Dancing in the Seminary: Reconstructing Dances for a 1749 Viceregal Peruvian Opera

This dissertation is presented to

the faculty

of the College of Fine Arts of Ohio University

In partial fulfillment

of the requirements for the degree

Doctor of Philosophy

Peggy L. Murray

December 2015

© 2015 Peggy L. Murray. All Rights Reserved.

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This dissertation titled

Dancing in the Seminary: Reconstructing Dances for a 1749 Viceregal Peruvian Opera

by

PEGGY L. MURRAY

has been approved for

the School of Interdisciplinary Arts

and the College of Fine Arts by

Marina Peterson

Associate Professor of Interdisciplinary Arts

Tresa Randall

Associate Professor of Dance, Film & Theater

Margaret Kennedy-Dygas

Dean, College of Fine Arts

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ABSTRACT

MURRAY, PEGGY L., Ph.D. December 2015, Performance Studies

Dancing in the Seminary: Reconstructing Dances for a 1749 Viceregal Peruvian Opera

Directors of Dissertation: Marina Peterson and Tresa Randall

This study explores the dance characteristics and aesthetics likely employed in

Venid, venid deydades, a performance piece from mid-eighteenth-century Cusco, Peru.

This seminary opera by Fray Esteban Ponce de León was composed and performed in the

Seminary of San Antonio Abad to honor its rector, who was named Bishop of Paraguay.

The music and libretto for the work are extant in the Seminary’s archive, yet its choreography is unknown--a common condition that impedes the understanding of dance in its historical context. This study unites diverse textual and embodied resources to re- create dances consistent with the opera’s style.

Theoretically, this study analyzes the task of early dance reconstruction using

Diana Taylor’s conception of the archive--historical textual material--and of the repertoire--unwritten embodied information that societies pass down over time.1 The methodological aim of the study is to provide an explained model for the process of historically informed early dance reconstruction; thus, a minuet and contradanza are reconstructed in Chapter Five. Such reconstructions inform historical performance and provide a way to investigate dance history.

This understudied opera emanates from a vibrant era of varied performance genres in Peru’s culturally diverse colonial period. It reflects the powerful, official world

1 Diana Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 2003). 4 of elite Spanish and criollo ecclesiastical circles. This investigation thus examines

European Baroque dance and its archive and repertoire, as Bourbon-era tastes in Peru reflected the Spanish and continental affinity for Italian music and French dance. The research considers the roles of archive and repertoire in this dance style’s preservation and in its loss from practice, both in Europe and in Peru.

This study makes use of a historical and ethnographic methodology to guide the researcher in re-animating dances of the past. As such, it connects and interprets remains through historical and aesthetic analysis (including Laban Movement Analysis).

Examining the contributions of both textual and kinesthetic sources allows us to question the functioning of both types of repositories in preserving dance information and consider their links to cultural memory.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is with sincere thanks that I acknowledge those who have graciously assisted me in the course of my research and writing for this project. My committee is comprised of scholars from diverse fields. Dr. Marina Peterson, from performance studies, has been my mentor from the outset of my doctoral studies. She and Dr. Tresa Randall from dance, have together guided this work according to the expectations of the disciplines in which it most directly rests. Additionally, Latin American historian Dr. Mariana Dantas and art historian Dr. Charles S. Buchanan have enriched my work by offering their perspectives.

Thanks are also due to the Billman family and Ohio University’s College of Fine

Arts, for the I. Hollis Parry/Ann Parry Billman Fine Arts Award, which allowed me to realize fieldwork for this study in Lima and Cusco, Peru.

I am profoundly grateful to the professionals in the arts and academia I interviewed during my research. These individuals contributed to my knowledge of

Peru’s performance culture and its history: Sr. Guillermo Durand, Dr. José Carlos

Vilcapoma, Dr. Raúl Romero, Dr. José Peirano, Dr. José Antonio Rodríguez Garrido,

Prof. José Quezada Macchiavello, Mtro. José Luque, and Mtra. Fabiola Serra.

Dr. Dorothy Olsson has nurtured my interest in dance history and reconstruction for many years. I am ever grateful for her generous mentorship. My thanks to Mtra. Ana

Yepes for enthusiastically offering her historical dance expertise and written sources to me. Heather Mackler selflessly shared her incredible wealth of knowledge about 6

Baroque dance, as well as the primary sources from her sizable personal collection in microfilm, digital and print formats.

Holly Sammons and the staffs of the Onondaga County Public Library Local

History and Interlibrary Loan departments, along with Suzanne Schwartz at the Cornell

University libraries, were helpful not only in providing access to sources I needed, but also in encouraging me and making me laugh—an important contribution to my progress.

I am indebted to friends who read pieces, chapters and revisions of this work, adding suggestions from their own disciplinary perspectives. Dr. Tamara Caulkins read through an eighteenth-century Atlantic World lens, and Dr. Orly Krasner read with a musicologist’s eye. Dr. Susan Kanter extended editorial expertise and kept me focused.

My thanks also to Manuel Hidalgo Iglesias, dancer, kindred spirit, and translator, for language assistance.

Other friends who have been stalwart in their support of me through this process include Magdalena Villarán, Raúl Falcó, Elaine Taddeo, Helen Landfear, Maureen

Craner and Ronnie Snader. My sister, Kathleen Murray, brother-in-law, Mark Simpson, and parents, Lillian and Richard Murray, have sustained and assisted me in ways too numerous to mention over the course of this project.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

Abstract ...... 3

Acknowledgments...... 5

List of Tables ...... 8

List of Figures ...... 9

Introduction – Overview and Prior Studies ...... 10

Chapter One – Methodology ...... 46

Chapter Two – Venid, venid deydades: Background and Context ...... 73

Chapter Three – The Opera’s Dances through the Archive ...... 120

Chapter Four – Embodying the Archive and the Repertoire ...... 171

Chapter Five – Reconstructing Choreographies: Notes, Narratives, and Recommended

Procedures ...... 241

Conclusion ...... 300

Bibliography ...... 317

Appendix A – Sample Dance Observation Worksheets ...... 341

Appendix B – Sample Interview Instruments ...... 344

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LIST OF TABLES

Page

Table 1. Choreography for Minuet Reconstruction ...... 256

Table 2. Choreography for Contradanza Reconstruction ...... 282

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LIST OF FIGURES

Page

Figure 1. Cover page from Pablo Minguet e Yrol, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española ...... 260

Figure 2. Dance notation, “Passapie de España” ...... 261

Figure 3. First page, Minuet, “Bien lo pregona la voz del clarín” from Venid, venid deydades, Fray Esteban Ponce de León (1749). Transcription and performing edition by

