1634: The Ram Rebellion: Section Fifteen

    The curtain opened to the street scene. Snow was falling as guests started arriving for the party. Then, as Count Drosselmeyer passed into the house, the walls of the house pulled away, opening the drawing room to the audience. Doctor Stalbaum, his wife, Franz, the son, and Clara, the hero of the story, are greeting guests as they enter the drawing room. Then the children of the guests come in. They are seated on the floor for a puppet show. I don’t know if the audience really paid much attention to the puppet show, but it showed the Mouse King turning Count Drosselmeyer’s nephew into a nutcracker.

    After the puppet show it was time to carry on the dancing dolls. First there was Carl as the soldier. He was good. The full splits he fell into at the end of his little performance drew a few sympathetic groans from the audience. But there was little chance of Carl hurting himself. He would have practiced it a few times before coming on, and if he wasn’t comfortable with it, he would have left that bit out. It’s visually effective how his legs just slide out from under him, but if he hurt himself it would have killed the evening’s performance there and then.

    Next was Staci as the dancing doll. She spent only moments en pointe; if you weren’t watching carefully you could miss it or mistake it for demi pointe. Mark Matowski, yet another nephew, livened things up a bit as the Clown doll. Then it was time for the children to collect their gifts. Hobby horses for the boys, dolls for the girls. Except that Clara was given a Nutcracker Doll. The one used in the puppet show. The Nutcracker was subtly dressed in a MacKay plaid. The boys danced riding their hobby horses while the girls danced carrying their dolls. Nobody got tripped up or stumbled, and nobody got belted with a doll. All in all it went better than expected. Finally they were off stage and it was time for Cathy’s solo.

    As Clara, Cathy danced for her nutcracker. She was adorable. She could only have done better if she was dancing en pointe. However, that was three or four years off. But she was doing really well even restricted to demi-pointe. I was so enthralled watching her that Harvey had to shake me to attract my attention. It was almost time for us to go on. There had been howls at home when I identified who would be the grandparents. There had been more howls, of laughter this time, at my husband’s reaction. But he was a good sport. Besides, we all knew he could do the part justice. He had performed it often enough in the past. The dance received the desired laughs from the audience as Harvey gloried in his bumbling grandfather act. Then we were off stage.

    There was pandemonium with dancers dashing to and from the changing rooms. The mice were already lining up as they finished changing, ready for the next scene. Cathy McNally slipped onto the darkened stage. Going over to the Christmas tree to check on her Nutcracker, she cradled it in her arms she lay down. As the clock struck midnight, the mouse dancers started to appear. They even managed to appear one by one, at their designated place, in time to the striking of the hour. They were chucking around the toys from under the tree as Cathy awoke. She was without her Nutcracker. She fought off the mice as she searched for her Nutcracker.

    Meanwhile the wall flats were withdrawn into the wings, giving the impression the room was growing. This time, thankfully, the Christmas tree grew on schedule. Then the soldiers, led by Joseph as the Nutcracker, appeared to fight the mice led by Carl’s Mouse King. Carl and Joseph made a real production of their fight. There was much leaping and jumping, and the ringing of steel as they fought with swords. I had protested about using steel blades, but both Carl and Joseph had insisted that the audience wouldn’t be impressed with the sound of wooden swords. While they fought, the mice seemed to be winning.

    Almost unobserved at the back of the stage, Cathy took a rifle from above the fireplace and took aim. There was a gunshot, and Carl’s Mouse King took a long time dying. As the mice carried their fallen King from the field, the soldiers formed up and marched off leaving Cathy alone on stage.

    That was the first bottleneck safely navigated. I could safely stand in the wings and admire Joseph in his MacKay plaid dance with Cathy. I wondered if any of the audience had picked up on the play on current events, with Cathy as sharpshooter Julie Sims and Joseph as Julie’s Scotsman Alex Mackay, but I was too entranced with what I was watching to really care. I’d be sure to find out after the performance anyway.

