustrated London News article, "The Drawing Room Polka", from 1844. The back step is simply backing up, rather than turning; the article describes it as "you place your lady exactly before you and back all round the room, your lady pursuing you...you then reverse this figure, and let your partner do the back step whilst you pursue her, and at the same time carefully guide her round the room."
The next bit of interest is the dance program of "Mr. Henry’s “soir e dansante” at the Portland Rooms, in Foley-street", which included "eight quadrilles, the Lancers once, Sir Roger once, the Caledonians once, a Spanish dance, a waltz, a circular waltz, a posthorn galop, a redowa, and five polkas." It's not entirely clear whether this was a current (1880) program or something from the 1840s, but it's an interesting example -- I don't have many -- of a nineteenth-century English (as opposed to American) program. Note that it includes "a" Spanish dance, not "the" Spanish dance, implying that it was still a genre rather than a sole survivor; this argues for it being 1840s rather than 1880s. "Sir Roger", of course, is some version of Sir Roger de Coverley, the famous dance mentioned by Charles Dickens in A Christmas Carol.
Next up is a mention of having seen the polka danced in the theatre "...by the lady and gentleman in what is supposed to be Polish boots, with brass tipped heels, but it was for the most part a straggling sort of performance, the gentleman holding the lady by the hand and keeping her at a respectful distance, whilst they both did some elaborate toe and heel business." The "Polish boots" might refer to those worn by Carlotta Grisi and Jules Perrot, who performed in Polish costume in the 1840s; see the image at right (click to enlarge), taken from the cover of The Opera Polka (mid-1840s). The full sheet music cover is online at the New York Public Library There are many similar images extant.
The "toe and heel" refers to the "Bohemian" step, more often called the "heel and toe", which was also described in the Illustrated London News. The dancers hop on the back foot while resting the other heel forward, then hopping, again bringing the other toe back to the first leg, followed by the same on the other (outside) foot and then sending the lady back and forth from one arm to the other.
The author didn't care for that step, especially when performed by amateurs:
This same toe and heel step introduced into private life had an awkward look, as you may imagine, but presently somebody rose up and abolished all this. The man’s arm took its proper place round his partner’s waist, the fair head nestled in the region of the manly neck-tie, and all was joy.
This brings up an interesting point: in early polka sources from the 1840s, there are as many as ten different polka steps and figure. By the middle of the nineteenth century, almost all of them had vanished as the polka was "cleaned up" for fashionable ballrooms. Ironically, the heel and toe polka wasn't one of the ones that disappeared; it's found in dance manuals all the way to the end of the century.
The author then wanders on to the topic of whether a man should dance, with some discussion of Lord Byron's poem, "The Waltz", and how he originally hid his authorship of it. The full text of the poem, with some history, may be found at the University of Adelaide's website, and there's a long discussion of why he might have published it anonymously by historian Katherine Kane here.
Finally, not dance-related, there is a reference to the Messrs. Gatti's Café, which probably refers to one of the restaurant ventures of Carlo Gatti (1817-1878), whose most notable accomplishment was introducing ice cream as a commercial product in his London chocolate-and-ice-cream shop in the late 1840s.
After all of that and more, the author finally gets to the question of whether the polka is good for flirtation. The author's conclusion is that it is not; it's too energetic:
There is not enough repose about it. It is, even now, in its improved form, too hoppy and skippy. It is too much of a business, and too breathless by far. You hear of soft murmurs to waltz time; of passionate glances, clutchings, and clingings, and so on, but there is something comic, it seems to me, in the polka movement.
He then notes that the polka is coming back into style, and rambles a bit about flirting in the ballroom, as reported by a "musicianist" friend, with a warning to readers to stay away from potentially-eavesdropping pianists.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Judy, or The London Serio-Comic Journal, Volume 26, Feb. 25, 1880.
p. 87-88
The Art of Flirting.
A Guide for Girls.
Chapter XXII. — Of the Polka, its rise and progress, and adaptability to the requirements of the Flirt.
