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The Ballet

Herr Naumen was very clear about punctuality. "You must be punctual. Dance is precision, and precision is time." I, so eager to learn, was obedient, and always exactly on time. I knew that should I fail to make any of our meetings at the precise hour, that he would abandon my instruction; and that, I could not bear.

"Straighten your leg, Baroness! EXTEND!" he would bark, and I would wince as the muscles, unaccustomed to such abuse, would strain "Serenity! Always, in the face, serenity! Your body may resist but you MUST remain graceful despite the discomfort!"

After the first lesson, I doubted my ability to continue, but my determination took me through the aching muscles and weariness.

Every week, three times a week, Herr Naumen's carriage would arrive exactly at the prescribed hour. He would alight, his walking stick in hand, and walk confidently through the front doors of my home as if he were the owner. I would be waiting in the ballroom, stretching my limbs beyond comfort. The musicians would be in place and he would rap his walking stick on the wooden floor, each solid thump resounding,like thunder, in the empty room as he bid me stretch this way, extend that way, twirl, jump, reach...

Each instruction left me exhausted, but the joy -- oh, the unequaled joy of such movement astounded me! And so on the days between instructions, I stood alone in the ballroom, the musicians playing the music of dreams and beauty, and danced to the imagined tempo of his walking stick, extending my arms beyond their reach, and becoming a bird whose wingspan could encircle the world. My legs were on full view, which should have made me ill at ease, but to move and leap through the air with the grace of a doe was beyond the scope of social expectation.

After six weeks of instruction, Herr Naumen stopped calling me "Baroness" and began to address me as his dove; I took no offense at the familiarity -- it was the symbol of my accomplishment, and yet, I have so much farther to go. I barely sleep, for needing to maintain my proficiency in other arts; painting, embroidery, music. But when I do sleep, it is to the tempo of a stick on the floor as my body bends like a tree to the winds of the music, and in my dreams, I fly.

Margaret of Austria, Mary of Burgundy, Maximilian of Austria, Anne of Brittany, Philip the Handsome, Catherine of Aragon, Louise of Savoy, Anne of France

Chteaud'Amboise

I was going through the files on my computer, and I found this back. It is a old class I gave a long time ago, but I figured some might find it useful. So, I share it here!

Most 18th century roleplays are not centered around combat fighting, achieving specific goals or defeating the evil (unless you consider du Barry the evil, of course), but, when you really think of it, it is all about the way we communicate with eachother. Our roleplay is centered around conversation, not only because this is something we chose for the RP, but also because it is very historically accurate. Most events in the 18th century were centered around conversation, as for example dinners or salons. Besides, at Versailles nobles could no longer get things done by arranging an army or figt against other nobles/King, but by conversation and getting in the grace of the King through conversation.

Some of you might feel rather uncomfortable in coversations, and thus end up in being silent or very quiet. This is a pity, as around roleplay is mainly centered around conversations. We will discuss several things in this class concerning to optimize the conversations you have with others, which hopefully will result in you being better capable of having roleplay conversations with others. We will start with some technical things, as how to actually do it.

The basics of conversation.

Alright, so let us look at the very basis of conversation in our RP. It is usually Emotion/expression/sort of communcication followed by a thought or something that is being said. An example smiles. Oh, I just love potatoes. This is of course the very basic way of communicating with eachother, and most certainly the fastest way to have a proper conversation with eachother. The emotion or expression is of course not neccesary, because you can also have a fine conversation without it, but it does add something to what you are saying. We will pay attention to this more later.

For example, /me tries to hold back her tears and speaks. Oh, I just love potatoes, gives another effect than simply Oh, I just love potatoes, without any kind of emotion or expression. In the latter case the person saying it probably really likes potatoes, whereas in the first case the person might be traumatized by potatoes but does not admit it. Deep, erh? Of course, just as with conversations in reality, what matters is not so much what you say, but the way you say it. So, you could say something seductively, or sarcastically etc. This of course gives a twist to what you are saying, on which other characters can respond and interact with your character.

Either way, as stated above, it is not neccesarily needed to make use of such emotions, for a conversation. If you simply say what you want to say, thus in this case Oh, I just love potatoes, that is sufficient for a simple conversation. Do please make use of capitals, grammar, interpunction etc. It simply makes it look much better, and it does not cost that much time. oh i just love potatoes looks less good than Oh, I just love potatoes, whereas the difference in time to type either sentences is almost nothing. If you do not put attention to grammar, capitals, interpunction and such, it will look as if you have not put a lot of time in your post, which will make it look more unattractive for others to respond to. Quality is better than quantity!

Of course you can expand all of this as much as you want: but be sure not to push it. Most 18^th century/court roleplays are not paragraph roleplays, and people do expect not having to wait too long for your respond to their question, something they said etc. Try to keep it to 3-4 lines max.

Third person

It is also possible to communicate with someone by speaking of yourself in the third person. An example is: Oh, she says seductively. I really love potatoes., while she winks at the monsieur on her right. Although I do not mind it myself very much, and hardly do it, I did read some people find this way of communicating irritating if it is done a lot. I do think talking in the third person gives you more easy way of being more descriptive in your RP, and I do it a lot myself this way. We in fact do already do most of our roleplay in the third person, without even realizing it. If we say /me smiles, that is in the third person. Because it is Madame du Barry (third person) smiles.

Other ways of communicating: thoughts and movement.

Thoughts at first do not seem too relevant in ways of communicating, as other characters can not respond to your thoughts, as they can not be heard, unless people are mind-readers (in that case: please stop reading my thoughts, yuck!). However, this is not entirely true. By using your thoughts other people will be able to understand your character a lot more, since it will show their true intentions, feelings and what makes them drive.

The same goes with movements, although you can not directly respond to them, it would be a pity to forget them. In reality almost all communication is body language. In SL this is not the case, but it should still not be forgotten. With describing movements, such as nervously ticking your foot up and down, taking the sweat of your forehead, crossing your arms etc., you will be able to communicate with others, while youre not even doing so by having to speak! How easy is that?

Of course movement is not necessarily the only form of body language. You could also for instance describe how you walk into a room, or sit down, or whatever it is that all of you do!

Once again it can be as descriptive as you want it to be yourself. You could for example do walks inside and sits down graciously, or you could do Louise walks inside with her head proud high in her head, but in her eyes one can see she is very nervous. Some powder falls from her face because of the sweat on her forehead as she sits down as graciously as she can. She looks around to see who are present and appears to be about to cry as soon as she faces the man who broke her heart. The latter of course gives people a lot to RP about. Such a descriptive way makes it of course much easier for people to interact on, make whispers about etc.

Content of the conversation.

What to talk about? I think that most of us would be discussing the latest gossips or some random things, such as for example fashion, the weather etc. What are some of the things you all usually discuss during conversations? Of course there are many more things that can be discussed. In fact you can discuss anything, like potatoes But what is there to be discussed? Of course there have happened many notorious things in the past that could be discussed, or things that are going on at the very moment. Take for instance the Seven Years War, the partition of Poland, the developments in America. This of course also depends on where the court or 18^th century RP is set! A few minutes on Wikipedia will give you loads of new topics to discuss with other courtiers. Or you discuss a recent event which was, for whatever reason, quite notorious. It was known that, in France, a minister would be remembered for a much longer period of time for that fabulous party he threw in his apartments, rather than for his successful policies.

But what about our characters personal stories? Dont be afraid to start a conversation about your own character. Especially as a fictional character it could be terribly fun to reveal some more things about your characters true character, or background. As I stated above, please do not be afraid to talk. You are free to make mistakes in the RP, because we learn from them. Believe me, even I made mistakes No, actually I did not, but you get the point pretty much.

I personally think a conversation about anything could be very interesting. Just as I always say with roles it is as boring as you make it yourself. It is you, the roleplayers, who are the ones who can make it all as interesting as possible. Show also interest in others in conversation and pay attention to what others say by for example asking questions. By asking questions you will keep the conversation going. Try not to answer with a simple Yes or No, but tell why you agree or disagree, and ask how others feel about this subject. The task of leading a conversation is mainly the task of the event host, especially by dinners, but we can all help each other to make the RP as fun as possible.

Before we end this class, I would like to remind you all of something that was of great importance in order to make it at Court in the 18^th century in the conversation. What I am talking about is a certain flattery and galanterie. Flattery was incredibly often done at the Court of France. But why? This was in order to come into favour of most preferably the King, or other influential courtiers. In the case of our Roleplay, this might lead to a higher place on the Favour chart. A good example of this given in a Louis XIV documentary is for example when Louis XIV asks a nobleman When is your wifes baby due? at which the courtier answers When Your Majesty wishes it! Flattery is not just a rule for men, but for all courtiers.

With all the things I just told you it is important to keep it to what is relevant. Think to yourself: is what I am saying interesting for others and/or will they be able to respond or interact with it? Quality is better than quantity. Better one good post that adds a lot to the RP, than three that have no effect.

When Elena had finished eating her breakfast she opened up the bundle she had brought with her, and unfolded the clothes she had Borrowed from Ezrah. She quickly slipped off her own dress and put the borrowed clothes on. Ezrah's clothes were off course way too big for her, but with some clever tucking and tying in strategic places they would be fine, and anyway no Peasant boy ever had clothes that fitted. She bound her breasts with a sash so that they would not be noticeable. Finally she pulled on her boots, put on the hat and went to look at her reflection in the pool nearby.

Elena felt more or less pleased with the results of her disguise. She would just about pass for an ordinary boy on a horse, except for her hair. Her braid was just too long and thick to be hidden under the hat. She would have to cut it. She hesitated. It would grow again she decided and cut her braid in half. She buried the piece she had cut off as Donna Augostina had taught her to do, and tied the remainder into a fashionable Queue and was now satisfied with her reflection.

Feeling safer, in her disguise, Elena bundled up her spare clothes and food, and packed them on the horse. She needed to be going. She knew she needed to put more distance between the camp and herself. Ezrah might just be annoyed enough to try and follow her, although it was unlikely he would do so for long.

As she rode she found herself thinking of the past. Her thoughts strayed to the time she had spent in Sweden, and how different her life would have been had he lived! At the time they told her that he had not suffered. That the fall from the horse had killed him instantly. And so, there had been no annulment, and therefore no marriage. When her father had come to fetch her home to Venice, he had been very kind and gentle with her. He had shown great understanding and had not blamed her. Instead he had bundled her into a carriage and they had begun that nightmarish journey through central Europe. They had been forced to stop in Poland, and she had been ill for weeks afterwards, and still remembered very little about that time, but when they had told her of the second death she knew that something inside her had also died, leaving a large gaping hole where hope had once been.

Elena forced herself to stop thinking of that time and to concentrate on her present situation. Not sure where she was going to go, she climbed higher into the mountains hoping to get her bearings from the landscape.

She knew that she could not go back into the Veneto, so reaching her Grandfather at the Malcontenta was out of the question, let alone going back to Venice! She could probably travel through Lombardy without too much trouble, and reach Milan, where she knew the Austrian governor, Archduke Ferdinand quite well. But from there where would she go? France? Maybe she could stay with her friend Olympe de Gouges, but Paris was weeks of travelling away. From Paris she could easily get to England, but England was even further away. On the other hand she did have friends in the south of France. So that was another possibility. Off course she could just make her way from Milan to Genoa, and find a ship sailing to Naples and Sorentina. She had enough gold with her carefully hidden away for that, so that was another option. Then again, if she went down on the other side of the mountains she would also be in Hapsburg territory, and she had friends in Vienna.

Pondering her choices Elena made her way up the mountain, where she planned to stop for the night.

(With thanks to The Misty Mountains in the Calas Galadhon Park)

Dear reader here is a possibility for you to be interactive with this story. Where do you think Elena should go???

The horses in the Duch de Coeur had to be retrained recently to learn new routes around Languedoc, which previously carried most of the traffic that moved between regions. This brought backmemories of comments heard over the past 5 years that the carriages have been used. Out of 75,000 carriage trips by thousands of individuals, only 4 people have commented about the carriages driving on the left hand side of the road. Three of these people were French and wanted to clarify that France does NOT drive on the 'wrong' side of the road like the British.

As far back as the ancient Greeks and Romans, traffic in most parts of the world kept to the left. Even in the new colonies in North America, trafficalso stayed tothe left. This went beyond custom insome places. Driving on the left was the law in Rome as of 1300 and in 1756 on theLondon Bridge. Most people are right handedso it makes sense to stay to the left for right-handed greetings and self-defense (e.g. swords)in on-coming traffic.Most people are also more aware of threats coming from their right rather than their left, so dangers from on-coming traffic coming too close can be handled more readily. So it appears that the British (and one third of the current world)have it right and the rest ofthe world has it wrong.

Learn about the "turning point" in traffic direction at the Duch de Coeur site!

Sam's diary covers the period 1660 to 1669 . Although he did not make an entry every day his writings cover a significant part of the English reformation period . The political and social life of the period is recalled here in minute detail .

Sept 15 ^th 1660 To the office, and after dinner by water to White Hall, where I found the King gone this morning by five of the clock to see a Dutch pleasure-boat below bridge, where he dines and my Lord with him, The King do tire all his people that are about him with early rising since he come.

18th. Captain Ferrers took me and Creed to the Cockpitt play, the first that I have had time to see since my coming from sea, "The Loyall Subject," [A Tragi-comedy by Beaumont and Fletcher.] where one Kinaston, a boy, acted the Duke's sister, but made the loveliest lady that ever I saw in my life. [Edward Kynaston, engaged by Sir W. Davenant in 1660, to perform the principal female characters: he afterwards assumed the male ones in the first parts of tragedy, and continued on the stage till the end of King William's reign, The period of his death is not known.]

Sept 20th. This afternoon at the Privy Seale, where reckoning with Mr. Moore, he had got 100l. for me together, which I was glad of, guessing that the profit of this month would come to 100l. With W. Hewer by coach to Worcester House, where I light, sending him home with the 100l. that I received to-day. Here I staid, and saw my Lord Chancellor come into his Great Hall, where wonderful how much company there was to expect him. Before he would begin any business, he took my papers of the state of the debts of the fleet, and there viewed them before all the people, and did give me his advice privately how to order things, to get as much money as we can of the Parliament.

Sept 21st. I met Mr. Crewe and dined with him, where there dined one Mr. Hickeman, an Oxford man, who spoke very much against the height of the now old clergy, for putting out many of the religious fellows of Colleges, and inveighing against them for their being drunk. It being post-night, I wrote to my Lord to give him notice that all things are well; that General Monk is made Lieutenant of Ireland, which my Lord Roberts (made Deputy) do not like of, to be Deputy to any man but the king himself. [John, second Lord Robartes, advanced to the dignity of Earl of Radnor, 1679. Ob. 1685.]

Sept.22nd. In the House, after the Committee was up, I met with Mr. G. Montagu, and joyed him in his entrance (this being his 3rd day) for Dover. Here he made me sit all alone in the House, none but he and I, half an hour, discoursing how there was like to be many factions at Court between Marquis Ormond, [James, afterwards created Duke of Ormond, and K.G. and twice Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.] General Monk, and the Lord Roberts, about the business of Ireland; as there is already between the two Houses about the Act of Indemnity; and in the House of Commons, between the Episcopalian and Presbyterian men.

