From the journal of Pvt. Christopher Francis of the 1st Virginia Volunteer Infantry
"Are you seeking a partner for a dance?" inquires the Confederate soldier of a young lady in front of him.
"No," she says.
He is puzzled. She certainly looks like she is seeking somebody amid the crowded ballroom floor, swirling with the festive colors of Christmas-themed gowns and tailcoats and fellow recruits in their dress uniforms. Perhaps he has heard it wrong in the din of the bustle and laughter of couples forming lines. And if she is not seeking a partner, why is she still standing there before him?
"You were not seeking a partner?" the soldier clarifies.
"Oh, no, I wasn't attached to one," she adds in a hurry.
Relieved, the soldier escorts her to a forming set, apologizing for any misunderstanding, which she accepts with a smile.
At this festive Victorian celebration, the ballroom is a living scrapbook to him, the many faces of friends eliciting memory after memory of moments on the battlefield or the dance floor -- men he fought with, ladies he danced with. A warmth possesses him, stronger than he has felt in many months, and it affixes a smile upon his face even through the most breathtaking dances. He wishes to cavort with every lady in the room, even though he knows it is impossible. But he can try.The venue is almost too small at times to contain the lines of dancers, either circling around or lining up in sets. Couples pass back and forth among themselves, guided by call, swinging each other and sashaying down the lines to ubiquitous clapping and stomping. The spirited recruit skips about his dancing companion, and one could draw a straight line between their eyes and hearts. He bows often to her as a flourishing touch, catching a smile every now and then until the music ceases and he praises her.
"Thank you so much for a wonderful dance!" he compliments with a bow more apropos to the 18th Century than 19th. "You did that beautifully." He turns to the other couples in the set with bows. "All of you did."
In an exhaustive state of bliss, ladies fan themselves, and still they are ready for a waltz.
A lady in a red gown and bonnet approaches the merrily winded Confederate. To his surprise and delight, she asks him for a waltz, which he accepts with another courtly bow.
Some couples tread lightly. Others twirl in ballroom ecstasy, leading each other as forerunners of Fred and Ginger in another place and time.
"I'll keep it simple," the gentleman soldier says, admitting his pedestrian waltzing ability. It gnaws in him, this inability to sweep a lady off her feet, as they say. But the kind and gentle lady minds not a bit in the moment of simple grace, and she asks him for another dance before the evening is through.
"You have my word, ma'am," the recruit says, his Virginia drawl a soothing cloak of reassurance. "I keep my word."
He does, on the very next set dance, not wanting to be distracted with all the beauty surrounding him.
The ladies and gentlemen of the 1st Virginia Volunteer Infantry stand about, relaxing and socializing between dances and eagerly anticipating the holidays.
The young ladies voice their anticipation. "Christmas is my favorite time of the year!"
"Caroling, beautiful decorations, so much joy. There's no other season quite like it."
"And Christmas is finally here!"
The talk turns to a Ladies' Chorale fundraiser to procure medical supplies for the troops. But what do the Virginia gentlemen have to offer?
"What would there be to prevent you and these other fine gentlemen from giving it a go?" a lady asks.
The enthusiastic private cautions her: "No doubt your intentions are the best, but I'm afraid after hearing some of us gentlemen sing that it might be the audience would require the medical supplies!"
Encouraged on, the recruits agree, if the ladies can endure it.
"God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay,
Remember Christ our Saviour was born on Christmas Day,
To save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray,
O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
O tidings of comfort and joy..."
The Virginia ladies reward them with applause, but now the challenge is offered. "Let us see if you might be able to top that."
It takes only one of them top that -- a young Miss Fox.
"Once in royal Davids city,
Stood a lowly cattle shed,
Where a mother laid her Baby,
In a manger for His bed:
Mary was that mother mild,
Jesus Christ her little Child..."
Her solo voice is a candle in the night, a glowing light of beauty in the darkness, enhanced by the cavernous heights of the ballroom to an ethereal tonality.
