The Grantville Gazette Volumn VI Page 4

  "Cheer?"

  "It's a kind of dancing," Adriane explained. "As the dancers move, they shout out encouragements to their athletes, and insult their opponents. They also do formations and gymnastics to impress the audience."

  "The problem is, the school isn't going to have a football team anymore! Not enough down-timers tried out for the team. And the whole excuse for homecoming week was the game. No game, no cheerleading, no dance."

  "We were hoping you could come up with something to replace the football game as a reason to do all the other stuff." The cheerleaders waited expectantly for Federico's response.

  "It's curious," said Federico. "What you are describing reminds me a little bit of a court masque. It is a form of entertainment which has been very popular in England since, oh, the time of King Henry the Eighth. Each masque has a 'fable'—what I guess you would call a plot—but to be honest, it is mostly just an excuse to dance."

  "Sounds good so far."

  "The court masque has three basic elements: the masque proper, the anti-masque, and the revels. The masque proper is stately and patterned; it is danced by the nobility. Even royalty will participate. Anne of Denmark, James' queen, was the lead in the 'Masque of Blackness.'

  "The anti-masque is performed by professionals, and is much wilder. For example, in 'Oberon,' the anti-masquers imitated satyrs.

  "The revels are social dances, initiated by the masquers but joined in by everyone. They dance pavanes, galliards, corantos, branles, contredans, and so forth."

  "So the homecoming court are the high school equivalent of the noble masquers of a court masque."

  "Exactly. And the cheerleaders are the anti-masquers."

  "And the homecoming dance is the revel!"

  "Indeed."

  The gals huddled. "So, Mr. Ballarino, can you choreograph a court masque for our school?"

  Federico hesitated. His first responsibility was to Kristina. But Kristina had friends in the school; she would like the idea of dancing with them. And she could be given a principal role, suitable to her station. Surely Gustavus Adolphus would reward Federico for advancing her.

  Wait a moment. What if she tripped on stage? Federico had no desire to learn firsthand about conditions in Swedish dungeons. Well. Federico would very judiciously evaluate her dance skills. If they weren't up to par, she could lead a walking dance, like a pavane. That should be safe enough.

  "I suppose. If you obtain the necessary permissions. I will also need to see what your cheerleading routines look like, so I know what you are capable of."

  * * *

  After negotiations that rivaled those of the Congress of Vienna in their complexity, the school administration, the drama department, the cheer squad, the princess' guardians, and the town government reached agreement. Instead of a "Homecoming Dance," for just the high school students, there was going to be a "Harvest Moon Masque," open to the entire community. It would be held at the traditional time, the last full week in October. Federico and Adriane would be co-choreographers.

  Princess Kristina had been working hard on her galliard repertoire. In consequence, she was to have her own solo. The princess thought that as a "soldier's daughter," she should have a military title in the program. Hence, Federico and Adriane agreed to list her as the "Lieutenant General" of the State of Thuringia-Franconia, since her father was "Captain General," and that title was to be hereditary in the Vasa line. They thought of it as being something of an "inside joke."

  * * *

  "Federico—there has been a change in plans." Adriane seemed agitated.

  "What sort of change?" Federico asked warily.

  "Well, the captain general has asked that the Harvest Moon Masque be, uh, 'geared-up,'" said Adriane. "With his financial support, of course."

  "I suppose he has in mind a 'court ballet.' Unlike your up-time ballets, it was danced, at least in part, by noble amateurs. It is really just a more elaborate form of the 'masque,' usually with a mythological theme. The theatrical elements are more extensive, and there is no revel."

  "Nothing you can't cope with, right? But as for the theme . . . Gustav wants to make a political statement. He would like the event to commemorate his coronation as king of Sweden."

  "When was that?"

  "October 12, 1617. But the king says that he can live with any date in October. And he is agreeable to still holding it in Grantville, since that is what his daughter wants. The real catch is that he wants a choreography which is suitably, uh . . ." She searched for the right word.