Elena had never been the sort of person to just sit around and brood, so after Achille and Devi had left she had put her annoyance aside and fallen into the familiar Rhythm of life at the Camp.

Donna Augostina, Devi's grandmother, had been teaching both girls her knowledge of medicinal plants since they had been old enough to be sent out to collect them, and now Augostina had been delighted to resume teaching Elena.

And so the summer months had passed peacefully enough for Elena. Her time was spent helping Donna Augostina to prepare her remedies, and administering them to those in need. But the winds were beginning to change, Elena could smell the autumn in the air. She had received no messages or instructions from her father, but she knew where he wanted her to be for the winter. Besides she was beginning to feel restless so it was time to move on back to civilization. Donna Augostina would understand, as she understood most things, and so, Elena made her careful preparations, and when she was ready she set her plan in motion.

How poor Ezrah would react, Elena could only guess, as she watched him play his flute for her that evening. He had drunk the mug of spiced beer, with that little something extra in it, she had given him earlier. She hoped he would eventually forgive her and understand. She was pretty sure that if the shoe had been on the other foot Ezrah would do the same, and meanwhile he'd have some lovely dreams, she thought with a giggle, as she made her way carefully towards the horses.

Elena gloried in the sense of total liberation she felt as she rode through forest in the darkness of the night. It was rare for her to be so free and alone. Her Father had always indulged the adventurous side of her nature. He seemed to understand her need to travel, and had sent her on missions to most of the European courts. He, had however always known where she was, and she had always had one of the household retainers or Devi with her. This reminded her more of those times she had escaped from Versailles to Paris, without telling Devi, but had gone alone dressed as a peasant girl, and mingled with the early morning traffic of early morning market traders.

As the sun began to rise over the mountain landscape, Elena felt that she had made enough progress, and put enough distance between herself and the camp, to be able to safely stop and rest the horse, have a bite to eat from the provisions she had brought with her, and make her transformation.

( with thanks to the Misty Mountain Sim, part of CALAS GALADHON PARK )

Today marks the twelfth anniversary of the last day where sense and reason ruled my world; where everything was fine, and the future bright and assured. Tomorrow, the twelfth anniversary of everything changing.

To those of you who, like myself, lost a loved one, felt the impact, have the nightmares, and find it hard to breathe sometimes...

To those of you who, like myself, still stands in shock, looking back and remembering...

To all of us, who had our hopes stolen from us, and our peace of mind disturbed,

I wish you peace, comfort, the love of friends and family, and a restoration of hope.

-Rose

The driver behind Oliva
NYC

Upon returning home, I found myself determined to unearth more secrets from my past that those around me were unable or unwilling to assist me in discovering. In a small drawer of a bedside table, I found something, wrapped in red silk and tied with a white satin bow. It looked to be a gift, and I wondered to whom I might have failed to bestow it upon.

I carefully unwrapped the parcel and discovered something that knocked the breath from me. Prior to marrying my husband, whom I was ashamed to have not even the slightest memory of, I had apparently been very much in love. But not with my husband!

I sat on my bed, and with trembling hands, turned the pages of a sonnet corona that I had apparently written to someone named Edward Stafford. The inscription on the inside cover read:

To my beloved, Edward,

I dream each night of the day that I might place this in your hand, when finally we meet in Belgium, and my heart, which beats within your breast, shall be reunited with your own which beats in mine.

Forever and always,

Your Olivia

I read and re-read the inscription, trying in vain to find some sense of memory of him; his face, his manner... but it was useless.

Finally, I read through, and found myself awash with a wave of regret that he might have met the same fate as my husband. Perhaps he had perished in some manner - perhaps during the very crossing to Belgium of which I wrote! I held the small book to my breast and grieved the loss of so great a love that it inspired something which I did not believe came only from me, but from the adoration of this gentleman.