Samuel Claro, Antología de la música en América del Sur ...... 262

Figure 4. Second page, Minuet, “Bien lo pregona la voz del clarín” ...... 263

Figure 5. Third page, Minuet, “Bien lo pregona la voz del clarín” ...... 264

Figure 6. Dance explanation, “Los muchachos hermosos” from Pablo Minguet e Yrol, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española...... 286

Figure 7. Dance notation, “Los muchachos hermosos” ...... 287

Figure 8. Dance explanation, “Los petímetres y petímetras,” Minguet, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española ...... 288

Figure 9. Dance notation, “Los petímetres y petímetras” ...... 289

Figure 10. Aria, “Si en tan reñida cuestión” from Venid, venid deydades, Fray Esteban

Ponce de León (1749). Transcription and performing edition by Samuel Claro, Antología de la música en América del Sur...... 290

Figure 11. Second page, Aria, “Si en tan reñida cuestión” ...... 291

Figure 12. Third page, Aria, “Si en tan reñida cuestión” ...... 292

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INTRODUCTION – OVERVIEW AND PRIOR STUDIES

On an afternoon in 1749 a select audience, including members of the ecclesiastical community, civil leaders and criollo elites, was treated to an opera performance of Venid, venid deydades (Come, come gods) in the courtyard at the

Seminary of San Antonio Abad in Cusco, Peru. We know the music that was played and sung and the lyrics that carried the opera’s narrative, as the score and libretto are extant.

What we do not know is what the esteemed audience saw. An important missing piece in allowing us to reconstruct the performance is an understanding of the work’s dance. This dissertation imagines possibilities for the work’s dance, based on available historical evidence through a process of historical dance reconstruction. Dance reconstruction is an embodied interpretation of dance historical information that brings to life a reasoned semblance of the dance an original audience may have seen. It provides a way of viewing the past—for the joy of experiencing and considering aesthetics that are, perhaps, different from our own, but also to better understand historical performance pieces whose dance has been lost, and also to engage with, and further question particular moments in history through their aesthetics.

The goal of this investigation is to demonstrate and explain the process of research and practice of rebuilding and resetting choreography—the work of dance reconstruction. In this study, I developed a process particular to the sample case, Venid, venid deydades, a work of Peru’s late colonial period. The unique work and situation required investigation into Peruvian and Spanish performance history and dance culture, and also, into the dance of the French Noble Style. The opera serves as a jumping-off 11 point from which I explore the circulation of this dance style, and its significance in the colonial condition.

Dance reconstruction is “a tool in the understanding and re-creation of dance”2 used by dance historians and choreographers to study and reproduce historical dance.

Not all dance historical research works with, or results in a danceable, visible product.

Dance reconstruction as a research methodology or choreographic process physically embodies dance historical information to produce and learn from historically informed movement. The practice is based on the kinesthetic study of historical dance techniques and on information from primary and secondary dance, music and theater sources.3 In addition to written and physical dance information, contextual social and political data offer a framework for understanding the movement norms of a time and place under investigation. This research process enables the determination of suitable dance technique and choreographic movement conventions, which, when combined in practice, offer an aesthetic idea of the dance style appropriate to the place, time and circumstance of the work being investigated—in this case, an eighteenth-century Peruvian seminary opera. This study both provides an aperture into the process of dance reconstruction and produces reconstructed choreographic objects. Reconstructions offer a means of seeing the past, adding to a more complete idea of period performance, and also allowing us to

2 International Encyclopedia of Dance, ed. Selma Jeanne Cohen (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), s.v. “Reconstruction.”

3 Linda J. Tomko, International Encyclopedia of Dance, s.v. “Reconstruction: Beyond Notation;” Catherine Turocy, “Beyond La Danse Noble: Conventions in Choreography and Dance Performance at the Time of Rameau's Hippolyte et Aricie,” in Moving History/Dancing Cultures: A Dance History Reader, ed. Ann Dils and Ann Cooper Albright (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2001), 202-09.

12 analyze and interrogate works’ formal elements, techniques and aesthetics and their meanings for their original societies.

The primary audience for this study is dance scholars, reconstructors, choreographers and others involved with historically informed performance, especially those from music and theater. In addition, scholars from performance studies who are interested in practice, as well as scholars of Peruvian, Latin American and Atlantic world cultural history will find this study of interest.

Viceregal Peru: A Rich Study Site

Dance was a key component of European-style opera and musical theatrical performance throughout the seventeenth century and until the last decades of the eighteenth on both sides of the Atlantic.4 In Peru we find dance mentioned as an integral part of lyric theater, whether as comedias (plays) in the playhouses, zarzuelas (musicals) or operas in the viceroy’s palace, convents or seminaries.5 Viceregal Peru was an

4 We know that dances were frequent and important elements in well-known European works of the time, called for in the plays of Molière, Calderon de la Barca, Lope de Vega, and others, and in musical theatrical works composed by Monteverdi, Purcell, Lully, Handel, Rameau, Hidalgo, and others. Choreographic works for theater by Feuillet, Pécour, L’Abbé, Favier, Lambranzi, Magri, Angiolini, and Weaver, among others, are described and/or notated in extant sources. Sub-genres, such as the masque, comédie-ballet, opera-ballet, tragédie-lyrique and opera seria are explained in Robert Parker's The Oxford Illustrated History of Opera (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), see Carter (1-46) and Bauman (47-83); Rebecca Harris-Warrick and Bruce Alan Brown, eds. The Grotesque Dancer on the Eighteenth-Century Stage: Gennaro Magri and His World (Madison,WI: The University of Wisconsin Press, 2005); Wendy Hilton, Dance and Music of Court and Theater: Selected Writings of Wendy Hilton (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 2007); María José Ruiz Mayordomo, “De la edad media al siglo XVIII,” in Historia de los espectáculos en España, ed. Andrés Amorós and José M. Díez Borque (Madrid: Editorial Castalia, 1999), 273-317.

5 See Guillermo Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático en Lima durante el virreinato (Madrid: Escuela de Estudios Hispano-Americanos de la Universidad de Sevilla, 1945), 9-10; Baker, Imposing Harmony: Music and Society in Colonial Cuzco (Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 2008), 61-68. José Quezada Macchiavello, El legado musical del Cusco barroco (Lima: Fondo Editorial del Congreso del Perú, 2004), 123-138 explores a variety of popular and courtly dances that he proposes were known in Peru. 13 important site of early opera in the New World, and it holds particularly rich possibilities for discovery about dance. The birthplace of opera in the Western Hemisphere, this

Spanish colonial capital had a vibrant, varied musical and musical theatrical culture that has yet to be fully investigated.

