1634: The Ram Rebellion Page 15

  The students paid the school a small fee to attend my classes, and in turn the school paid my assistant instructors and me a flat hourly rate. I noticed that my dutiful sons, Joel and Joseph, had no qualms about unmanly activities when there was money to be had.

  This took us through that year. The only blot on the otherwise pleasant landscape was when a horde of horrid horsemen attacked the town and school. There were anguished moments when we first heard about the school being attacked, but they were soon alleviated when we heard that all students were alive and well.

  Because of the massive amount of construction going on and the call of the military, not all students could attend regular lessons. That meant most of my students were unable to progress as quickly as I would have liked. The lack of progress meant that for only the second time since I was five, I missed a live performance of Nutcracker.

  Quite frankly, I lacked the competent company needed to put on a performance. We did put on a recital made up of various parts from several ballets for students’ families though. There were a few simple pieces for the youngsters and the less experienced adults. However, the pièce de resistance was a new ballet that I wrote and choreographed. It was based on the stories circulating about Flo Richards and Brillo, her “favorite” ram.

  Part of the fun was that Flo was ambushed. We managed to get her to the recital without revealing the content of the principal performance. Nothing was actually said, but everyone there had heard about the antics of Brillo and his harem of ewes. The whole performance was greeted with howls of laughter, with Flo joining in.

  We grabbed and held the audience from the beginning when our “Flo” stood between Brillo and her ewes, protecting them from the horrible nasty under-bred Ram, while the ewes looked at Brillo with interest. The attention held right through to the last scene where Flo, brandishing a big knife, gives Brillo a verbal warning after finding him asleep in the same paddock as the ewes.

  Carl Schockley danced Brillo. He was an out-of-towner in Grantville, part of the construction crew building a new high-tech factory of some sort. He first came to my notice a few months before the Ring of Fire, when he turned up at the dance school in Fairmont asking about classes to maintain condition. When my son Joel, who was originally cast as Brillo, was called away for military maneuvers shortly before the recital I had been desperate. Then Melanie, my youngest girl, casually mentioned having seen Carl on a Kelly Construction building site.

  Carl was magnificent as Brillo. First in his solo where he showed angst at the new ram Flo had purchased and determination to get to his harem, and then in the set of pas de deux with the four ewes. He became one with the music. He was Brillo. A critical eye could see he lacked practice. However, his Coupè Jetè en Tourants grabbed the audience. Such èlèvation as he danced around the stage, leaning back in the turns so that he was almost horizontal to the floor. It was obvious to me that sometime in the past he had fallen into the hands of someone trained in the Russian School of ballet.

  For the four separate pas de deux he gave the girls the confidence to excel. They knew they could trust him to support them and that he would be there when they needed him. The girls danced better than I had ever seen them dance before. All four managed to spend some time en pointe, and the audience loved it. They gave a standing ovation, calling back the cast to acknowledge the applause.

  And that’s when I realized something was up. There were more people in the audience than expected. There was one group at the back who absolutely screamed money, lots of money. It was something about their clothes and the way they carried themselves. As the cast did their final bows and retired to do their cool-down exercises, I turned and made my way to meet these interlopers, greeting parents and their families as I walked down the hall, accepting compliments on the performance as I passed.

  * * *

  Helene Gundelfinger, a young widow who came to the “Dance for Fitness” class, was with them. She hurried over as I approached. In class I had noticed the respectful way other down-timers always treated Helene. I refused to ask questions, but my eldest daughter Staci was soon able to inform me that Frau Gundelfinger was very well connected locally. Not only had she married a very successful merchant, she was also very friendly with the local nobility. She had been the governess of the duke and duchess of Saxe-Altenburg’s only child for several years before leaving to marry. It seemed I was about to meet some of her local connections.

