October 17, 1812. Lord Byron, England’s poetic enfant terrible, sits pen in hand, undoubtedly wearing a smirk as he writes to his publisher, John Murray. His words are teasing yet purposeful: “I have a poem on Waltz for you, of which I make you a present, but it must be anonymous.” Byron had just composed a scathing satire on the waltz, the dance that had taken London by storm - and, quite frankly, one he detested.
This wasn’t just a casual critique from the club-footed poet who couldn’t participate in the waltz’s whirling frenzy; it was a full-on takedown wrapped in witty rhymes. Byron, never one to shy away from controversy, had strong feelings about the dance - and, as with many things in his life, they were complicated. One of Regency London's best-known waltzers was Caroline Lamb, who made no secret of the affair she'd undertaken with the wild Lord B. in 1812.
From German peasants to Almack’s balls
The waltz’s journey to Regency England was as daring as the dance itself. Originating in the rustic corners of Germany in the 1780s, the waltz began as a lively peasant dance. By the 1810s, it had transformed into the most fashionable (and controversial) dance of London society.
But the waltz wasn’t without its detractors. Conservative critics decried its immorality. The swirling movements exposed the tantalising ankles of ladies (ankles, scandalous!), and the intimate embrace between partners was enough to send moralists reaching for their smelling salts. The Reverend Milward, as depicted in Anne Brontë’s The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, went so far as to forbid it at local dances, proving that even years after its debut, the waltz could still scandalise, but really, just what was Byron's specific problem? Could it really be all about lax morality? (I mean, Byron? Really????)
“Pray, Put Out the Light”
In his anonymously published satire Waltz, Byron’s biting pen mocked the dance’s physicality and opportunities for public display. With lines like:
"Waltz—Waltz alone—both legs and arms demands,
Liberal of feet, and lavish of her hands;
Hands which may freely range in public sight
Where ne’er before—but—pray ‘put out the light."
The poet painted the waltz as a shameless spectacle (yes, yes, layers of irony from the era's best-known proponent of impropriety). Partners spinning together, arms wrapped, faces alarmingly close - this was not the modest hand-in-hand decorum of a country dance. No, this was full-contact dancing, and Byron was not having it.
His satire dripped with both mockery and melancholy, betraying Byron’s personal stake on the matter. His malformed right leg made dancing an impossibility, leaving him an onlooker as others - like his former lover - gracefully spun across the floor. It’s easy to imagine the pangs of envy Byron might have felt, watching his peers enjoy a dance he could never master.
The phenakistoscope animation below is by Eadweard Muybridge and dates from 1905 . This is admittedly anachronistic but it does show very clearly why Regency society initially found the waltz scandalous.
Horace Hornem, Esq.
Byron, ever the master of literary personas, adopted the voice of “Horace Hornem, Esq.” for his satirical attack. Through this fictitious figure, he voiced the outrage and fascination swirling around the waltz. Hornem’s tone alternates between moral indignation and begrudging amusement, reflecting Byron’s own ambivalence towards the dance.
On one hand, Byron seemed genuinely appalled by the waltz’s impropriety. On the other, his humour and fascination suggests a grudging acknowledgment of its allure. After all, the waltz wasn’t just a dance - it was a statement, a rebellion against the stiff conventions of Regency society. Something he knew a bit about - no?
A dance that couldn’t be stopped
Despite Byron’s mockery and the initial outcry, the waltz’s popularity only grew throughout Regency England. By 1813, it was a staple at Almack’s, the most exclusive of London’s ballrooms. Diarist Thomas Raikes declared that “No event ever produced so great a sensation in English society as the introduction of the waltz.”
Even Byron’s venomous verses couldn’t slow the waltz’s advance. By the time the Congress of Vienna rolled around in 1815, the dance had become not just fashionable but respectable. What was once decried as indecent was now embraced by the upper crust, proving that scandal often paves the way for acceptance.
Lasting legacy of the waltz
Byron’s Waltz may have been a temporary detour in his literary career, but the dance itself became a turning point in ballroom history. Its intimate, closed position set the stage for the creation of countless other slow, close dances, forever changing the way people moved around a dance floor.
And while Byron may have hated the waltz, his satire ensured it would be remembered - along with his conflicted feelings. Perhaps it’s fitting that the poet, with his mix of mockery and melancholy, captured the spirit of the waltz perfectly: a dance of scandal, intimacy, and unrelenting charm.
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