Peruvian cities were important urban centers and points of contact between

Spanish, native Andean and African cultures beginning in the sixteenth century, each of these groups and their sub-divisions with their own musical, theatrical and dance practices. I was intrigued by the various groups’ dance practices and where they may have connected, overlapped, or spawned new styles, as well as where dance cultures remained segregated by group and/or situation. I initially wondered about the possibility of cross-pollination in dances of the various ethnic groups that came into contact through the colonial project in Peru. Peruvian viceregal culture entices inquiry precisely because of this mix of diverse cultures and classes. My research, however, suggests that the style utilized in the context of the opera Venid, venid deydades was more homogeneous than I had imagined. Although the dances of various sectors of Peruvian society were encouraged to some extent, and they were integrated into festivals and celebrations, these groups’ dances were presented in discrete segments—the idea of demonstrating difference between groups was crucial to the colonial project.6 This investigation also revealed that the dances in this formal ecclesiastical civic occasion were not of Spanish

6 Juan Carlos Estenssoro Fuchs, Música y sociedad coloniales, 1680-1830 (Lima: Editorial Colmillo Blanco, 1989), 69-73; Geoffrey Baker, Imposing, 39-41; and Carolyn Dean, “The Ambivalent Triumph: Corpus Christi in Colonial Cusco, Peru,” in Acting on the Past: Historical Performance Across the Disciplines, ed. Mark Franko and Annette Richards (Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press, 2000), 159- 161. See a broader discussion of festive performances in Chapters Two and Three.

14 genre, as might have been expected, but rather French. During the eighteenth century, with a Bourbon monarch on the throne of Spain, evidence shows that French tastes, which included Italian music and French dance, gained favor in the Viceroyalty of Peru.7

Dance activity is an understudied facet of viceregal Peruvian culture. Although some music from viceregal lyric theater survives, including opera, textual evidence about its dance is scant and fragmented. Little textual information is preserved about Peruvian dancing in this period. These scant mentions of dancing include diary accounts; contracts, mainly from the public theater, stipulating that performers were hired to dance and, generally to sing and/or play musical instruments;8 and very rare musical scores for dances. Such scores tell us the musical meter of the dances and sometimes suggest an overall feeling such as somber or lively, but they do not tell us directly about steps or choreography. In the case of Venid, venid deydades, the extant score is the clearest evidence we have of the dancing the opera contained. It includes two labeled minuets, metered and structured consistently with the French dance of that name, and other music formally suited for dances of the same French genre. The possible presence of French dance culture in Peru has not yet been investigated by dance scholars.

The Focus of this Study

This investigation uncovers new knowledge about the opera Venid, venid deydades and the dance within it through a process of research and practice in dance

7 José Quezada Macchiavello, “La música en el virreinato,” in La música en el Perú, ed. César Bolaños, José Quezada Macchiavello, Enrique Iturriaga, Juan Carlos Estenssoro, et. al. (Lima: Fondo Editorial Filarmonía, 2nd ed., 2007), 88-89; Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 39-41; Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático, 322-325.

8 See Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático.

15 reconstruction. Through this process, the study identifies and investigates the vital role of the archive (textual information) and that of the repertoire (embodied information)9 in conserving, interpreting and re-animating dance of the past. This study additionally examines the cultural dynamics that influenced the dance’s style and its later absence from the current Peruvian folkloric repertoire. Historical background and analysis for this understudied opera, are discussed in Chapter Two.

On a conceptual level, this study engages with dance’s tangible absence from history, a central problem in dance history studies. It shows how we can connect fragmentary information from a variety of sources, both documentary and kinesthetic, to interpret and re-animate likely possibilities about dance’s practice in the past. This is creative research based on historical information, which is by nature incomplete. It does not propose to yield definitive or “authentic” outcomes, but to unite ideas researched through mind and body to approximate likely aesthetic possibilities. From a dancer’s perspective, these possibilities often teach us new ways to move, and help us better understand the legacy of technique that we inherit. From an audience’s view, they help us to comprehend the universe potentially conveyed in an early performance work, and gain a sense movement aesthetics of the past. Early dance reconstruction leads to discoveries about dance and additional aspects of cultural history, as rules of dance may mirror social mores and movements, reiterate important cultural facets. Fragmentary

9 Diana Taylor, The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas (Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 2003), XVI-XVIII. Performance studies theorist Taylor defines the archive as literary and historical documents and the repertoire as non-archival embodied actions and systems through which we transmit knowledge. The archive and the repertoire as they relate to dance are more fully discussed subsequently. 16 information brought together elucidate the context of performance and allow us to question the society that performed and received it.

The archive in dance rarely provides enough specificity to allow for convincingly accurate physical interpretation. However, an unusually descriptive archive for eighteenth-century dance does exist. A combination of explicit prose descriptions, explained graphic notation systems and extant choreographic examples of a variety of dance types in eighteenth-century dance texts provides an unusually comprehensive understanding of dance to the dance historian-reconstructor. When used in conjunction with the repertoire of physical practice, this archive allows us to interpret and reconstruct likely possibilities for past dancing.

Although Taylor does not acknowledge dance’s historical archive in her critical analysis of the archive and the repertoire,10 textual materials from dance history have played an important role in reconstructing and understanding dancing of the past. It should be noted that the dance archive has been subject to the same biases and mediation that Taylor and others acknowledge as inherent in the creation and conservation of textual material. Nevertheless, Taylor’s suggestion that, in general, the archive and the repertoire can work together to inform us about the past11 is epitomized in the process of dance reconstruction. This study shows how these two elements function together both currently and historically, conveying dance data with considerable detail in some cases.

The archive, which I discuss in Chapter Three, includes contextual data as well as direct,

10 Ibid., 19.

11 Ibid., 21-22. 17 descriptive dance data, both of which inform as to the nature of dance. Chapter Four shows the extent to which the archive was present and absent in my study of different dance styles in the investigation, and Chapters Four and Five show the role of both music and dance texts in creating two sample dance reconstructions for Venid, venid deydades.

Despite the cultural diversity of groups present in the contact zone12 of viceregal

Peru, and Cusco, in particular, this investigation revealed that only the French courtly style of dancing was likely used in this opera, and that Andean and Afro-Peruvian influences would likely have been excluded. Not surprisingly perhaps, few of the formal characteristics of European courtly dancing are apparent in the repertoire of Peruvian folkloric dancing today. This absence raises questions not only about practices of cultural separation versus mixing in the Peruvian contact zone but also about how the repertoire conserves cultural information. I investigate the segregation of Andean and

Afro-Peruvian dancing, along with the employment of French style dancing in Chapters

Two and Three. The role of the repertoire in conserving dance information is addressed primarily in Chapter Four, through physical observations of Peruvian folkloric, Spanish

Baroque and French Noble Style dancing.

This study additionally contributes to the literature of dance and performance studies in a methodological way; it provides a model of early dance reconstruction from the research phase through the fitting of choreography to the opera’s music. Studies on so thorough a scale do not exist. Therefore, this investigation aims to be instructive,

12 Mary Louise Pratt, Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation (New York: Routledge, 1992), 4. Pratt uses this term to describe the “social spaces where disparate cultures meet, clash and grapple with each other often in highly asymmetrical relations of domination and subordination—like colonialism, slavery, or other aftermaths as they are lived out across the globe today.” 18 providing a compilation of guidelines that may be emulated or contested by others engaging in early dance reconstruction. The rationale for providing a full-scale exemplar is found in this Introduction and in Chapter One on methodology, which describes the procedures and modes of analysis utilized and documents preliminary research steps taken. Recommended research steps for dance reconstruction and findings related to the reconstruction process are discussed in Chapters Two through Four, while Chapter Five provides technical choreographic reconstruction narratives for two of the opera’s dances.

The Need for This Investigation

My present investigation emanates from problems that I encountered while participating as a dancer in the reconstruction of a rare viceregal Peruvian opera, along with early music specialists. The work had begun to receive the attention of musicologists and musicians, but not yet of dance historians or reconstructors.13 I realized that attention to early Latin American performance genres was gaining momentum, and yet there was a lack of knowledge in the field regarding the dance that would have accompanied the viceregal Peruvian music now gaining recognition. I was also unable to find any full-scale technical descriptions or chronicles of early dance reconstructions that I could use as models.14 I was thus interested in investigating how

13 Amherst Early Music Festival’s 2001 production of Torrejón y Velasco’s La púrpura de la rosa (1701), at the University of Connecticut, Storrs, CT.

14 The most comprehensive chronicling of a reconstruction project I have found is that of the Millicent Hodson reconstruction in the late 1980s of Nijinsky’s Le Sacre du Printemps (1913) in The Lost Rite: Rediscovery of the 1913 Rite of Spring by Hodson and Kenneth Archer (London: KMS Press, 2014) and in several articles and book chapters prior. This vast reconstruction project, while fascinating and helpful very generally to all reconstructors, does not elucidate on problems with reconstructing works from a more distant past milieu where the dancing and social contexts are less understood. In terms of eighteenth- century dance reconstruction, parts of articles by such reconstructors as Catherine Turocy, Madeleine Inglehearn, and Moira Goff offer brief, sometimes brilliant glimpses into their processes. Examples 19 people danced in this place and period and how such dancing could be reconstructed or created based on historical clues, both written and embodied. I also wanted to bring together reconstruction practices I had learned from my mentors and guidance gleaned from individual articles and conference proceedings.

Dance Reconstructions, the Archive and the Repertoire

Dance reconstructions provide a means of studying dance history and inherently bring together the archive and the repertoire. Taylor notes that textual archives do not capture the embodied performance of dance, whereas the repertoire functions to preserve and convey physical behaviors like dance.15 Those who have studied a dance style such as ballet or hip-hop and those who have learned folk or other group social dances know her precept to be true--dance practice is rarely transmitted via text. Dance is normally modeled by the teacher and mimicked by the students, who are then corrected in their execution by the teacher. In less formal situations, dance is visually observed by learners until they feel confident enough to join in and replicate the called-for movement.

Furthermore, owing to the complexity of human movement and to the ephemeral nature of dance, its performance is seldom described accurately and comprehensively enough in texts to give one repeatable data or a complete sense of the dance’s aesthetics and conventions.16

include Turocy in ““Beyond La Danse;” Inglehearn in “Bringing the Past to the Present: An Experiment in Reviving Eighteenth-Century Theatre Dances” in Preservation Politics: Dance Revived, Reconstructed, Remade: Proceedings of the Conference at the University of Surrey Roehampton, November 8-9, 1997, ed. Stephanie Jordan (London: Dance Books, 2000), 148-53; and Goff’s “Imitating the Passions: Reconstructing the Meanings within the Passagalia of Venüs & Adonis” in the same source (154-65). Comprehensive reconstruction accounts, however, are lacking.

15 Taylor, The Archive, XVI-XVIII.

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While Taylor’s axioms about the archive and the repertoire are generally true— dance is never fully captured in written texts and is conveyed more effectively body-to- body—this study engages with an unusual circumstance in dance historical research— one where the archive from distant Europe offers more dance information than the traditionally inherited repertoire. This study investigates the type of dancing probable in this Peruvian opera, French court dancing, and also reveals that its style is no longer visible in the vast repertoire of Peruvian dances practiced today.

Dance is an aspect of visual and performed culture which rarely leaves material traces and sometimes leaves few embodied ones. Dance scholar and reconstructor Mark

Franko acknowledges, “Performances of the distant past, […] those precluding personal or collective memory, raise with particular urgency the issue of absence.”17 The absence of dance must be addressed in order to study it in the present. Dance, as a physical and visible endeavor, is a vehicle for cultural information. By reconstructing dances of the past in the present, we can question how their form and aesthetics might have inscribed certain past cultural norms or reflect social identity—questions that cannot be interrogated without the dance object. We may learn how the importance of a group’s historical agricultural lifestyle is reiterated through the footwork of its folk dances, or how another group characterized moral virtue through dancing postures, or learn of a group’s ideas about proper gender roles based on those enacted in dances.

16 There is a temporal challenge with dance, as it has been noted that dance occurs as it disappears. See Marcia B. Siegel, At the Vanishing Point: A Critic Looks at Dance (New York: Saturday Review Press, 1973), 1.