    As Joseph and Cathy’s pas de deux came to an end snow started to fall. It was time for the first en pointe dance, just as soon as the audience stopped applauding the pas de deux. Eventually they let Joseph and Cathy leave the stage.

    I could see the stage manager as she signaled the girls she was restarting the music. On they went in their startlingly white, calf length skirts. I just purred with contentment. It had been too long since I last saw a live performance, and this one was going well. As the Dance of the Snowflakes drew to an end, the lights slowly faded out. Then the curtain fell. It was the end of the first act.

    As dancers madly dashed for the changing rooms and stage hands moved scenery and props, I leaned back into Harvey. He held my hands and gave me a cuddle. “It’s going well, girl, it’s going well. Only the second act to go.” I snuggled into Harvey as we waited for the warning bell to call back the audience.

    “They love it, Bitty. They love it.” I reluctantly withdrew from Harvey’s embrace to see who was pulling on my arm. It was Amber Higham, the theater manager. “I snuck out to the foyer to listen in on the guests as they discussed what they had seen. They all seemed to be impressed, and they haven’t even seen the Grand Pas de Deux yet. I think we have a winner.”

    Then, I heard her mutter to herself, “I wonder if we can increase the price for the remaining performances?” Harvey and I left her mumbling as we moved off to see how the dancers were coping.

    The second act opened to the young lovers, Joseph and Cathy as Nutcracker and Clara, being greeted by Staci as the Sugar Plum Fairy and Carl as her cavalier. Joseph related how he vanquished the Mouse King in a mimelogue, while behind him Cathy shook her head and mimed that it was she who killed the Mouse King with a single shot. That drew a trickle of laughter from the audience. Then the four journeyed by boat to the Land of the Sweets, yet another mechanical contrivance, which actually worked.

    Then it was time for the up-coming performers to strut their stuff in the character dances. First off the blocks were Mathias Steinbach and Michelle Matowski, Deanna’s daughter. They had the Spanish or Chocolate dance. Their costumes were brilliant, a real credit to the dyer’s art and Tom Stone’s chemistry.

    Mathias and Michelle were followed by five girls in pseudo-Arabic harem clothes performing the Arabian or Coffee dance. The guys had all been in favor of copying the outfits from the Covent Garden version of Nutcracker, but I wasn’t prepared to put thinly clad girls with bare midriffs on the stage.

    Next came Mike Song and none other than Duchess Elisabeth Sofie and our friendly cloth merchant’s daughter, Catherine Matzinger, to do a Chinese Fan dance. It should have been just one couple, but which girl do you leave out? I’d crumbled and put in both of them. It was only for a bit over a minute and they would both glory in being given such an important part.

    They departed to be replaced by my find of Eastern Folk dancers. We had agreed on a modified version of their dance that fitted the music. It was extremely athletic, but glorious to watch. The audience appreciated the upbeat tempo of their dance as well. The pas de trios followed. Two of my best upcoming down-timer girls, Richelle Kubiak and Ursula Sprug, with, I’m sad to say, my nephew, Joe Calagna. Fortunately the male can get away with being little more than a prop for the girls to hang onto and dance around. A good male dancer helps. It’s not that Joe is a poor dancer. Technically he’s quite good. He just seems to lack that certain something that lifts a performance above the ordinary.

    I was almost shaking with excitement. Everything was going so well! Nothing had gone wrong, the dancers were excelling, and the audience was responding. There was just the Waltz of the Flowers to go before the Grand Pas de Deux. The couples came on. All those willing down-time males who could dance had been a real windfall. I leaned back into Harvey and watched and appreciated what I was seeing. The brilliant colors of their costumes glistened as the girls danced. This was the second en pointe dance and the audience loved it. You could sense their excitement at what they were seeing as the dancers worked their magic.

    Now it was time for the Grand Pas de Deux, the Cavalier and Sugar Plum Fairy in their great romantic dance. If Thursday’s rehearsal had been steamy, this was too hot to handle. Every look spoke volumes, every touch shouted of the feelings between them. I licked my lips, spellbound, as they danced. They finished to absolute silence. You could have heard a pin drop. Then the audience exploded in a sea of applause. I snuggled into Harvey as I took a peek at the audience. They were starting to stand as they applauded.

