CHAPTER XVI

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.