17 See Mark Franko and Annette Richards, “Actualizing Absence: The Pastness of Performance” in Acting on the Past: Historical Performance Across the Disciplines, ed. Mark Franko and Annette Richards (Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press, 2000), 1-9. 21

Readers may rightly associate dance reconstruction with period stage productions and films. Dance reconstruction based on as accurate historical data as can be found is instructive to the dancer, reconstructor and audience, so while appropriate for historically informed performances, as research, both its procedural methodology and its resulting object may be studied. Steps taken can be judged and contested and later replicated or altered, and other, different reconstructed objects produced. Linda Tomko, writing in the

International Encyclopedia of Dance, suggests,

Theoretical issues push dance studies to reconsider longstanding views of staged, public performance as the primary and final product of reconstruction. That is, scholars may now also conceive reconstruction as a methodology, as a means of pursuing answers to still other questions. Rather than frame and fix a stable and unitary bodily phenomenon, reconstruction may illuminate kinetic and kinesthetic ways that dance made meaning in specific historical societies and moments. Reconstruction may thus be rethought as a technology—a physical, investigative method—for comprehending and complicating traditional questions about dance performance.18

Tomko’s suggestion places dance reconstruction into consideration alongside other disciplines such as ethnohistory, historical epistemology as applied to science, archeology and art history, and practice as research (PaR), where scholarly approaches may combine historical with ethnographic or practice-related work.19 Related research seeks to know how, as opposed to simply knowing that, something happened or was done. These researchers often render information about what must be or must have been known, valued, or questioned by a practitioner and her or his society.

18 Tomko, “Reconstruction,” 327-328. Tomko provides examples of attributes of historical dances that would likely have been overlooked if the dances had not been reconstructed.

19 Work in other fields that demonstrate the importance of understanding practice include Lorraine Daston and Peter Galison’s Objectivity (New York: Zone Books, 2010); Pamela Smith, The Body of the Artisan (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2004); and Michael Baxandall, Painting and Experience in Fifteenth- Century Italy (Oxford, UK and New York: Oxford University Press, 2nd ed., 1988). 22

In historical research of this type, the act of reconstructing practices from texts allows for the “comprehending and complicating”20 of gaps in the texts’ information.

This process can lead to questions like these: Does a gap in information represent tacit knowledge that needed no explanation in its original milieu? What means do we have today to fill in and substitute information in order to proceed with the practice? What must be added or accomplished to arrive at a specified outcome, and what is the possibility that this outcome was the same or similar as originally intended, but unwritten?

Rebuilding dances of the past for performances in the present allows us to look at the embodied practice from an external vantage point. At the same time, by using reconstruction as a research methodology, we may investigate the execution of the dance from an internal perspective, to learn how the dancer negotiates the “kinetic and kinesthetic”21 requirements of the dance—that is, the dynamics and physics required to traverse space performing designated movements within specified time, as well as the corporeal conditions and constraints that are in play as the body moves in accordance with a technique and choreography. Here, the dancer-reconstructor’s reflexive observations of reconstructions executed today can add to our knowledge about dance, style and context of the past.

20 Tomko, “Reconstruction,” 327-328.

21 Ibid. 23

The Historically Informed Performance/Early Music Movement

In today’s performance environments focusing on works of early opera, performers are able to research period music performance practice, instrument construction, vocal technique, staging and dance. Since the 1970s an early music movement has spearheaded an effort to rediscover music, mostly European and

European-influenced, from the medieval period through the Baroque—that is, from the earliest music compositions comprehensible through their music notation, through those composed in the eighteenth century. Part of this effort has been aimed at trying to develop a sound as close to that of the original as research will allow. This enabled a better understanding of the compositions through their intended sound, and of the cultural groups that produced and consumed them. This impetus extended to researching what original dance and other stage movement, sets and costumes were like.22 The early music, or historically informed performance movement has gained momentum since the mid-twentieth century, focusing predominantly on European pre-nineteenth-century composers and their works, such as Bach, Handel, and their predecessors, including

Praetorious and Monteverdi. Works by these composers have been known and reinterpreted for generations, thanks to periodic surges of interest since their time. It was not until the 1970s, however, that scholarship and performance activity in Latin

American music developed to a noticeable extent. Although interest in studying, playing,

22 Also see Harry Haskel, The Early Music Revival: A History (New York: Thames and Hudson, 1988); and Robert Donnington, Baroque Music Style and Performance: A Handbook (New York: Norton, 1981). 24 performing and recording early Latin American music is now on the rise, few works from

Latin American archives are widely known.

Emerging Interest in Latin American Early Music

As the early music movement has focused mainly on European music since its inception, many musicians are eager to expand their scope to understand and perform music written in the Americas and other places. The restricted access to archives in Latin

America has limited the distribution, study and performance of music from this region.

Writing in the mid-1960s, Juan A. Orrego-Salas stated,

The field of Latin-American music can still be designated a terra ignota. Various circumstances prevent a more rapid development of research in Latin-American music. … At present, the amount of published biographical and analytical monographs and histories of music available from Central and South America is inadequate as a musicological basis for general studies. … Large quantities of sacred and secular music from the Colonial Period still remain hidden in cathedral archives and episcopal libraries. Some of this material has been located and classified but not yet published; other works, including some major examples of sacred compositions and of early operas reported by chroniclers, have not even been traced.23

Since Orrego-Salas painted this bleak picture in the 1960s, some gains have been made in the study and performance of this music. In 2013, Simon Broughton wrote in notes for the Sinfini Music compact disc Baroque the Latin American Way, “Lying dormant for centuries and almost forgotten, Baroque music from Latin America is at last gaining its rightful place in history through new research and recordings.”24 Most of the

23 Juan A. Orrego-Salas, “The Acquisition of Latin-American Books and Music,” Notes, Second Series, Vol. 22, No. 3 (March 1966): 1008-09.

24 Simon Broughton, “Baroque The Latin American Way” (compact disc-related notes), Sinfini Music, March 15, 2013. http://www.sinfinimusic.com/uk/features/series/classical-connections/latin-american- baroque. 25 musicologists and musicians who study and bring this music to life are part of the larger early music, historically informed performance movement.

Early Dance Reconstruction’s Growth through Historically Informed Performance

Spurred in large part by the early music movement in the mid-twentieth century that was responsible for reviving music, period instruments, and playing techniques of the eighteenth-century and before, dance researchers and reconstructors took on the task of deciphering the prose and notation from extant historical dance sources, the bulk of which emanate from the eighteenth-century.25 Those who focused on Baroque dance

(roughly, seventeenth- and eighteenth-century European dance) included Shirley Wynne,

Wendy Hilton and her teacher Belinda Quirey, Angene Feves and Francine Lancelot, among others. In addition to textual sources, these researchers relied on their physical dance training and knowledge of dance techniques that evolved subsequently. Although they found that the later techniques differed, sometimes significantly, from what they were learning about the earlier lost style, the newer styles in which they had been trained provided dance researchers a place from which to backtrack to reconstruct the French

Noble style. They combined their intellectual and corporeal assumptions with physical experimentation in this process.

