The Ram Rebellion(51)

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?"