  Helene dragged me up to three of the most expensively dressed people I had ever seen. Then she made the introductions. “Duke Johann Philipp, Duchess Elisabeth, Duchess Elisabeth Sofie, may I present Frau Matowski, the maîtresse de ballet? Frau Matowski, His Grace and his family wish to talk to you of this ballet.”

  “Thank you Helene,” Duke Johann Philipp said. “Frau Matowski, my wife and I wish to compliment you on such a magnificent performance. Frau Gundelfinger has related to us the story of ‘Brillo,’ and we were able to fully enjoy the finale. We were wondering if you would be able to put on a private performance of Bad, Bad Brillo for our guests on Twelfth Night, January the sixth?”

  “Well, it will depend a bit on the availability of our dancers. All of them have day jobs. As it is, Brillo was supposed to have been danced by my eldest son, but he was called away by the army. We were lucky to have such a competent understudy . . .” I was about to talk money when I felt my hand being squeezed. Following the hand that held mine I found myself looking into the eyes of Helene Gundelfinger. Her expression and the faint shake of her head caused me to hold back the words. “Anyway, if Your Grace were to let me have some more details, we will see if it will be possible to accommodate you. You do realize that we will need a space bigger than the stage you can see?”

  “Yes Frau Matowski,” His Grace replied smiling, “we have put on little entertainments before. I am sure we have enough space.”

  “Father.”

  I looked at the young woman tugging aggressively at the duke’s jacket, and stifled a smile at the picture they made as I waited to see what his daughter wanted.

  “Now Elisabeth Sofie, stop pulling at my coat. You’ll ruin the hang, and you know how much that upsets Matthias.” Holding his daughter’s hands in his left hand he brushed at his wrinkled coat with the palm of his right hand before turning back to me. “Frau Matowski, my daughter here wishes that I ask about dance lessons. It seems she wishes to learn to dance like Brillo’s ewes.”

  I had to smile at Elisabeth Sofie. There had been similar requests after performances before. It was the en pointe that did it. The girls saw a ballerina en pointe and immediately wanted to dance on their toes. “Your Grace?” I queried, hoping I had the style of address correct. It seemed strange calling a child “Your Grace.”

  “Yes, Frau Matowski.”

  “Your Grace, what you have just seen are dancers with years of experience dancing en pointe. It is not as it may appear. They are not dancing on their toes. The human toe can’t support the weight of a body. I don’t want you trying. What they have is specially made shoes that make it look as if they are dancing on their toes. I don’t let girls who haven’t finished growing dance en pointe, because it can cause considerable damage to their developing feet. Also, it takes years to develop the muscles needed to support a dancer’s body en pointe. Are you still interested in learning to dance?”

  “But Frau Matowski, I am almost fourteen, and I can dance. I have been taught to dance by the best teachers for many years. I want to learn to dance like them.” With that she pointed back up the hall, towards the four girls still in their white Ewe outfits, circulating with the other students.

  “Well, the classes are open to anybody. They start again in just two weeks. Can you come to this hall after school Monday, Wednesday and Friday?”

  “Two weeks! Can’t I start immediately? Can’t you give me private lessons? Please.”

  I looked to the duke and his wife for direction. All I got was two pairs of grinning eyes. Apparently they were accustom
ed to their daughter’s behavior and were watching to see how I handled her. “Well, I have a small studio attached to my home where a small number of students and my family and I train to maintain condition. If Your Graces wish, I am willing to add your daughter to the class.” Looking up to see His Grace’s gracefully nodding head in acceptance, I asked, “You don’t mind your daughter wearing the training clothes? Or being exposed to similarly dressed males?”

  “The clothes are necessary for the activity. As long as she does not walk around the streets dressed like that,” the duke pointed to the four Ewes, “then I have no problem. As for practicing in the presence of men, other than your family, I believe a Herr Carl Schockley is the only other male member of your practice group?”