    Eventually Carl and Staci escaped from the stage and the music restarted. It was time for the penultimate scene. With all the Sweets and the Waltz of the Flowers couples performing short sequences, and the two lead couples each performing a short pas de deux.

    As the scene ended, the lights dimmed. For a moment there was total darkness. Then a glimmer of light was illuminating Cathy, asleep in a chair. Gradually the lights increased. The party guests started circulating again. Cathy looked around for her nutcracker, but it was nowhere to be seen. Then Count Drosselmeyer appeared with Joseph as his nephew. Joseph was dressed as the nutcracker prince, but without the plaid. He had in his arms a nutcracker, just like the one Cathy had lost. As Cathy accepted the replacement nutcracker and wrapped her arms around it, the lights faded out, and the curtain fell for the last time. ***

    In return for the horrendous price the audience had paid to attend the premiere performance, they were all invited to attend a “meet the cast” dinner in the school cafeteria. It being New Year’s Eve, the dinner was scheduled to turn into a New Year’s Eve party as midnight approached. When I had first heard what Mary intended and where, I laughed. Who would attend a dry New Year’s Eve party? But Mary had surprised us all. Somehow she managed to persuade the powers-that-be to allow the serving of alcohol on school grounds. That really brought home to me how socially powerful Mary was becoming.

    As the cast entered the cafeteria we were split up by Mary’s Mafia and guided to various tables. Looking around I could see that there was a definite hierarchy. The more important the guests at a table, the more important the cast members they were allocated. Harvey and I were at the head table with Mary and her senior lieutenants. Carl and Staci were seated at the table beside us.

    The dinner was magnificent. I didn’t know the school caterers could prepare so many up-time delicacies. The pièce de resistance was the marvelous mountain of cream puffs with a spun sugar web covering them. There was enough for everyone to get a cream puff and whipped cream.

    There was also the down-under sweet, the Pavlova, a meringue dessert smothered in whipped cream and preserved berries. Carl had talked about the dessert when the idea of this dinner first came up. He had a recipe he had picked up in Australia just before the Ring of Fire. And as the dessert was originally created to celebrate the tour of New Zealand and Australia by the celebrated Russian ballerina Anna Pavlova, he had suggested that serving it tonight would be a fitting celebration of the coming of modern ballet to down-time Germany.

    After dinner the cast walked around meeting as many people as possible. Harvey and I were taking a moment to ourselves as we looked on at the guests and sipped our wine. I stifled a giggle as I looked at my wineglass. Harvey examined his glass and smiled back. We were both sipping wine out of peanut butter classes. Something I had thought we left behind years ago. Apparently up-time peanut butter glasses, especially those with characters printed on them, were considered amongst the ultimate status symbols. So the guests had to be served from peanut butter classes. How Mary had managed to dig up sufficient to serve everyone I didn’t want to know.

    Speaking of the devil, there was Mary Simpson heading my way. I saluted her with my wineglass.

    "A brilliant performance, Bitty. Please pass my compliments to the cast. Everyone I have spoken to has been most impressed.” As she paused for breath Mary gave me a social kiss. Then she dropped her bombshell. “A couple of my guests asked about performances in Magdeburg. I said that you would be able to put on a season of Swan Lake in the summer."

    My jaw dropped.

    Mary, a little concerned, continued, "That won't be a problem, will it?"

    I was astounded at the naiveté of her question. Putting on a performance in Magdeburg would be hard enough. Swan Lake! That was pushing impossible.

    “Mary!” I wailed. “Magdeburg? Where would we perform? Surely there is no suitable theater?”

    Mary didn’t even bat an eyelid. She just waved her hands casually. “Didn’t some ballet company put on a performance in Red Square in Moscow once?”

    I had to nod. Yes, the Kirov Ballet had put on such a performance.

