THE DANCE OF DEATH

By (AKA William Herman) Ambrose Bierce

Original

"Wilt thou bring fine gold for a payment

For sins on this wise?

For the glittering of raiment

And the shining of eyes,

For the painting of faces

And the sundering of trust,

For the sins of thine high places

And delight of thy lust?"

* * * *

"Not with fine gold for a payment,

But with coin of sighs,

But with rending of raiment

And with weeping of eyes,

But with shame of stricken faces

And with strewing of dust,

For the sin of stately places

And lordship of lust."

Swinburne.

Original

CONTENTS

PREFACE.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

PREFACE.

Original

he writer of these pages is not foolish enough to suppose that he can escape strong and bitter condemnation for his utterances. On this score he is not disposed to be greatly troubled; and for these reasons: Firstly—he feels that he is performing a duty; secondly—he is certain that his sentiments will be endorsed by hundreds upon whose opinion he sets great value; thirdly—he relieves his mind of a burden that has oppressed it for many years; and fourthly—as is evident upon the face of these pages—he is no professed litterateur, who can be starved by adverse criticism. Nevertheless he would be apostate to his self-appointed mission if he invited censure by unseemly defiance of those who must read and pass judgment upon his work. While, therefore, he does not desire to invoke the leniency of the professional critic or the casual reader, he does desire to justify the position he has taken as far as may be consistent with good taste.

It will doubtless be asserted by many: That the writer is a "bigoted parson," whose puritanical and illiberal ideas concerning matters of which he has no personal experience belong to an age that is happily passed. On the contrary, he is a man of the world, who has mixed much in society both in the old world and the new, and who knows whereof he affirms.

That he is, for some reason, unable to partake of the amusement he condemns, and is therefore jealous of those more fortunate than himself. Wrong again. He has drunk deeply of the cup he warns others to avoid; and has better opportunities than the generality of men to continue the draught if he found it to his taste.

That he publishes from motives of private malice. Private malice—no. Malice of a certain kind, yes. Malice against those who should know better than to abuse the rights of hospitality by making a bawdy-house of their host's dwelling.

But the principal objection will doubtless refer to the plain language used.

My excuse, if indeed excuse be needed for saying just what I mean, is, that it is impossible to clothe in delicate terms the intolerable nastiness which I expose, and at the same time to press the truth home to those who are most in need of it; I might as well talk to the winds as veil my ideas in sweet phrases when addressing people who it seems cannot descry the presence of corruption until it is held in all its putridity under their very nostrils.

Finally, concerning the prudence and advisability of such a publication, I have only to say that I have consulted many leading divines and principals of educational institutions, all of whom agree that the subject must be dealt with plainly, and assure me that its importance demands more than ordinary treatment—that it is a foeman worthy of the sharpest steel; for, say they: To repeat the tame generalities uttered from the pulpit, or the quiet tone of disapprobation adopted by the press, would be to accord to the advocates of this evil a power which they do not possess, and to proclaim a weakness of its opponents which the facts will not justify.

I have therefore spoken plainly and to the purpose, that those who run—or waltz—may read.

But there remains yet something to be said, which is more necessary to my own peace of mind, and to that of many of my readers, than all that has gone before. So important is it, indeed, that what I am about to say should be distinctly understood by all those whose criticism I value, and whose feelings I respect, that I almost hesitate to consign it to that limbo of egotism—the preface.

Be it known, then, that although in the following pages I have, without compunction, attacked the folly and vice of those who practice such, yet I would rather my right hand should wither than that the pen it wields should inflict a single wound upon one innocent person. I am willing to believe, nay, I know, that there are many men and women who can and do dance without an