  I was bemused by his knowledge of my arrangements, but after I nodded that yes, Carl was the only other male, all was revealed. “Helene has vouched for him. So, if you will please make arrangements with Helene, Elisabeth Sofie will turn up when and where you request. Thank you for your time Frau Matowski. Dear, Elisabeth Sofie, come, it is time we left.”

  As the ducal party left the school hall I sighed with relief. An amused Helene Gundelfinger looked on. “It’s all right for you,” I said, detecting the smile. “You’re obviously used to dealing with nobles. That’s the closest I’ve ever been to one. I didn’t make any mistakes, did I?”

  “No, Bitty, you didn’t make any mistakes. It was good of you to talk to Elisabeth Sofie as you did. Still, I expect she will be trying to dance on her toes.”

  “They all do. I remember rushing home from watching my first live performance, and trying to stand on my toes. The warning was meant more for her parents, so they know what to watch out for. But what do I call the girl when she turns up to class?”

  “As her teacher you may call her Elisabeth Sofie, it will be a symbol of your authority. I will accompany Her Grace and her servants to the first session to introduce her and see that she is settled. Thereafter, only her servants will accompany her.”

  “Servants? As in, more than one?”

  “Surely. Her Grace is a young lady of good blood from a wealthy family. The family cannot afford to take risks. There must be no suggestion of impropriety, or her marriage prospects will be damaged. She must be accompanied by her maid, at least one footman, and of course, her coachman.”

  “Coachman?”

  “But of course. You can’t expect Her Grace to ride or take the common coach. It would be unsuitable.”

  “But what am I going to do with all her servants while I teach?”

  “They will wait. The coachman will return at the appointed time to collect her; however, Her Grace’s maid must be with her at all times. The footmen may be left anywhere convenient. They are used to waiting. Now, as payment for you allowing the duchess to join your private classes, I suggested a couple of gulden a week. However, my friend Carl Schockley pointed out that the other students didn’t pay more than a token, and that maybe the equivalent of about ten dollars a session would be acceptable?”

  I thought about that. Nearly two hundred dollars a week for adding the Duchess Elisabeth Sofie to the private classes would have been useful. However, it would have stunk of taking advantage of someone just because her family had money. On the other hand, ten dollars a session was more than what students paid to take my normal classes at the school. “Ten dollars a session will be more than sufficient. It is more than the school charges for a student to come to my other classes, but with a much smaller class I will be able to give her more individual attention.”

  “Good, that is settled. Now, the duke and his family are spending this Christmas in their castle just outside Saalfeld. It is about an hour’s drive by carriage from Grantville to their home. I understand you will want a full rehearsal. Will it be possible for the servants and younger children to watch?”

  “If they don’t mind seeing mistakes.” Then I paused, hearing Helene’s words rebounding in my head. “Castle? They live in an honest to God castle?” At Helene’s nod I snorted as I swallowed a laugh. No wonder the duke was confident they would have enough room. Then another thought hit me. Horrified at the possibility, I looked to Helene. “The floor isn’t stone is it? Because that’s impossible.”

  “No, Bitty, the floor isn’t stone. The castle is not the fortress you imagine, but rather a comfortable home. The floors are wood.”

  I relaxed with a sigh of relief. Then I queried Helene, “That just leaves remuneration. How much can we expect to charge for the performance? I assume the duke is expecting to pay?”

  “Oh, His Grace expects to pay your people for the performance. How does twenty thousand of your dollars sound?”

  “Twenty thousand dollars?”

  Helene’s eyebrows went up and a pensive look crossed her face. “It is not enough? Carl suggested that it would be sufficient, but if you require more, His Grace might be willing to go a little higher.”

