A Brief History of the Tarantella

[Dusk in an unspecified season. A small, plainly furnished room. There is a tall, bespectacled man of an uncertain age stood to one side of a desk scattered with papers. He is idly pushing the notes around the surface until stirred from his reverie by a knock on the open door. A woman enters. Somewhere, from some unseen source, a faint melody plays...]

Please, take a seat. (Sound of chair scraping). Would you like a drink? I have a splendid Amontillado. Very fine.

(Sitting). That would be lovely, thank you.

(Pours out a small sherry from a crystal decanter and hands the glass over). I’m so glad you could come. Are you ready?

Whenever you are.

Wonderful. Then we’ll begin. (A shuffling of papers. A clearing of the throat). Now, the Tarantella as we know it, is a popular, up-tempo dance, commonly found in Italy and the southern Catalan provinces and was traditionally considered a courting ritual, although in some parts it also took the form of a face-off, with rivals assuming the role of duellists. But its origins belie its benign, modern façade. The term itself stems from the name of a early Greco-Italian colony, Taranta, where a venomous arachnid was once found. The species - subsequently labelled Lycosa taranta - induced in its human victims a type of hysteria which manifested itself through the wild, spinning paroxysms of the sufferer, often causing them to collapse - or in extreme cases, expire – through sheer exhaustion. The condition was known as Tarantism and the cure was to accompany the unwilling performer to a rhythmic tune which, over the years, evolved into a dance known as-

The Tarantella.

Correct. How is it so far?

It’s good. It’s interesting. Who will you be presenting it to?

Professor Williamson.

Malcolm?

Yes. Now, obviously it’s merely a preamble to a more lengthy discourse on the dance, its origins and the associated cultural histories but the important thing is how it tastes. Does it draw you in? Does it elicit a reaction? Will it draw him in and will he want more? Do you?

Do I what?

Want more? Does it make you want to hear more?

Oh. Yes, it does. I do. Go on.

(More shuffling of papers). Well, let’s see. Tarantism, tarantella… Ah, here. Now, the method behind the madness, as it were, was that by dancing around in such a frightful manner, the victim would exude the poison through perspiration; that is, they would sweat it out. The dance was, in some parts of Sicily and Naples, found to be quite an effective cure for hysteria in women.

The tarantella as a condition is not isolated by any means. There have been several notable, related phenomena observed over the centuries generally referred as ‘dancing manias’ and generally confined to mainland Europe. Some of the more well-known outbreaks were given significance by having their own names - the Dancing Plague of 1518 for example - and are thought by most contemporary historians and physicians to be symptomatic of mass hysteria or, in some cases, apraxia. St Vitus’ Dance is also a common shorthand for the occurrences.

Keep going it’s really very good.

Excellent. How is your amontillado?

(Sipping). Mmm. It’s nice.

Good, good. Now, the transition from malady to movement is not well documented, but it is interesting how of all the dancing manias, only the Tarantella evolved in this way, whereas the others died out. As noted earlier, the dance developed into a courtship ritual but could also signify a kind of love-rivalry with opponents attempting out-dance each other, the victor being the one who could outlast the other, two whirling dervishes facing off on the dance floor. These days the Tarantella’s origins as a form of anti-venom are unknown by all but the most diligent of scholars-

Very modest of you. (Coughs).

(Smiles and adjusts glasses). -all but the most diligent of scholars, but it should not be forgotten. What is of note, is that the venom of the spiders responsible for inducing the attacks were rarely fatal, perhaps no more painful than a bee sting. So it is also quite possible that the manifestations observed may well have been related to some – then unknown – allergic reaction.

(More coughing).

The rest is mere bluster I fear, but I am quite optimistic of a warm reception. Professor Williamson has always been a good friend and I imagine is also harbouring a lot of guilty feelings about the affair that he has been conducting with you these past few months while I have been engaged in my research, so he is sure to put in a good word to the board on my behalf. I would imagine that a senior, tenured post, will be offered to me quite soon.

How did you- (More coughing, becoming physically agitated). When-

Oh my dear, I’ve know for quite some time now. I’m an anthropologist. The observation of people is my forte. Although I must say that I thought you would have better taste than to gad about with a fool like Williamson. The man drinks Medoc for heaven’s sake.

My god! (Choking). I think- I think- (Crashes to the floor and begins writhing around in desperate frustration).

Now! What’s all this? Playing possum are we? The old Didelphis virginiana? Come, come, surely you have more dignity than that…

(Face reddens and body twitches more violently until it freezes tight and then falls limp).

(Walking over to the table). Ah, I think I see what has happened here. It appears that the amontillado contains traces of salicylate, quite a natural occurrence in some sherries, although fatal of course, to a small percentage of the population. Perhaps I should call for assistance, yes? But there is, I think, no real hurry. Let us have one more run through of the presentation – without any interruptions this time, eh? Now, are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin…