Chapter 19 –
The last dance
Friday night we spent making final plans for the dance. I should have counted the times I climbed those stairs to the third floor. I know I earned a gold star from some cardiologist or another. But we worked out where the violinists would perform, where the food would be put, where the flowers, etc. We even made a drawing of the room for the caterers.
The next morning things began arriving. It appeared it was my job to tip the delivery men, all of whom were sure to remind me, there sure were a lot of stairs to climb. Six loads of things went up the stairs even before lunch, and by mid-afternoon the deliveries were constant, with some of the people and deliveries staying on the ground floor. Gabrielle stationed herself at the front door and directed people to the right floor. Elise stood in the ballroom and placed everything according to her map. I stood by the front door with one hand on my wallet. I am sure Jean was doing something useful, but I don’t know what it was. Anyway, we were all busy.
About five the last of the deliveries were supposed to be done so we would have time to change, but being French deliverymen, it was more like six before the last of them arrived. But eventually the last of the food and flowers and chairs and tables were in, covered with the right linens, and ready for the evening. Elise and I went to change while Gabrielle and Jean instructed the waiters hired for the night where to stand, what to do, and what to say.
Elise had a surprise for me. She put on the yellow gown she had worn the first time we went to President Jolliet’s ball in New Orleans. I still remember standing at the bottom of the stairs as she came down from her room. She had made me wait two hours, hours I had to spend with her mother and younger sisters, being drilled about English tea, but then standing, watching her come down the stairs to me, all I could think about was how beautiful she looked. Tonight she looked every bit as good, and I had my arms around her in a heartbeat.
“So you approve?” she asked. She really can be a coquette.
“If I approved any more, we would never make it out of this room.”
“Hold that thought.” She took my hand and led me down the stairs to the hall where we would receive our guests. It turned out there would be two dozen couples, far more than Gustav had wanted, but once word of the dance got out, calls started coming in, and Jean and Gabrielle had expanded the guest list. Gustav had not said anything, but it seemed to me several of the “waiters” were pretty large, so I guessed he had made some adjustments of his own.
The plan was to have the first round of introductions and drinks on the first floor while we waited for all to arrive. None of us wanted to make multiple attempts at the stairs, especially the women, all of whom had long skirts and high heels. Once again, we learned that punctuality is a prime virtue in Kaskaskia. The invitation was for eight, and by eight twenty every couple was in the house. They were an interesting bunch. All the men were wearing dark suits and ruffled shirt fronts, not that anyone cared. It was the women who drew all the attention. They had all come in ball gowns, low cut, with full skirts to the floor. The materials were silks and satins, and the colors were all bright. They had gone all out for this evening, with their hair up and jewelry carefully chosen for elegance. Ages? Mostly thirties and forties. We had let Jean and Gabrielle make all decisions about who to invite, but we were pleased to see some younger folks in the mix. But even the few who might have been up in years seemed excited to be there. They all mixed readily, and the volume in the room kept rising as folks found old friends and neighbors. Clearly the party was off to a good start, and we hadn’t even gotten to the ballroom.
We let them mix and mingle and have a drink, and then Elise led the way up to the ballroom with a swirl of skirts. Two flights of stairs disappeared under dozens of ball gowns, and then, with just a bit of heavy breathing, we were up.
The ballroom was a marvel. It took the entire third floor, except for a couple maid’s rooms that had been converted to bathrooms. Windows ran both sides of the room and were open to let air flow through. It was actually fairly comfortable up there, even on a warm June evening. The room itself had been filled with flowers, candles, linen-draped tables, a long serving board for food and lots of chairs. But even with fifty guests plus waiters, the room was spacious. In the center was a huge open space for dancing, the hardwood floor shining under the chandeliers.
While the guests spread themselves around the room, Elise and I went to visit with the violinists. I have to admit a bit of nervousness here. The couple had arrived late, just half an hour before the guests, and hearing them tuning up had not been reassuring. While they would play old music, it had not occurred to us they would also be old. How deep they went into their sixties was unknowable, but watching them tuck their violins under double and triple chins gave us pause. As it turned out, though, they had that performer’s knack for rising to the occasion. While it looked like they should be taking a nap somewhere, the minute we approached, they both stood taller, shook our hands with real vigor, and explained that they would be happy to lead off whenever we were ready.
And with that, we were off. Elise took my hand and led me to the middle of the dance floor, where she welcomed everyone, thanked them for coming, complimented all the ladies on their beautiful gowns and handsome escorts, and then introduced the Poquettes. Since we had the benefit of using a classic home, she thought it would be fun to perform some of the classic dances. Here to show us the way were the Poquettes of St. Louis.
Pierre Poquette took over at this point, complimenting the couples, noting how perfect everyone looked in this historic ballroom, and explaining that he would instruct all in three of the classic dances that had been the most popular when this home had been built. For the first dance he asked couples to line up in one long row with men on one side and women opposite them. Elise and I took the lead, others arranged themselves, and we were off. The first dance involved certain steps, a bit of a twirl for the women, and a gradual flow around the room. He explained it once, he and his wife played the tune, and then we all tried it. It only took about four steps before a couple or two were confused and bumping into others, and the whole room broke up with laughter. At that point I knew the night would be a success. Fifteen minutes later, and four restarts, we all had the steps, had the moves, and very proudly danced something he called “the Kentucky.” Men had beautiful women in their arms (at least I did), the violins weren’t all that bad at holding a tune, and all the couples moved in unison. You could feel pride building. Pierre led us through four more versions of the dance, and the steps got more assured, the swirl of skirts got larger, and smiles appeared all over the room.
Time for a break, drinks, food, and conversation. The Poquettes had done this before and knew how to time an event. We were off to a great start. He gave us half a hour or so to talk and get another round of drinks, and then he brought us out onto the floor with a challenge. This next dance would not just involve couples, but would involve groups. He had eight of us start out in a kind of square and put us through some moves that involved a bit of advancing across the space, and then retreating, and then spinning your partner. It seemed a variation of a Virginia Reel. Right away we could all see this was going to be complicated, but by now we had been drinking long enough that we tried it, and then laughed when we failed, which was often. Once we in the example square had shown how hard it was to do, all the others formed squares and made just a big a mess of it as we had. But since everyone was struggling, no one was embarrassed, and in fact I suspect a couple people mis-stepped just to be funny. Pierre had us do three dances on that theme, and then he let us stop. He was a consummate professional and knew to let us stop while it was still fun.
So we had another long break - eat, drink, meet, mingle. Elise stayed by my side and we worked the tables. We knew almost no one, but we still found plenty to talk about. There was the house, the ballroom, the crazy dances. A few people had been to other eve
nts at the house, and described those, but most were new – and very, very grateful. The Jolliet Mansion was a place they had driven past for years, and now they not only got to see it, but they got to participate in an event there. We were making friends right and left.
Eventually Poquette called us to the dance floor again, and began a long explanation of a dance with six different steps and all kinds of partner changes, and group interactions… and then he said he was joking. The big dance of 1890 was the same big dance it is today – the waltz. Everyone cheered, relaxed, and grabbed their partner. It was a dance we knew. The Poquettes played song after song, and the room stayed in motion. Women’s long skirts swept the floor, then flared out as they turned. Men had taken off their coats, so now we held our women against our ruffled shirts and lifted than as we moved around the room. We turned and circled, and I for one, held my date closer with every turn.
I saw lots of people step away from the floor periodically to take pictures. We must have looked great -- all the colors of the gowns, and the motion around the room. Couples sometimes stopped out to rest, but most of us just kept dancing. It felt that good. The Poquettes played a dozen waltzes before he finally said there would be just one more. He was instantly overwhelmed with calls of encore. I doubt he was surprised. He and his wife played three more songs. When they were done they got an ovation they deserved. They really had done a nice job.
Elise and I made our way to the top of the stairs. With the dancing done, people began to leave. Elise got hugs all around, and I got warm handshakes. Most promised to call, or to send copies of pictures. All left happy. We followed the final two couples down the stairs and out to the front porch. How long can you wave goodbye? Fairly long. There was a cool breeze, the mosquito hordes were gone, and I have to admit we were pretty proud of ourselves. If the idea was to show the town it was okay to have fun, we had succeeded completely. It really had been a great night. We stood out there until the last car was out of sight. Then we went back inside and up to our room, my arm around Elise’ waist and her head on my shoulder. You know, life can be really good sometimes.
The Canadian Civil War: Volume 4 - Mississippi Beast Page 19