The 1st Virginia gentlemen add to the harmony, and later, the entire gathering joins in for a round of hymns. Merely calling them Christmas Carols would understate the peace flowing through each word lifted up and echoing forth from every corner of the room, deep into the hearts of the assembled.
"O Come, all ye faithful,
Joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem;
Come and behold him
Born the King of angels;
O Come, let us adore Him,
O Come, let us adore Him,
O Come, let us adore Him,
Christ The Lord!"
"Isn't this a little of what Heaven will be like," the host notes of the singing and worshiping together.
And once again, it happens. The gentlemen recruit finds his eyes misty with tears of Thanksgiving, overcome with joy but puzzled at why it always manifests itself in this way... wishing he could halt time in its march.
"Gentlemen, about face!"
The recruits and civilians turn away from the ladies as they remove one shoe each and toss the footwear in the center of the room. Before the imminent charge, their commander warns them of the dangerous task before them. And if anyone is slow...
"Shoot him!" a soldier cries from the rear rank.
Gentlemen pounce on the shoes like mongrels over scraps, save for the Confederate recruit, who has devised his own strategy. As fingers fly over laces and heels, he gracefully steps into the pile, plucks a neglected Capezio, and steps out again, holding the prize high above him to locate its owner, his partner for the next dance. She slips it on before he can offer to fit it himself.
Less is more, the gentleman soldier concludes as he and his beautiful dancing partner begin another set dance, one with only four other couples. They have space to move and flow their steps together.
A few dances later, he lets the rhythm of a waltz flow through him with a woman in a blue colonial gown. When he saw her, his mind flashed back to another waltz he shared with her at the beginning of the year -- his remedy to seeing the heartbreaking sight of her dancing by herself.
Now he delights in a circle mixer, stately balancing his partner back and forth and changing places with her, doing the same with his neighbor, and then repeating it all the way around before forming left- and right-handed stars: one hand joined to the others, the other hand raised in the air as he steps to the majesty of three quarter time. The others follow his example and raise their free hands as well.
"That's it!" the gentleman soldier encourages. "Be joyous!"
A young lad offers him a question: "In the stars, why do you raise your other hand?"
"My heart is all in the dance," he explains, adding that it is a little bit of 18th Century flourish he is pulling forward into the 19th Century.
Stateliness and flourish dissolves as the recruit finds himself in a predicament -- bumbling in the middle of a beloved Virginia Reel.
His set, lined with the finest ladies and gentlemen of the 1st Virginia, gets behind the call, and now their moves are out of line with the caller. His setmates call one move. The host calls another.
What on earth am I supposed to do? the soldier frets. What is going on here? This is our commander calling us here! Is this the Virginia Reel or the Arizona Reel?
But rebels will be rebels on this dance, and so the set continues on its own course, separate from the caller but eventually catching up. The recruit hopes he and his partner will be top couple once again to atone for his mistakes, but instead, everything progresses into vigorous swinging and turning at the command of the caller.
A few couples hurry back into set position, desiring more, looking longingly at the host, hoping for a few more iterations. The dance has lasted barely ten minutes, hardly breaking a sweat for the hardy 1st Virginia! Unfortunately for them and the fretful private, this is all the reeling for the night. Atonement will have to wait.
"You have not danced with me yet all night," a young lady informs the Virginia private on the next to the last dance of the festivities.
Good grief, the recruit wonders, has she been longing for me to dance with her all night -- or longer?
He bows to her in acceptance. "Well, let me rectify this situation right now!" His dance with her is short lived, however, as another circle mixer follows with frequent partner changes.
Time allows for one more slow waltz with another young lady, one who admits she does not know how to waltz very well.
"Not to worry," the recruit reassures her, "I am not a great waltzer."
She opens up to him, telling him of a time at a wedding when she felt disappointed in her dancing ability. The recruits heart sinks as she relates a story to him of pressure to dance well. He keeps his steps simple, remembering what he has told another waltzing companion earlier in the evening:
"We are all full of grace."
More pictures, more joy, more words of warmth and appreciation here.
COMING IN JANUARY: The Realm Of The Merry
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