    “If the Russians can do it I’m sure your people will have no trouble.” Having established that my objections were of no importance, Mary went off on a tangent. “Wouldn’t it be marvelous to hold the performance in Hans Richter Square? Think of it, the people of Magdeburg watching a performance by your company in the shadow of the monument to the Hero of Wismar.”

    I thought about it. The whole idea reeked of cheap theater. Also, I could see nothing but problems. The Kirov Ballet had at least limited themselves to selected scenes and used a bare stage. A production of Swan Lake, on the other hand, would be a logistical nightmare.

    I could see that ideas were zipping through Mary’s mind, some to be accepted, others rejected. It was a pity I couldn’t listen in on the process and give an opinion before her flights of fancy committed my company to something we couldn’t deliver.

    “Maybe we could schedule it to coincide with the unveiling of the Hans Richter memorial? No. That wouldn’t work. It would be better with a ballet featuring a suitably glorious hero.” Mary shook her head in negation at some of her mumbled thoughts. It was fascinating listening to her. I leaned into Harvey. My husband had been silent throughout Mary Simpson’s monologue. We exchanged mutually horrified looks.

    “Damn. It’s a pity I’ve already committed us to Swan Lake, Bitty. Well, it's too late to change that now.” Mary chewed her lower lip in a discreetly ladylike manner. “Next time we really must get together beforehand.”

    Struck dumb at Mary’s audaciousness I could only nod in agreement. It really would be a good idea to get together to discuss things before any more commitments were made.

    “The summer season is only a few months off, too,” Mary continued. “We must get together before I return to Magdeburg and discuss what you will need for the performance. And that’s another thing. You really should give some thought to moving your company to Magdeburg permanently. Not immediately, of course, but as soon as we can find you some suitable buildings you really must make the move.”

    This time I actually managed to speak. “What? The high school auditorium has some of the best facilities of any theater in the world! Why would I want to move away from first class lighting, acoustics, and sound?”

    “Bitty, you need to bring your performers to Magdeburg where they will be properly appreciated. The people in Grantville aren’t interested in regularly attending the ballet. Not enough of them, at least, to sustain a professional company. Yes, the high school auditorium has the best facilities in the world. But even the best facilities aren’t any good if you can’t fill enough seats often enough. You aren’t even able to pay your dancers a living wage, are you?”

    Embarrassed, I shook my head. That was one of my biggest disappointments. In almost a year of operation my dancers were still dancing for love. The money I had been able to pay them was peanuts, barely enough to cover the costs they incurred training and performing. Even the money they were being paid for the season of Nutcracker came down to a measly hourly rate when you counted up all the hours of practice.

    “Think about it, Bitty. In Magdeburg you will have the whole imperial court, visiting dignitaries, and various hangers-on as potential audiences. Not to mention what will soon be a little horde of nouveau riche merchants and industrialists looking to enhance their social status. They will appreciate your performances—well, attend them, anyway, in the case of some—as the artistic and cultural artifacts they are. And with that potential audience we should be able to afford an Imperial Theater that would be the envy of the world. You owe it to yourself, Bitty! You owe it to your dancers, and to the Art of Dance!”

    How she managed to capitalize Art of Dance verbally I’ll never know, but she did.

    “The Mother of Modern Ballet!” she went on enthusiastically, still capitalizing like mad. Then, frowning with reproval: “But not if you stay buried in this cultural backwater. If not for yourself, think of your dancers. Don’t they deserve the opportunities Magdeburg has to offer?”

    Harvey saved me from answering. He drew my attention to the time. In only a few hours I was supposed to lead rehearsals for Saturday night’s performance. Begging Mary’s leave I stumbled out into the night, my arms latched securely to Harvey. Mary had left me a lot to think about. I owed it to my dancers to do the best I could for them. However, Mary was expecting too much. I was just a small-town dance teacher. How could I possibly take on the responsibilities Mary was heaping upon me? All I had wanted when I started out all those months ago was the chance to enjoy a night at the ballet. A chance to watch my Christmas performance of Nutcracker again.

    I certainly hadn’t planned on becoming this universe’s Sergei Diaghilev!