A Treatise on the Art of Dancing — Context and Discussion
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For A Treatise on the Art of Dancing — Context and Discussion, the stored edition analysis reports 38,111 words, 2 hr 46 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.
The text analysis averages about 31.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.
Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Theater -- History,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.
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Read the Text
ey did not so much regard the nimbleness and capering with the legs and feet, on which we lay so great a stress. Attitude, grace, expression, were their principal object. They executed scarce any thing in dancing, without special regard to that expression which may be termed the life and soul of it.
Their steps and motions were all distinct, clear, and neat; proceeding from a strength so suppled, as to give their joints all the requisite flexibility and obedience to command.
They did not so much affect the moderately comic, or half serious, as they did the great, the pompous, or heroic stile of dance. They spared for no pains nor cost, towards the perfection of their dances. The figures were exquisite. The least number of the figurers were forty or fifty. Their dresses were magnificent and in taste. Their decorations were sublime. A competent skill in the theatrical, or actor's art, and a great one in that of dancing, was necessary for being admitted into the number of figurers. In short, every thing was in the highest order, and very fit to prove the mistake of those who imagine that the dances are, in operas for example, no more than a kind of necessary expletive of the intervals of the acts, for the repose of the singers.
The Greeks considered dancing in another point of light; all their festivals and games, which were in greater number than in other countries, were intermixed and heightened with dances peculiarly composed in honor of their deities. From before their altars, and from their places of worship, they were soon introduced upon their theatres, to which they were undoubtedly a prior invention. The strophe, antistrophe, and epode, were nothing but certain measures performed by a chorus of dancers, in harmony with the voice; certain movements in dancing correspondent to the subject, which were all along considered as a constitutive part of the performance. The dancing even governed the measure of the stanzas; as the signification of the words strophe and antistrophe, plainly imports, they might be properly called danced himns. The truth is, that tragedy and comedy, made also originally to be sung, but which, in process of time, upon truer principles of nature, came to be acted and declaimed, were but super-inductions to the choruses, of which, in tragedy especially, the tragic-writers, could not well get rid, as being part of the religious ceremony.
This solves, in a great measure, the seeming absurdity of their interference with the subject of the drama: being deemed so indispensable a part of the performance, that the scene itself was hardly more so: consequently, there was no secret supposed to be more violated by speaking before them, than before the inanimate scene itself. But what was at least excusable, on this footing, in the antients, would be an unpardonable absurdity in the moderns.
Athenæus, who has left us an account of many of the antient dances, as the _Mactrismus_, a dance entirely for the female sex, the _Molossic_, the Persian _Sicinnis_, &c. observes, that in the earliest ages of antiquity, dancing was esteemed an exercise, not only not inconsistent with decency and gravity, but practised by persons of the greatest worth and honor. Socrates himself, learnt the art, when he was already advanced in years.
Cautious as I am of using a false argument, I should say, that the making dances a part of their religious ceremonies, was a mark of their attributing even a degree of sanctity to them; but that I am aware there were many things that found a place in their festivals and games, which, among those heathens, were so far from having any thing of sacred in them, that they did not even show a respect for common decency or morality.
Gallini opens his treatise with an apology, anticipating the reader's prejudice against a dancing-master's self-promotion. He frames his work as a gesture of gratitude for public favor, not a mercenary pitch. The book's structure moves from ancient dance to practical instruction, then to global customs and pantomime, reflecting an ambition to elevate dance as a subject worthy of systematic study.
From Apology to Anatomy of the Minuet
The opening advertisement sets a defensive yet earnest tone. Gallini insists he will not "recommend dancing as a virtue," but he clearly values the art's moral and social utility. The table of contents reveals a deliberate progression: ancient dance, general principles, requisites for perfection, the minuet's utility, global dances, and pantomimes. The minuet receives special attention as a dance that teaches "the easy and noble port of the head" and the "graceful management of the arms." Gallini warns against bad teachers who instill "bad, awkward habits" in children, whose limbs are "most supple" and minds "most ductile." He insists that true mastery comes from uniting practice with knowledge, not mere rote imitation.
The Body in Motion: Posture and Gesture
Gallini's technical advice is remarkably specific. He admonishes learners to "turn their knees out" rather than just the toes, and to attend to "the motion of the instep, to the air of sinking and rising." He lists the hips, shoulders, body, arms, hands, neck, head, and even the "modesty of the eye" as components of graceful execution. The bow or curtsy at the start of a dance is crucial: "nothing is more disgustful than that initial step of the minuet, when auckwardly executed." This attention to first impressions extends beyond the dance floor to entering a room or public assembly. Gallini's language is practical, not mystical; he aims for "noble ease" and "natural gracefulness."
Ancient Precedents and Global Variety
The treatise situates contemporary dance within a historical and geographical framework. The section on ancient dance (page 17) and the "Summary Account of various Kinds of Dances in different Parts of the World" (page 181) suggest a comparative approach. Gallini draws on classical sources to argue for dance's antiquity and dignity, while the global survey implies that dance is a universal human activity. The pantomime section (page 227) bridges ancient and modern performance, hinting at narrative and expressive potential. These sections broaden the book beyond a mere instruction manual, positioning dance as a subject of intellectual inquiry.
The Practitioner's Authority
Gallini repeatedly asserts his credibility as a practitioner. He cites the aged dancer Dupré, who at "near the age of sixty" danced with "all the agility and sprightliness of youth." This anecdote serves to prove that sound training outlasts youth. Gallini distinguishes between the "dead-letter" of dance notation and the "spirit" imparted by a good master. He avoids self-recommendation, he claims, but his entire treatise is an implicit argument for the dancing-master's expertise. The book's structure—from history to technique to global survey—mirrors the author's own journey from performer to theorist.
Readers approaching this treatise should expect a blend of practical advice and cultural commentary. Gallini's voice is that of a professional defending his craft, not a detached scholar. The book rewards attention to its recurring concerns: the relationship between physical training and social grace, the danger of superficial instruction, and the dignity of dance as an art. The excerpts offer a clear sense of Gallini's method and preoccupations, though the full scope of his global survey and pantomime analysis remains to be explored.
I’ve often thought that Gallini’s treatise, with its careful steps and minutes of etiquette, holds a quiet rhythm of its own. Yet the post office’s history, that patient circuit of letters, carries a similar pulse—each dispatch a measured movement, each arrival a small dance completed. The History of the Post Office in British North America — Edition Insights reminds me how correspondence, too, was choreographed by hand and habit.
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