Grantville Gazette VI

by Eric Flint

  The governess took a black object out of a locked cabinet. It was the size of a sextodecimo, a book made of sheets folded in half four times, then cut. Lady Ulrike inserted it into the flapped slot of a strange, cubelike metal and glass device, and pressed a button.

  Much to Federico's amazement, the words "Bad, Bad Brillo" filled a small area of the device then, "Performed by the Grantville Ballet Company." The letters faded away and were replaced by images that moved in a dance that told the story of the ram Brillo and his four ewes.

  Federico quickly put aside his curiosity regarding the technology, and concentrated on the dancing.

  When it was over, he said slowly, "Thank you very much for sharing that with me, Principessa."

  "You liked it? I knew you would," she bubbled.

  "This is the ballet of the twentieth century?" She nodded. "It is both like, and unlike, the ballet of our own day." He took a moment to decide how best to express his reactions.

  "The performers were all quite young. So I suppose it must be classified as a ballet de college, that is, of the secondary schools. In France, each year, the students of rhetoric learn their parts from their dancing masters and, in August, they perform in the courtyard of their college. Thousands of people may come to watch the show." He smiled. "When I was in Paris, I was an assistant dancing master at the College de Clermont. I gave lessons, and I performed the most difficult role."

  "And do they do anything like Bad, Bad Brillo?"

  "It is difficult to generalize, but if a ram appeared in a ballet de college, he would not truly represent a ram. The ram would be but a metaphor for youth. Or the spirit of spring, perhaps." Kristina digested this.

  "Brillo's no metaphor," she insisted. "I've seen him."

  "I accept your imperial word on the subject," he said solemnly, and bowed. "But let us continue our analysis of the dance. Did you like the lifts?"

  "Oh, yes, they were so graceful."

  "Before the coming of the Americans, the only instance I can think of in which a man lifted a woman in a dance was in la volta. Have you heard of it?" Kristina shook her head.

  "It was the English Queen Elizabeth's favorite dance. She jumped, and rode the man's knee as they turned about." Lady Ulrike frowned, but didn't say anything.

  "Then there is the way the dancers walked on tip-toe."

  "Frau Bitty Matowski calls it en pointe," Kristina explained.

  Federico said hesitantly, "I must confess that it is not entirely clear to me how they can hold so unnatural a position."

  "I asked Frau Bitty Matowski about that. She said that the dancers wear special shoes, and that it takes years of conditioning before the feet can stay en pointe, even with their help."

  "Another aspect. The turn-out of the feet."

  "Yes," said Kristina. "In the galliard, you had only a little."

  "I teach what is a compromise between the French and Italian styles. The Italians do not use turn-out, the French favor some. But neither use the extreme form that we saw on the 'video.' I wonder how and when that style developed."

  "You must talk to Frau Bitty Matowski. She is in Magdeburg much of the time, but if you go to the high school, they can tell you when she will be in Grantville."

  "I will do that, Principessa. But please note, it was not entirely foreign. Here and there were steps that looked somewhat familiar. Steps taken from a court dance here, or a folk dance there. I will show you.

  "Now, it is time for you to do some dancing." He taught her a few of those steps, as well as the second most popular step of the galliard, the campanella, or little bell. After the lesson, he asked one of the guards for directions to the high school, and started walking. Frau Bitty Matowski, he wondered. A woman dancing master? How curious.

  * * *

  Frau Bitty Matowski was indeed at the school, teaching a "Dance for Fitness" class. The class had already started, and Federico started to turn away. She pointed at him, and shouted, "New here? First class is free! Get in line!" He found an empty spot on the floor, and joined in. Some of the participants were clearly having trouble keeping up with the pace. It wasn't a problem for him.

  The teacher kept eyeing him. He hoped he wasn't doing something wrong. The class came to an end.

  "You have danced before. But you aren't an American."

  "No, Frau Matowski, I am not. I am Federico Ballarino."

  "Please, call me Bitty. Or Frau Bitty, if you must be formal. You are going to meet quite a few Matowskis if you are a dancer. Your name sounds familiar—wait, you are Princess Kristina's dance teacher."

  "Yes . . ." That was all he got to say.

  "Boy, do we need to talk. Which nights do you have free? Have you seen any of our ballets? I know Kristina has the videotapes. Can you teach our group any of the down-time dances?"

  Federico wondered if he would ever get a word in. In desperation, he raised both hands, palms toward her, in what he hoped was the universal signal for, "Stop! I can't answer any of your questions if you don't give me time to speak!"

  Bitty stopped talking and smiled sheepishly. "Did you want to say something?"

  "You are very kind to ask, Frau Bitty. Yes, I have seen Bad, Bad Brillo. It was quite enjoyable. I do hope you will let me see some more of these video . . . tapes. And perhaps you have some books on the dances of your time, that I might borrow?

  "As for teaching your group, I am sure that would be possible. I must of course see first to the needs of the Furstin von Schweden. After a week or two, I will have a better idea of how often I will be meeting with her, and then I can consider other commitments."