“ ‘You dance the polka, Mr. Ledbury?’ ‘I shall be most happy,’ replies Mr. Ledbury. There is an incertitude in his reply, for he mistrusts the back step, and is not yet sufficiently wound up to performing reckless feats.”
I am quoting from Albert Smith’s Physiology of Evening Parties, a portion of which first appeaed in a publication called Punch, or the London Charivari. “You will find several classes of polka dancers,” says our physiologist. “There are the phlegamtic, the excited, and the out of time. There are also the mathematical, the confidential, and those who go the pace. These last contrive to get a fair lead, to look over their right shoulder, so that the scented curls are in delightful approximation to their own features; and thus, with their arm extended straight out from their body, like that of a finger-post, off they go, preferring the back step to every other, and twisting, zigzagging, and going ahead in a manner wonderful to behold.” The polka was, in 1846, a fashionable dance, and much more popular than a waltz or galop in all kinds of society. In the programme of the dances at Mr. Henry’s “soir e dansante” at the Portland Rooms, in Foley-street, we have eight quadrilles, the Lancers once, Sir Roger once, the Caledonians once, a Spanish dance, a waltz, a circular waltz, a posthorn galop, a redowa, and five polkas. Mr. and Mrs. Henry, I learn by their advertisement, gave lessons “in all the fashionable dances, at all hours, either at this academy or the residence of pupils.”
I do not know when the polka was first introduced, but one of my earliest recollections is of some jog-trot tune, the firt words to which were “Can you dance the polka? tum, tum, tum!” I first saw it danced at the theatre by the lady and gentleman in what is supposed to be Polish boots, with brass tipped heels, but it was for the most part a straggling sort of performance, the gentleman holding the lady by the hand and keeping her at a respectful distance, whilst they both did some elaborate toe and heel business. This same toe and heel step introduced into private life had an awkward look, as you may imagine, but presently somebody rose up and abolished all this. The man’s arm took its proper place round his partner’s waist, the fair head nestled in the region of the manly neck-tie, and all was joy.
Is it a ridiculous thing for a man to dance? When our fathers were young men, I fancy dancing was somewhat sneered at. Did not my Lord Byron, nursing his lame foot and glowering vengefully, write an apostrophic hymn to the waltz which afterwards, by the way, it having been published anonymously and not at all well received by the public, he was not anxious should be considered to be his handiwork. “I hear,” he says, in a letter to a friend, “that a certain malicious publication on waltzing is attributed to me. This report, I suppose, you will take care to contradict, as the author, I am sure, will not like that I should wear his cap and bells.”
This disparagement of dancing by our fast young men was at a period previous to the establishment of a now defunct institution called the “Casino.” I remember well when what is now the Messrs. Gatti’s Café was called the Adelaide Gallery, and here have I seen the “gent,” in his light Taglioni with big mother-of-pearl buttons, dancing the polka to his heart’s content.
Is the polka a dance adapted to the pursuit of flirtation? I fancy not. There is not enough repose about it. It is, even now, in its improved form, too hoppy and skippy. It is too much of a business, and too breathless by far. You hear of soft murmurs to waltz time; of passionate glances, clutchings, and clingings, and so on, but there is something comic, it seems to me, in the polka movement. I have it on good authority (a musicianist who attends evening parties is my informant) that the polka has come into favour again once more, and is much danced, so possibly people do flirt over it as over other things.
Who shall decide the time and place and make-weight occupation most suitable? I don’t know, I am sure, and am most anxious to obtain particulars. I have asked my musicianist whether he sees much flirtation going on, and he says he does not, and is of opinion that the flirtishly inclined get away upon various preferences into quiet corners or out on the stairs. “That’s after supper,” he explains. “In the early part they don’t say much, and what they say is always the same. I’ve heard a man or a woman say the same things to three partners running. It must be beastly slow.”
It tickles me to think what the men and women he spoke of would have said if they had heard the criticism of that man strumming in the corner, with downcast eyes, an immovable face, and big ears wide open. In future keep far away from the piano, my deer young friends.
Comments