  “Oh, no, it’s quite sufficient. Really. It’s just I can’t imagine paying twenty thousand dollars for an entertainment that lasts less than an hour.” My brain was frantically trying to find an anchor point. Twenty thousand dollars? Of course, if I’d had time to think about it—which I didn’t, not then—it really wasn’t as absurd as it sounded. When you figured the start-up costs of getting a ballet company going, the hours and hours of training, all the rest of it, running a ballet on a professional basis was expensive. But I was still thinking like an amateur, someone who was basically doing it for the love of the art, and to be offered out of the blue twenty thousand dollars—

  “Bitty, you don’t realize how important this performance will be. It will be unique, the first public performance of en pointe ballet. Today doesn’t count. It was just a school recital. Nobody of importance was in the audience. You must realize who is going to be at this entertainment. The duke and his wife wish to impress some very important guests. Twenty thousand dollars for the chance to really impress his guests is, how you say, ‘peanuts.’ Some Twelfth Night entertainments have cost more than ten times the amount. Come. Let us join the others at supper. You can ask the other members of the cast if they are able to attend.”

  As Helene fed her arm through mine and we walked towards the supper tables, I considered what problems I might have getting a cast together for the private performance. Then I shook my head for wasting my time. For a share of twenty thousand dollars, they were all going to find a way to be available.

  * * *

  The girls had charged through, taking the showers first, so Joseph and Carl continued to cool down in the warm-up room. Joseph looked at the man stretching out beside him. About thirty, Carl had been dragged into the Christmas recital when Joseph’s brother Joel had become caught up in training operations with the army. He claimed to have been in the old United States Army back up-time, yet he was a skilled dancer. “Carl, why did you stick with dancing?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, you said you were regular army since you were eighteen. I was just wondering why you stuck with ballet?”

  “You can blame my sister for that. Dad was career Air Force, and often wasn’t around. Mom was a Thai war bride. She didn’t really get along with the other service wives, so she saved on childcare by dragging me along when she took Chatrasuda to her classes. You could say I was caught young.”

  “Yeah. I’m in much the same boat. With Mom teaching, there was no escaping it. But what about when you were in the army? Wasn’t it hard doing . . . I mean, what did the other guys think?”

  “What did the other guys think of me doing such an unmanly thing as ballet?” Carl grinned before continuing. “I didn’t tell them, and by the time any of them found out, they also knew I was regularly scoring the maximum three-hundred on the fitness test. It’s pretty hard to question the masculinity of someone who is outperforming you on the fitness test.”

  “Well, why have you stuck with ballet? For a professional soldier, surely something more martial would be more suitable
?”

  “Why have I stuck with ballet?” Carl’s eyes lost a little focus, as if he was looking in at himself in some other time and place. “Because you can lose yourself in the dance, become one with the music and forget everything but the flow of the dance. You can forget all your troubles for the duration of the performance.” With a gentle shake of his head Carl looked back at Joseph, his eyes regaining their focus, a wry grin on his face. “That’s getting a bit deep and intense, isn’t it? Just take it that ballet offers me more than any martial art. It gives me better balance, control, flexibility, and stamina than most black belts I’ve seen. And you meet a better class of people.”

  “What do you mean, ‘a better class of people’?”

  “Look at your average group of martial artists. Most of them are males, and overly aggressive ones at that. Compare that with ballet. It’s the complete opposite. It’s mainly females, they are in it for the love of the dance, and unlike in martial arts, they usually don’t come with boyfriend attached.”

  “Hey, guys, the showers are free. Hurry up, or all the food will be gone.”

  Carl and Joseph turned to see the girls, all dressed up for a party, at the door. “Then you should have let us go first. You could all do with missing a meal or two,” called out Carl.

  “We heard that!” they chorused back.

  With Joseph joining him on the way to the showers Carl called back over his shoulder: “You were supposed to. Remember who it was who had to lift you.”

  Four heads turned accusing faces to stare at Carl. “Are you suggesting that we are fat?” an anonymous voice hissed.

  Pushing Joseph ahead of him into the shower room, Carl looked back through the door, “Perish the thought. A true gentleman would never suggest that a lady was fat.” He quickly shut the door behind him before the girls could answer.