Rebuilding the Repertoire

Unlike many traditional dance techniques that are conscientiously passed down through generations, the court-based Baroque style evolved into other styles which were

25 Some of these and additional reconstructors specialized (and still do) in reconstructing Renaissance dance. There is overlap in interest in these periods.

26 aesthetically quite removed from the original.26 The writings of researcher-reconstructors make it clear that Baroque dance technique had been lost from bodily practice. Shirley

Wynne, in the film notes entitled Baroque Dance 1675-1725 poses, “When all living tradition has vanished, and life has changed utterly, how does a revivalist come to decisions which will give the abstract formalities of the past meaning for performers and audiences today?”27 She reiterates, “No live performance tradition passed down through generations of dancers has survived.”28

Since the original technique and aesthetics had been lost from inherited embodied practices, dance researchers in the latter half of the twentieth century reconstructed the

French Noble Style—generally referring to it as Baroque dance—by using the archive, consisting of dance treatises, notation, music and musicological works, iconography, and sources containing social and historical contextual information. Wendy Hilton noted that

“the notation was a shorthand system that showed, to some extent, what to do but not how to do it. The modern scholar must glean the ‘how’ primarily from verbal descriptions by eighteenth-century dancing masters and pictoral [sic] evidence.”29 For

Hilton and her teacher, Belinda Quirey, the “how” could not be found in any surviving embodied legacy, but thorough these archival texts.

26 Classical ballet, in France and bolero style of dance in Spain contain vestiges of the older style. A discussion of Noble Style’s fall from fashion is found in Chapter Four.

27 Shirley Wynne, Baroque Dance 1675-1725 (notes to accompanying film, Los Angeles, CA: UCLA, 1977), 2.

28 Ibid., 30-31.

29 Wendy Hilton, Dance and Music, xiii. 27

Generally speaking, my teachers represent a second generation of Baroque dance reconstructors; they include Catherine Turocy (student of Shirley Wynne), Thomas Baird

(student of Wendy Hilton), Ana Yepes (student of Wynne and Renaissance dance specialist, Barbara Sparti), Ken Pierce (self-taught through the texts, and along with Ana

Yepes, a member of Francine Lancelot’s company, Ris Danceries) and Dorothy Olsson

(student of Wendy Hilton and Angene Feves).30 As a descendant of this lineage of reconstructors, I possess their reconstructed repertoire of technique with its aesthetic and kinesthetic rules that my predecessors deduced through embodying the archive of primary sources in trial-and-error fashion.31

The pioneering early dance historian-reconstructors mentioned were part of the reconstruction’s emergence in academia through dance studies and musicology; however, many practitioners today are independent scholar-artists, sometimes without academic affiliation. This has meant that, to some extent, the people who are active in early dance reconstruction are not engaged in writing about it.

Additionally, since the time of these early scholars, there has been a shift in dance history scholarship from a focus on practice (methods and resulting objects) to theoretical grounds that have steered inquiry away from epistemological questions like, “How did they dance?” and “How can we know?” to issues of power, agency and identity, among

30 Historical dance reconstructors tend to be dancers and/or choreographers who are also, by necessity, dance historians. They provide historically informed dances for a variety of present-day performance situations including concerts, stage productions and film.

31 There are some minor differences and discrepancies in the interpretations between reconstructors. As a dancer, I acknowledge these and, where possible, choose to execute the technique according to the interpretation I feel is most appropriate for the particular dance or situation at hand. 28 others. This trend is consistent with broader scholarship and keeps dance history in conversation with the other veins of scholarship in pursuing critical theoretical questions to understand both past and present.

In spite of this turn, the practice of reconstructing early dance goes on, and its procedures and processes are not transparent. As interest in and staging of early opera and concerts containing early dance music has grown, dance is being produced for them, but the process of devising the dance behind the scenes is very rarely explained. This process, which takes a great deal of research, analysis and tailoring between music and choreography, is invisible—to scholarship and to audiences. Theoretical questions of power, agency and identity with regard to dance seem far more appropriate and intriguing when we have a carefully reconstructed idea of what the dancing in question was like, rather than merely a vague notion.

The Reconstruction of Choreographies

Reconstructing choreographies for dances in the opera provides visible references to dance information uncovered through the combined research in the archive and the repertoire, making these facets intelligible within and outside the dance community. In this study, the historical and ethnographic research steps described in Chapter One helped me to accomplish these reconstructions, the narratives of which, as well as supporting materials, are found in Chapter Four.

Dance reconstruction as a term can have multiple meanings. The term can signify the entire investigative and choreographic setting and staging processes of a dance; it can refer to a portion of that process; or it can represent the choreographic and/or the 29 performance result of that process. In this historical and ethnographic research process, I have referred to specific parts of the process separately, citing the research work entailed as archival research, interviews, performance and participant observation. These are methods and techniques frequently used by early dance reconstructors, though generally in a less formalized and documented way. I define choreography reconstruction as the discrete process of developing choreographic pieces to fit their cases’ formal contexts, with regard to both theme or narrative and music, through the use of appropriate step vocabularies and choreographic qualities, as determined by research.

An additional differentiation sometimes made with regard to “dance reconstruction” is whether the process is one of setting and executing original extant choreography as specified by a textual or human source, or whether it requires developing new choreography by interpreting historical information about steps, movement conventions, and musical structure and timing. The reconstruction procedure in this study has involved developing new choreographies based on extant notated dances from an eighteenth-century Spanish source, since the dances in the opera do not have extant choreographies, either in terms of notated dances or an embodied legacy of choreographies passed down and repeated over time.

Disciplinary Conversations

This study lies within the disciplines of performance studies and dance history. It engages with historically informed performance scholarship, much of whose deepest roots are found in musicology and dance and theater history. Standing alongside work on instrumental and vocal performance practice or dramatic speech and gesture, my 30 investigation is a case study of a reconstruction practice that is not widely known--one that will aid others in understanding and executing historical dance reconstruction.

As concerns dance studies specifically, this investigation focuses attention on formal characteristics and historical context. My work advocates for consideration of these factors in dance historical work. Through this study, I also join conversations about

Peruvian viceregal cultural history and dance history, expanding the discourse on the nature of the pre-republican era through the investigation of understudied dance, complicating notions of both colonial eradication of autochthonous practices and cultural fusion or mestizaje in the viceregal era.

Prior Studies and Relevant Literature

Among the resources I utilized in this investigation were secondary studies, performance videos, musical recordings and a twentieth-century performing edition of the opera’s musical score made from its extant original. These sources together provide the information necessary for the accurate assessment of the type of dancing relevant to

Venid, venid deydades.