. . . One . . .

In sitting down, with quill in hand, I write.
The writer, seeing empty page, laments.
This labor must be set in black and white;
Until it's done, my heart won't be content.

For in this month, two days of great import:
A lovers' destined meeting two months past,
And an escape those lovers do exhort
And I - for these - begin a wearing task.

Each day that passes, leaves me less aloof.
The burning need to follow to the end,
Committed that my love should have the proof
And so, despite this challenge, I ascend.

Will I accomplish this which I desire?
Will words be frozen in vexation's mire?

. . . Two . . .

Will words be frozen in vexations mire?
When all I long for is the words to bind?
Oh, can I write as well as I aspire?
Or will this finish in a muddled mind?

Eyes rising from the page, I look around.
No evidence of him in sound or sight.
Yet ev'rywhere his presence does abound,
Just thoughts of him diminishing my might.

And yet, though weaker made by reverie
I find a strength like mountains rising high
As stony pinnacles that pierce the sea,
The words begin to flow as time draws nigh.

There is no barrier to stop this flow
Upon my love, this message to bestow.

. . . Three . . .

Upon my love, this message to bestow.
Push aside my ever-pressing doubt;
The dearth of words I wittingly outgrow.
Thoughts of him bring rain upon the drought.

The ground, once cracked and dry; devoid of life
Where sustenance was nary seen or found,
Still showing scars and memories of strife,
Now bears a fruit more sweet and more profound.

Even at the time we turned away,
Seeking out an unknown requisite,
And blinded to the future's sweet replay,
No choice but our devotion to admit.

Though to outward eyes my heart is cold,
Your love does advocate that I be bold.

. . . Four . . .

Your love does advocate that I be bold
As winds o'er meadows drive away a scourge.
Our love, the kind of classic stories told,
Each prior failure from my heart is purged.

Each setting sun, the promise of tomorrow.
The rising sun alighting love renewed.
No more, our hearts entrenched in a past sorrow
And ev'ry day love's interest is accrued.

The ending week brings anxious plans to bear
As lovers, come together, hearts alight
We, deeply love, utterly aware
A simple touch or word sets us to right.

No devastating storm could hope to spoil;
This enchantment's web cannot uncoil.

. . . Five . . .

This enchantment's web cannot uncoil.
Meticulously woven with such care
Shrewdest malefactors hope to roil,
Our hearts too tightly bound to rip or tear.

A distance seeming half a world away,
Though daunting in its vastness, breadth and scope,
Does not prevent, discourage or dissuade,
But fortifies the harbor of our hopes.

Humbled by your constance and belief,
My fears and superstitions held at bay,
Your ever-stoic love provides relief,
And sets my sights upon a brighter day.

With each unflagging step, our love evolves.
You energize and strengthen my resolve.

. . . Six . . .

You energize and strengthen my resolve;
Though thought the one of fortitude, verdure.
Around your heart, my own, a moon, revolves.
I find, with you alone, I can endure.

The 'weaker sex' I never thought defined.
Independent, almost to a fault.
Until your adoration, once entwined,
My heart has softened, almost by default.

Thus, lead by you to softer, gentler ground,
Thereby coerced into a slower pace,
T'was there, within myself a heart, I found.
So shed of callous nature, dressed in grace.

You, couturier, bedeck my heart.
So swathing, generate a work of art.

. . . Seven . . .

So swathing, generate a work of art.
The inner self emerges, quite enthralled.
Willfully, my guarded self departs.
Free and joyous; never more be walled.

And as this lover's task comes to an end,
I hope with all my might that I impart
Upon your love and kindness, I depend.
Perhaps more now, than at our very start.

It seems, through all this space I've had to use,
I've not articulated well my view.
If love were words, you'd surely be my muse.
For only one thing spawned this venture: You.

Though meager as my amity requite,
In sitting down with quill in hand, I write.