the body and light tapping of the feet have always
had a mysterious attraction and fascination for mankind,
and music and poetry were caught in its swaying measures
early in the dawn of art. When a man walks, he takes either
long steps or short steps, he walks fast or slow. But when
he takes one long step and one short one, when one step is
slow and the other fast, he no longer walks, he dances. Thus
we may say with reasonable certainty that triple time arose
directly from the dance, for triple time is simply one strong,
long beat followed by a short, light one, viz.: [2 4] or
[- '], the "trochee" in our poetry. [4 2] [' -], Iambic.
The spondee [2 2] or [- -], which is the rhythm of prose,
we already possessed; for when we walk it is in spondees,
namely, in groups of two equal steps. Now imagine dancing
to spondees! At first the steps will be equal, but the body
rests on the first beat; little by little the second beat,
being thus relegated to a position of relative unimportance,
becomes shorter and shorter, and we rest longer on the first
beat. The result is the trochaic rhythm. We can see that this
result is inevitable, even if only the question of physical
fatigue is considered. And, to carry on our theory, this very
question of fatigue still further develops rhythm. The strong
beat always coming on one foot, and the light beat on the other,
would soon tire the dancer; therefore some way must be found
to make the strong beat alternate from one foot to the other.
The simplest, and in fact almost the only way to do this,
is to insert an additional short beat before the light beat.
This gives us [- ' -] or [4. 8 4], the dactyl in poetry.

We have, moreover, here discovered the beginning of form, and
have begun to group our musical tones in measures and phrases;
for our second dactyl is slightly different from the first,
because the right foot begins the first and the left foot the
second. We have two measures [(4. 8 4 | 4. 8 4)]
[(- ' - | - ' -)]
and one phrase, for after the second measure the right foot
will again have the beat and will begin another phrase of two
measures.

Carry this theory still further, and we shall make new
discoveries. If we dance in the open air, unless we would dance
over the horizon, we must turn somewhere; and if we have but a
small space in which to dance, the turns must come sooner and
oftener. Even if we danced in a circle we should need to reverse
t