  "Laudatory?"

  "Yup. Oh . . . you know how we were joking around? Lieutenant General Kristina?"

  "Yes?"

  "It's no longer a joke. The king likes the idea. Assuming that the prime minister agrees, her appointment will be announced that weekend. So the princess had better have a principal role in the performance."

  "Has any thought been given to where this performance would be held? I doubt the gymnasium could hold everyone one who would want to attend."

  "Apparently, Chancellor Oxenstierna has already spoken to the principal and to the mayor. They said to tell you that they thought the event will need to be moved to the football stadium. That will hold three, maybe four thousand people."

  "Right. So are there any specific choreographic changes he wants? A martial entree, perhaps?"

  "Yes. Muskets or pikes or something of the sort. And he said to emphasize to you that the dancer representing him should bear suitable royal indicia. He regrets that he is too busy to dance himself."

  Federico breathed a sigh of relief. Gustav's temper was notorious, and he reportedly did not take well to being told what to do.

  "I wish we had more time . . . Perhaps the princess' honor guard could help? No, they are cavalrymen, not pikemen."

  "I have an idea," said Adriane. "The military number can be performed by the Junior ROTC at the school. I believe they have a drill team. If so, the drill can be converted into a dance fairly easily."

  "And how should we recruit them?" asked Federico.

  "No problem," said Adriane. "I'll talk to the cheerleaders. They'll do the recruiting better than you or I can."

  "Whatever works. Now, as to our greater concerns. We obviously will need to rework the overall program to direct it toward the new theme. I will go through Bitty's 'stories of the great ballets' books, to see if they give me any ideas. We'll talk more tomorrow."

  * * *

  Federico pored over Bitty Matowski's ballet books until his eyes were tearing. Then he had his brainstorm.

  Federico went looking for Adriane. "The masque has evolved into a court ballet titled 'After Night, the Dawn.' It will begin with a court and ballroom dance suite, like that of an everyday masque."

  "We can earn some brownie points by offering some of the local nobility the chance to participate," said Adriane.

  "Indeed. Then we segue into several anti-masques. The cheerleaders can do their stunts."

  "Could the drama club be of any help?" Adriane asked.

  "Yes, if they can do comedy. Then we conclude with a more allegorical courtly masque. That's the part which honors Gustav II Adolf. And his daughter can dance there, too. In fact, you, she and I will have the three main roles in the show."

  "Is that last act the one where you are going to use the JROTC drill team?"

  "Yes. Unfortunately, I think I must omit one part of a traditional masque, the revel. I think it would be anticlimactic to put it in after the part honoring our sponsor."

  "I have an idea. The revels could be informal, after the performance. The high school gym, the Thuringen Gardens, and so on could host social dances, of both up- and down-time genres, in various parts of town. I can organize that."

  "Excellent. But now I have to tell you the best part. Gustav wants a political statement? Oh, he is going to love the allegory. And its source." He explained.

  * * *

  The rehearsal had not gone well. The cheerleaders just didn't seem able to get the han
g of a new pattern which Adriane had taught them; it was too different from what they were accustomed to. Adriane, consequently, was feeling blue.

  Federico sat with her quietly. After a few minutes, he coughed, drawing her attention. "It is hard not to worry about a performance."

  "Tell me about it," griped Adriane. "I was in one traveling show, and we normally did our routine to recorded music. But then we had to perform it at a festival, which insisted that we use live music. The festival musicians assured us that they knew the song, and the first time the organizers put us together was at the final dress rehearsal."

  "They learned the wrong music."

  Adriane grinned. "Oh, it was the right music, but they were accustomed to a different arrangement. By the end of rehearsal, we thought we had it all straightened out.

  "Then came the big performance. Halfway through, the musicians skipped a repeat. The more experienced dancers in the group realized that they had jumped to a later part of the music, and threw themselves into the appropriate section of the choreography. The less experienced ones were oblivious, and just kept dancing."

  "So half the group ended with the music, and the other half were caught unawares?" asked Federico.