The conceptual premise of my work is treated in Diana Taylor’s The Archive and the Repertoire: Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas. Anthropologist Paul

Connerton precedes Taylor in in looking at memory in terms these dual modes of information transfer. In How Societies Remember (1989), Connerton designates written modes of transfer as “inscribed,” and embodied means as “incorporated.” Taylor’s work, however, rests more specifically in how power structures affect what we know about the past, based on the historical relative valuing of these different modes of transmission. 31

Taylor rejects the notion that the tangible archive contains information of inherently greater value than that found in the repertoire of embodied practices, and she challenges the perception that the archive contains pristine, unmediated facts. In this work, she engages with colonialism and transculturation, arguing that both the textual archive and the embodied repertoire result from bias-inspired choices, political motivations and random accidents. Taylor’s insistence that the archive does not provide us with universal, complete and objective historical facts is echoed in Mary Louis Pratt’s

Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation; Carolyn Steedman’s Dust: The

Archive and Cultural History, and Jacques Derrida’s Archive Fever: A Freudian

Impression. These authors remind us that all archival documents are produced from the perspectives of their creators and thus represent subjective impressions. This is a particularly salient issue when dealing, as I am, with colonial subject-matter, and an archive largely produced and controlled by colonial authorities. Actualizing historical research based on archival information calls out for additional types of data that can confirm, challenge, and amplify it. With research related to culture and performance (and the especially physical endeavor of dance), complementing the archive with information from the repertoire seems an obvious choice.

Several related fields have long recognized that cultural information is contained within and passed down through non-archival systems; this awareness is a salient subject in anthropology, as The Body and Social Theory by Chris Shilling and Embodiment and

Experience edited by Thomas Csordas suggest. Dance studies specifically acknowledges that dance’s movement qualities and technical rules tend to be handed down through 32 embodied experience—through modeling and oral instruction by the teacher and repetition by the student. Several dance studies sources consider how bodily practices create and reflect meaning and identities and illustrate this through different methodological frameworks. In her text The Body, Dance and Cultural Theory, Helen

Thomas situates dance and the body as socially/culturally constructed phenomena which are, in turn, highly representational of their societies and cultures. In identifying ways to understand the body’s practices, dance anthropologist Sally Ann Ness, in Body,

Movement and Culture: Kinesthetic and Visual Symbolism in a Philippine Community

(1992), offers examples of how ethnographic participant observation functions seamlessly with the normal trial-and-error repetition of dance practice. Dance ethnographer Deidre Sklar proposes that the phenomenological experience of actually physically doing the thing that is the subject of study leads to an important kinesthetic empathy for it, as seen in “Invigorating Dance Ethnology” (1991). Both of these dance ethnographers’ concepts can be readily applied to dance across time or across space.

Theresa Jill Buckland brings together dance history and ethnography in her edited volume, Dancing from Past to Present: Nation, Culture, Identities (2006), which presents several scholars’ article-length studies on various dance styles and practices, most of them using combined historical and ethnographic strategies, as my work does. This compilation of examples purposefully excludes European-derived ideas of concert dance, and focuses on folk forms from several regions of the world and a few classical forms from Asia. Of most interest to me are the challenges presented when studying dance that has been transmitted over time solely through the repertoire, and the attention given to 33 both continuity in dances over time, as well as disruptions in facets of practices. These sources offer insights as to the value of the repertoire and guidance as to how it might be read. For the most part the contributors’ goals are to situate the practice of these dances in their present cultures, whereas mine is more directly to understand dancing in a past context.

Although dance ethnographers often focus on space—geography and location—as a principal factor of investigation, dance historians and reconstructors tend to deal with time—dates and history—as a primary concern. In both cases, dance scholars are generally attempting to understand dances that are somehow removed from them. Texts from dance history offer important ways to think about and research dance from different time periods. Dance historian-reconstructors such as Wendy Hilton in Dance and Music of Court and Theater: Selected Writings of Wendy Hilton (1997), and Lynne Matluck

Brooks in The Art of Dancing in Seventeenth-Century Spain: Juan de Esquivel Navarro and his World (2003) provide models not only for interpreting positions and movement from original dance treatises but also for contextual engagement with periods, places and circumstances of the treatises’ creation. Brooks, working in the less documented and studied area of Spanish dancing, goes beyond merely translating descriptions of steps that appear in the treatises and other dance sources with which she engages, but also frequently explains her physical interpretation of them. By providing such explanations, she does a great service to the field of dance history, as she submits for consideration 34 baseline understandings with which, and against which, others may experiment in coming to conclusions about individual step execution in early Spanish dancing.32

In “Beyond La Danse Noble: Conventions in Choreography and Dance

Performance at the Time of Rameau’s Hippolyte et Aricie” (2001), dance historian and reconstructor Catherine Turocy ponders the function of dance within this opera, reading the dance’s reception and meaning through the expression of its formal properties. Mark

Franko, dance historian and reconstructor, also considers the effect of dance on original audiences in Dance as Text: Ideologies of the Baroque Body (1993) and Acting on the

Past: Historical Performance Across the Disciplines (2000), co-edited with Annette

Richards, and suggests that reconstructing the audience’s affective reception can be the central focus and goal of reconstructive performance. This is not, however, the approach the present study pursues. Instead, I am interested in considering the formal characteristics that original audiences might have appreciated. Rather than attempting to elicit a response similar to that of the original audience through the use of modern

32 Lynn Matluck Brooks, The Art of Dancing in Seventeenth-Century Spain: Juan Esquivel Navarro and His World (Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 2003). Brooks presents Esquivel’s treatise (Discursos) in its entirety in Spanish and in English translation, and her own commentary on the work. She provides is a section on “Dance Steps” with descriptions of steps found in the treatise, and here Brooks makes it obvious that she has worked out the steps physically. In so doing she identifies gaps and inconsistencies in the textual descriptions and suggests how her physical interpretations made the steps’ execution feasible. One example of many comes from her description of the Contenencia: “To accommodate Esquivel’s instruction, noted above, that one foot might lift as the other stepped to the side, I shifted the weight sufficiently sideward over the right leg that the left could lift off, creating a pleasant movement of precarious balance” (103). A different reader may physically interpret Esquivel’s instructions somewhat differently, but Brooks’ explanations offer one perspective that might serve as a starting point for others—an important factor in the reconstruction of a lost repertoire. She later notes, “Having worked on reconstructions of a number of these dances, and having attempted every step Esquivel discusses, my performance and choreographic experience with this material has allowed me considerable insight into the nature of this dancing” (120). 35 choreography, I aim to reconstruct dances that allow me (and the audience) to contemplate the aesthetics and values of the past—even, and especially, when these are different from present tastes and performance expectations.