  "That would be wonderful," said Bitty.

  "Frau Bitty. As one dancing master to another, perhaps you can help me on another matter. You understand, I am not one of the princess' main tutors. I only teach her a few hours a week. So I am given my maintenance, and a small stipend, but I could use some additional income. I had hoped that once I had made her acquaintance, I might put myself forward to tutor her in another subject. But she seems to be amply supplied with instructors in every other discipline."

  "The school might be interested in having you teach an adult-ed group class in down-time dances." Bitty held up her hand. "Wait a moment. You clearly consider yourself competent to teach several subjects. How much schooling have you had? Other than in dance, I mean."

  "I am a graduate of the University of Padua, where I took courses in theology, law, mathematics, art and music. And I have also studied in Paris and London."

  "And which subjects have you actually taught?"

  "I taught arithmetic at a school in Paris. And I was a 'traveling tutor' for northerners touring southern Europe when I was, how shall I put it, in-between appointments as a dancing master. Mostly, I taught foreign languages and music to Englishmen, as well as some Scots, Germans, Danes and Swedes. Indeed, my cousin is doing the same thing right now."

  "Wonderful! The high school desperately needs teachers. Speak to Principal Saluzzo. The school will pay you a salary, and as a teacher, you can take classes at the Adult Education Center for free. We even have a ballroom dance class."

  "Ballroom dancing?"

  "That's one of the genres of dancing we had back home, before the Ring of Fire. There's square dancing, clogging, contra, swing, disco and others. But ballroom dancing is what is probably the most similar to what you consider 'court dancing.'"

  "Ah. I would like to see that. Oh, and—"

  "Yes?"

  "Videotapes. Are there videotapes showing different genres of dance? And is there a place to see them?"

  "There are thousands of videotapes in Grantville, and plenty of them show some kind of dancing. I have a fair number of those myself. Don't worry, I'll give you a briefing on what to see, and where. Just let me finish packing up my gear."

  * * *

  Federico had assembled a list of videotapes of interest. Top Hat. The Gay Divorcee. Singin' in the Rain. The Red Shoes. West Side Story. Saturday Night Fever. Dirty Dancing. Strict
ly Ballroom. Swing Kids. A Day at the Races. Blast from the Past. Some were available for rental from Everett Beasley's store. Others were in private hands. How fortunate, for example, that Irene Fortney was an Astaire-Rogers fan!

  Of course, Federico didn't own a VCR or a TV. But a retired couple, the Johnsons, had discovered a creative way of compensating for the loss of their pension. It exploited their one extravagance: a projection TV. Bring a videotape of interest to them, and they would plop it into their VCR. Watch it yourself, or bring as many friends as would fit into their viewing room. Their projection fee was reasonable; the homemade popcorn was optional.

  The variety of dance forms Federico saw was bewildering. But then, he should have expected that—he was seeing, in the course of a few weeks, the results of almost four centuries of dance evolution. Bitty had warned him, but hearing was not the same as seeing. I will learn these dances, one day. All of them, he resolved.

  * * *

  On Bitty's recommendation, Victor Saluzzo, the high school principal, hired Federico as a part-time phys ed teacher. After his first day on the job, he and Bitty sat outside the high school, enjoying a mild spring evening, and waiting for Bitty's husband to come meet her. Federico decided it was a good time to broach a delicate issue.

  "I assure you, Frau Bitty, that it is not my intent to learn your twentieth-century ballet and form a competing company," Federico said earnestly. "But neither can a dancing master of my ambition be content to be simply a dancer, even a soloist, with your own troupe. I must find my own path."

  "Of course, Federico!" said Bitty. "There's room for all kinds of dancing. The joy we take in movement with music is not a fixed quantity, which one troupe consumes at the expense of another. Indeed, it is the reverse. Giving someone a taste of dancing whets their appetite for more." She sipped her drink. "But I do expect you to teach the group that gavotte!"

  "Many of your social dances deserve their chance to captivate other parts of Europe," he acknowledged. "After all, several started 'dance crazes' in your 'old time line.' Perhaps, when I have mastered them, I can restore them to their rightful place in our culture.

  "Also, I hope that I will be able to develop a new dance vocabulary which combines, in some new and exciting way, the dances of my time and those of your own." He shrugged.

  "But that is for the future. First, I must find more pupils, whether they be up-timers or down-timers, who are interested in learning the dances that I know already."

  "Oh, I have some names for you," said Bitty. "But it will cost you. You said you knew a dance for a man and two women, is that right?"

  * * *

  The end of the school year was approaching, and the North Central cheerleading team had come to the realization that it was in danger of becoming irrelevant. North Central was only high school in Thuringia where there were kids who wanted to play football, and hence the football league was no more. No football; no half-time cheer. Basketball was also languishing, at least as a team sport. Baseball was increasingly popular, but didn't seem a good match for cheerleading—none of the breaks were long enough for a good routine. So the cheerleaders had decided to reinvent themselves as a dance team that could put on concerts.