  "You got it."

  Federico smiled. "Oh, I, too, have stories to tell. Now, this one, I wasn't one of the performers, but I was in the audience.

  "One number was depicting an Italian village market scene. It was, of course, just an excuse to throw in some peasant dances. However, the dancing master had wanted to increase the sense of realism, so he had peasants driving a donkey and cart across the stage at one point.

  "The next group came on. They were noble visitors from France, doing one of the new French court dances, a gavotte. What they didn't know was that, while onstage, the donkey had a call of nature."

  Adriane snickered. "No!"

  "Yes. So on they came. One-two-three-squish. One-two-three-squish."

  "And what happened afterwards?"

  "The French were solemnly assured that the peasants would be severely punished. And once the visitors had left, the peasants were brought to the palazzo, briefly reprimanded, and then given a five-year performance contract.

  "The contract did provide that the donkey was to be left behind, but they were asked to be sure to bring a cart on stage each year, in honor of the event." Adriane laughed.

  "Anyway, about the immediate problem. You can't worry too much about just one rehearsal."

  "I suppose. We even had a saying. 'The worse the rehearsal, the better the performance.'"

  Adriane smiled. "You know how to cheer up a girl."

  "It made me sad to see you upset. So I was merely acting out of self-interest." Federico blushed.

  Adriane's eyes widened. She touched her fingers lightly to his shoulder. "Thank you," she said quietly.

  He took her fingers in his own hand. "You're welcome." Then he released her.

  Adriane sighed. "Well, I'd best be getting home."

  "I will walk you there." She accepted. They took their time getting there, and paused on her porch.

  "Good night, Adriane."

  "Good night, Federico."

  The next day, Adriane tendered her resignation to TacRail.

  * * *

  Federico approached the priest. "Father Kircher. What is the status, in the eyes of the Church, of an up-time woman who was divorced, but just by the twentieth-century civil authorities?"

  "Ah, then in the eyes of the Church, she was married to her husband at the time of the Ring of Fire. The ecclesiastical scholars have expressed several views as to the effect of that miracle.

  "Some say that the husband left up-time is like a sailor lost at sea, and the woman must wait seven years before having him declared legally dead, after which, as a widow, she may remarry. Others, that she was immediately widowed by the event, as it irrevocably sundered them, just as death would.

  "A few contend that since the Ring of Fire caused, or will cause, many events not to happen—such as the death of Gustavus Adolphus at Lutzen in 1632—that the marriage itself never occurred. Indeed, the husband never existed." Kircher paused.

  "May I ask whether this is a purely theoretical inquiry?"

  "Purely theoretical."

  * * *

  It was a windy autumn Friday. The big event was just a day away. Adriane looked up at the sky. "It's looking a bit threatening."

  Federico didn't seem especially concerned. "Yes, I imagine you Americans will have to turn on your weather control machines, soon, make sure it doesn't rain tomorrow."

  "What are you talking about, Federico?"

  "Your fantastical electrical devices for moving around the clouds, or whatever it is that they do."

  "Just where did you get the idea that we could stop it from raining?"

  "Is it a military secret, perhaps? I saw all the strange devices on your rooftops."

  "The lightning rods and satellite dishes?"

  "And then there is that great stone tower your people are so mysterious about. It was only when I saw the movie that I realized its true purpose. Don't worry, I won't reveal it to any outsider."

  "What movie?"

  "I believe it was called, The Avengers."

  Adriane sighed. "That was what we call 'science fiction.' Actually, bad 'science fiction.' We can't control the weather."

  "So what do up-timers do when there's a storm coming in?"

  "We get out our umbrellas and raincoats. We head indoors. Or we pray."

  Federico reexamined the clouds, frowned, and headed for St. Mary Magdalene's to do his part.

