All For The Ball

Those of you who read this blog regularly know my affinity for Colonial dance. Any opportunity to do so in Williamsburg I shall seize like a loyalist spy.

This afternoon, following a pleasant morning in the garden of the Governor's Palace, I retired to the Mary Stith House to practice the pleasures of the dance as part of one of Colonial Williamsburg's many daytime programs. For most visitors, this is their first exposure to English Country Dancing. For me, it's a refresher course and an opportunity to show some footwork in Virginia.

Colonial Virginians loved to dance. "Virginians shall dance or die," one of them wrote. George Washington paid for his own lessons. I can conclude some colonial Virginia blood is in me. Or more likely, I'm attracted to the beauty, grace, respect, and fellowship of this form.

We dance an easy set dance, "Jollity" and then a cotillion -- similar to a square dance -- the name of which I forget. As always, ladies outnumber gentlemen, and modern gentlemen are reluctant to step forward, so I have the opportunity to dance not once but twice with young ladies, standing out in my full red white and blue Continental Army uniform.

I can see my skills need little polishing, although I might have to curb my enthusiasm just a bit -- no skipping where walking shall suffice, no raising the free hand into the air during a right- or left-hand star.

I also must attend to my honors. My bow needs a bit more refinement. I have seen several ways to do it, but on this day I am taught to place my feet together with my toes apart in a "V", swing my left leg back behind me while removing my tricorn and bending over a bit, careful to keep my gaze fixed upon the lady while I show off the shapely stockinged calves. In practice, however, my feet wobble as they are put into an odd position, and my eyes mistakenly shift to my legs in worry I have mispositioned them. More often, in the frivolity of the dance, I simply just fall back on one leg and bow over it. That's the way I learned it the first time. So put me in gaol if I am not honorable enough!

I fret about such matters because this night I attend a program entitled: "A Capitol Ball" -- a recreation of nighttime merriment, including a puppet show for the wee ones, singing, and dancing in honor of Lady Dunmore's arrival in America. And I shall dress in my finest 18th century clothing: my bright blue satin jacket and breeches, blue ribbon around my ponytailed hair, clocked white stockings, lace jabot and gold-braided tricorn.

Walking down the street towards the old Capitol building, tourists ask me at least three times to pose for pictures with them, and I satisfy every request. I give them my disclaimer that I'm not one of the Williamsburg historical interpreters, just an "enthusiastic visitor." And off I go.

I meet up with His Lordship of We Make History at the Capitol, as an 18th Century lady in a fine blue gown explains what we are about to see and do.

"I think we have found Christopher his minuet partner," he observes dryly. He knows what I'm dreaming. The Colonial Williamsburg interpreters are noticing my enthusiasm as well, as evidenced from the warm smiles from the ladies and gentlemen of history.

After the puppets and patriotic songs, the time of the dance arrives in what is otherwise the lower house of the colonial Virginia legislature. A small orchestra of violins and flutes play as a couple show off a minuet. It's beautiful and graceful and lovely to look at, but remembering all those steps is not something my feeble mind can process at this time. Best to stick to the country dances.

A set of four couples demonstrates one for us, weaving among each other into intricate figures and circles -- all without a caller. They are the pros. This is the big leagues. And now it's my turn.

Being the most finely dressed non-interpreter guest in the room, I'm quickly chosen to be a part of a much simpler, three-couple dance. A gentleman invites me to dance with his wife, and we go through this sequence: top couple cast down to the end of the set and back, promenade around back into place, top couple casts off again to the bottom and stays there as the others move up, six hands around and back, start over again. It's easy enough for a newcomer. That's good, because I'm dancing with the best, without a caller, in Williamsburg, and getting little if any prompting.

The dance ends, I bow to my partner, compliment her on her footwork, offer kind sentiments to her husband, and the big moment is over. It is over too quickly, anticlimactic by definition -- a day of anticipation and stylish preparation culminating in less than ten minutes of interactive frivolity. I could've danced all night, just like the colonial Virginians did, powered by the meats and sweets of the dessert table next to the ballroom.

But this story ends with one notable twist: the lady dance interpreter who partnered with me on this night has a husband who also gives tours of the Governor's Palace. When I last visited Williamsburg in 2004, this same gentleman was leading my particular tour, and he stepped us through a simple dance -- "All Haste To The Wedding" in the ballroom. That little dance demonstration helped stoke my interest in colonial culture, and I would think of it when I decided to attend my first ball with We Make History. That dance ended up being the first set dance of the evening at that first ball. Tonight, this same gentleman picked me out almost immediately for the audience participation portion of the dance. It helped I was dressed to the nines, but the other gentlemen in the room could have made the choice. It happened to be him.

This connection wasn't coincidence. This was Providence.

(My apologies, dearest readers. I do not have photographic mementos of the evening to share with you. Colonial Williamsburg does not allow picture-taking during evening programs. You'll just have to take my words for it.)