  "But where are we going to learn enough new material to do a show of our own?" asked Millicent Anne Barnes, one of their "fliers."

  The team was quiet for a moment, then Lisa Hilton, who had been elected as the new team captain, gave Michelle, of the dancing Matowskis, a Look. "Well?"

  "I'm sorry," said Michelle. "Every dancer in our family will be in Magdeburg, all summer." She thought a moment. "Well, Adriane Hall used to be a professional dancer. She was a cheerleader in high school and college, too. We'd have recruited her for the ballet company if she weren't too busy with TacRail at the time. I hear she's on leave. So ask her."

  Judith Wendell proposed an alternative. "Princess Kristina has a new dance tutor. Federico Something or Other. Maybe he could teach us something new." Her fellow Barbie Consortium members, Vicki and Millicent Anne, nodded vigorously.

  "If it's from the seventeenth century, isn't it old?"

  "Ha. Very funny. Not."

  "Ha yourself."

  "Shush you two," said Lisa. "It's a good idea. Hardly any of the German girls have tried out for the team. Maybe if we gave them something familiar to do, they would be easier to recruit."

  "I suppose Federico would be okay. Bitty says he's a good dancer. But what about Miss Hall?" asked Michelle.

  "What's the problem?" said Kristin Washaw, the graduating team captain. She had strongly favored the changeover, in part because the school might be persuaded to allow local alumni to continue to dance with the team. "Ask them both! We can get a routine out of each of them."

  * * *

  In college, Adriane Hall took every dance class the school had to offer. She even danced professionally for several summers before resigning herself to a career in management. After her marriage and divorce, she returned to Grantville. She was now, officially, a USE Reserve lieutenant, but really just a glorified office manager for TacRail.

  Bitty's ballet company workload had increased, and Bitty had made up her mind to recruit Adriane to take over the ballroom dance class. Federico's arrival in town would, she thought, play nicely into her plans. Bitty stalked her prey, and struck.

  "But I'm just here on leave, I'll be back in Magdeburg, soon enough," Adriane protested.

  "Oh, I understand that," said Bitty. "But we need you. And, seriously. We're trying to preserve as much of our culture as we can. You're the only professional dancer to pass through the Ring of Fire. So what are you doing with your life? Typing for your country? Let TacRail train a down-timer to do that."

  "But who would be my partner? Aren't all your good male dancers going with you to Magdeburg?"

  Bitty pretended to need a moment to think of a solution. "Princess Kristina has an Italian dancing master. Federico Ballarino. So appeal to his sense of civic duty." She was fairly confident that once Federico had a good look at Adriane, he would be quite civic-minded.

  Adriane agreed to give the class a try. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

  * * *

  Federico was happy to help the lovely Adriane out, provided that she in turn would learn some court dance steps and help him teach them to some of his private pupils. A few of the local down-timers, drawn by his association with Princess Kristina, had hired him to teach their sons and daughters, and some movements were easier to teach if they were first demonstrated by a knowledgeable couple.

  Adriane and Federico decided to start by exchanging private lessons. They worked together for about an hour, then took a break.

  "Does it bother you?" she asked. "I mean, that a woman is a professional dancer? And a dance teacher?"

  "It was, I admit, a surprise, madonna. But you should understand, there have been women who were famous for their dancing, even as Vittoria Colonna was for her poetry, or Cassandra Fedele for her oration. And I must mention the painter Artemisia Gentileschi, who is still alive.

  "The most famous female dancer, I would say, was the duchessa of Milan, Beatrice d'Este. She performed for the French king, Charles the Eighth, and he urged her to try one of the French dances. To his astonishment, she mastered it on first acquaintance."

  "How long ago was that?"

  "According to my own teacher, it was in 1494."

  "That was a long time ago."

  "Not by Italian standards," he said airily. "In any event, I have been studying the entries on dance in the encyclopedias, as well as the library of Frau Bitty. In what you Americans have termed the 'old time line,' in a mere half-century, the French would put 'ballerinas' on stage.

  "As a Venetian, I am eager to cause the French to, as you Americans say, 'eat our dust.'" He paused.

  "But, signora, I must warn you of the peril you are in."

  "Peril?"

  "You are in danger of becoming a 'time-ist,' signora," he said with a smile.
<
br />   "A 'time-ist?'"

  "It is a new word I have coined. I was previously informed by one of your compatriots of the meaning of the term 'sexist.'" Adriane winced slightly. "No, it wasn't being applied to me specifically, but to Europeans of my time, in general.

  "And, I suppose, with their knowledge of many women of intelligence and achievement, I understand why 'up-timers' think that the men of my age are 'sexists.'

  "But you Americans do, in turn, evidence an unfortunate tendency to treat anything that we 'down-timers' do differently as quaint at best. More likely primitive, even bestial.

  "Hence . . . 'time-ists.'"