  * * *

  It had become apparent, early on, that even the stadium would not hold all of the spectators. Federico and Adriane had decided to put the stage near one end, and fill the other half of the field with "orchestra seating." Except in the "VIP section" up front, that was a fancy name for wood benches. The elevated stadium seating behind the stage was reserved for the musicians. Two tents flanked the stage; they would be used as changing areas-cum-stage wings. The area immediately behind the stage was reserved for props and special effect equipment, some of which was covered with tarps.

  The hundred-piece marching band paraded onto the field, and then ascended to their section, joining assorted down-time and up-time adult musicians. The cheerleaders were next, strutting out, swinging their pom-poms, and shouting out, as a cheer routine, a highly abbreviated prologue. In the meantime, the food concessionaire, Grantville Freedom Arches, was doing a brisk business, both on the field and in the stands.

  * * *

  The first act was supposed to simulate a typical court dance of a royal court. The couples were masked, but several were prominent members of the community. The most notable down-timer was the Imperial Princess Kristina Vasa, who would be eight years old in just a couple of months. She was partnered by the thirteen-year-old Count Ludwig Guenther of Schwarzburg-Ebeleben. In addition, young Emilie von Oldenberg had managed to coax her husband, Count Ludwig Guenther of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt, into participating. The down-time ranks were filled out by various pupils of Federico, Adriane and Bitty, notably the duchess-ballerina Elisabeth Sofie.

  The up-time contingent included Timothy and Lisa Kennedy, who had learned swing dancing when they lived in Baltimore, and Ed and Annabelle Piazza. The Piazzas had been active in community theater before the Ring of Fire, and therefore were experienced in up-time theatrical dancing. Ed had even managed to squeeze in a few lessons in seventeenth-century dances, sandwiched in-between his many tasks as President of the State of Thuringia-Franconia. If he forgot a move, well, Annabelle was there to back-lead him.

  The first slow-fast pairing was of a pavane and a galliard. Just your usual seventeenth-century "top forty" stuff. These were followed by a slow waltz, and a medium-tempo jitterbug. Finally, the masquers polka'd off. The masquers who were not needed for other acts changed hurriedly, so that they could claim their reserved seats in the VIP section and watch the rest of the show from
there.

  The torches were quenched, the stage crew rushed in, and half the stage was transformed from the main hall of a court to the common room of a tavern. The other half depicted the street outside. A series of loosely connected comic routines followed, some acted out by members of the high school drama club, and others by down-timers.

  In one routine, a husband and wife were standing out on the street. The husband, a printer, explained that he had a "rush" job at the printing house. Off he went . . . to the tavern. There he and his buddies were, drinking beer and flirting with the barmaids, when in came his wife, broom in hand. She chased him around the tavern, much to the enjoyment of the others, and finally cornered him. She swung the broom low; he jumped over it. She swung it high, he ducked. They repeated these movements; suddenly, it was a dance. They stopped to catch their breath. He grabbed a mug of beer and handed it to her; she took a swig. They both grasped the broom and danced around it, first one way, then the other. His buddies each invited a barmaid to dance, and they all did a peasant couple dance, and then another folk dance, which progressed off stage.

  Another number was clearly intended to poke fun at the up-timers' love of gadgets. Some men were sitting at a table in the tavern. A newcomer, dressed in twentieth-century clothes, entered. The locals invited the up-timer to join them at the table. After a few beers, one suggested that they all go fishing. The up-timer said, "I'll be right there; I have to pick up a few things from home," and went out by the "back door." The down-timers each grabbed a simple fishing rod and went out into the "street." They opened a trap door in the wood stage. Under it, a pit had been dug, and they began "fishing."

  Then the up-timer returned. He was wearing a fishing vest with many pockets, a helmet with all sorts of strange metal antennae and coils, and carrying what looked like a giant harpoon.

  "Wait, wait," he cried. "I will find the fish for you!" He set down the harpoon, put one hand on his helmet and extended the other, and started wandering around the "street," going everywhere, it seemed, but the actual fishing hole. Finally he stopped in front of it, saying in a stage whisper, "What a curious signal I am getting!" He picked up his harpoon and thrust it into the hole.