Performance studies, by forwarding the value of practice-as-research, effectively places what dance ethnographers, historians, and reconstructors have been doing squarely within a performative and corporeal turn in scholarship. Robin Nelson’s edited text

Practice as Research in the Arts (2013) provides helpful considerations to responsibly demonstrate and document research through artistic practice. The Cambridge

Companion to Performance Studies (2008), edited by Tracy C. Davis, brings together studies that highlight the value of hands-on experimentation and its documentation, as in

Baz Kershaw’s “Performance as Research: Live Events and Documents;” and note the growing international acknowledgement of the repertoire’s role in conveying cultural heritage (Diana Taylor’s “Performance and the Intangible Cultural Heritage”). Taylor’s exploration is expanded in The Archive and the Repertoire, where she additionally deals with cultural transmission in the Americas through the archive and the repertoire, touching upon notions of transculturation, mestizaje and hybridity—all essential considerations to the present study.

I study the case opera, Venid, venid deydades (1749) by Fray Esteban Ponce de

León, primarily through its musical score and libretto. Samuel Claro’s Antología de la música en América del Sur (1974) provides the standard default performance edition, edited to facilitate modern performance of the entire original work, which made the present study possible. Several secondary studies mention this work, but none treat it 36 exhaustively. There are no monographs about the opera, and there are no full chapters or journal articles dedicated to it. Samuel Claro’s Antología, and José Quezada

Macchiavello’s El legado musical del Cusco barroco (2004) briefly provide some technical musical points, and also contribute to contextual data about music performance in Seminaries in viceregal Peru. Likewise, Claro’s article “Música dramática en el Cuzco durante el siglo XVIII y catálogo de manuscritos de música del Seminario de San

Antonio Abad (Cuzco, Perú)” (1969) and Geoffrey Baker’s Imposing Harmony: Music and Society in Colonial Cuzco (2008) offer accounts of the milieu of performance in

Cusco’s seminaries and convents. Additional modern texts in music and theater history contribute to a contextual as well as technical understanding, including La música en el

Perú (2007) by Bolaños, Quezada Macchiavello, Iturriaga, Estenssoro, et. al., and

Guillermo Lohmann Villena’s sweeping work, El arte dramático en Lima durante el virreinato (1945).

This investigation has found only two instances of modern staged presentations of this opera. One was presented in Mexico City under the musical direction of Aurelio

Tello and choreographed by Magdalena Villarán as part of a concert production, “Una tarde barroca,” April 2, 2006. The other was presented in St. Paul, Minnesota in the

United States by the Baroque opera company, Ex machina, as part of a production entitled “Prohibited by order of the King,” April 10-12, 1992. It was directed by James

Middleton and choreographed by Alan Jones. Although there are no commercial videos of these events, Ms. Villarán and Mr. Middleton graciously offered their personal videos of their respective performances for this project. A performance program from the Ex 37 machina production further elucidates the historical understandings of the creative team

(including the choreographer) and its production goals. Both of these performances provided examples of historically informed performance and they exhibit different staging and choreographic choices, none of which were tracked or documented. It is also important to acknowledge that in both of these examples the dance reconstructions were conceived of as parts of larger entertainments, subject to production demands and expectations; they did not emanate from formal research projects. Nevertheless, both reconstructors based their work on period movement conventions.

As of this writing, a small handful of ensembles have recorded this opera.33 This study has considered two musical interpretations on compact disc--the first was recorded by the Camerata de Caracas, Isabel Palacios, director, on the disc Virreinato del Perú from the La Música del Pasado de América series, recorded and distributed by Banco

Mercantil in 1999. The other was recorded by Ensamble Louis Berger on the disc Ceruti,

Misa de Lima; F. Esteban Ponce de León, Venid Venid Deidades, recorded by Les

Chemins du Baroque-Argentine in 2000.34 These two recorded versions allow for the consideration of small differences in tempo, attack, and the timbre of players and singers-

-all qualities that can influence choreography and its execution. The dance reconstructions for this project were made utilizing the Camerata de Caracas recording.

33 I have identified four recordings of this work to date, although others could exist outside/apart from standard international search engines and library databases. Of course, it is not possible to assess how frequently pieces from the work appear in concert programs.

34 This second recording is conveniently available online on the video sharing site, Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z3wNJo1rtgE. 38

This study also relies on modern sources that treat dance in Peru during specific periods, such as Juan Carlos Estenssoro’s excellent book, Música y sociedad coloniales

(1680-1830) (1989) and three articles: “Música y comportamiento festivo de la población en Lima colonial” (1988); “Los bailes de los indios y el proyecto colonial” (1992); and

“La plebe ilustrada: el pueblo en las fronteras de la Razón” (1996). While Estenssoro’s work does not describe dancing or its aesthetics, it situates dance contextually within periods and social divisions. Additional anthologies and monographs published in Peru and internationally have added to an understanding of dance practices in both historical and contemporary contexts. These include Música, danzas y máscaras en los Andes

(1993), edited by Raúl Romero; Zoila S. Mendoza’s Shaping Society Through Dance:

Mestizo Ritual Performance in the Peruvian Andes (2000); Identidades representadas: performance, experiencia y memoria en los Andes (2001) edited by Gisela Cánepa Koch; and Heidi Carolyn Feldman’s Black Rhythms of Peru: Reviving African Musical Heritage in the Black Pacific (2006). These sources have been particularly instructive in considering the evolution of dancing in Peru.

Several sources on Peruvian history helped to situate the case opera in the social- cultural context of the period under review. Kenneth Andrien’s Andean Worlds:

Indigenous History, Culture and Consciousness under Spanish Rule, 1532-1825 (2001) offers even greater breadth in addressing colonial Peru than its already broad title might suggest, and provides a solid overall reference. In considering, more particularly, the mid-eighteen-century period, Charles F. Walker’s Shaky Colonialism (2008) and John

Fisher’s Bourbon Peru, 1750-1824 (2003), were particularly useful. Walker’s work 39 focuses a 1746 earthquake in Lima, and the reactions to it of the Bourbon leadership in both Peru and Spain, as well as of the Peruvian populace. This text, along with Fisher’s-- which provides an overview of political, economic and social conditions at mid- century—offer an understanding of Bourbon rule in Peru at mid-century, which influenced the production and performance of the opera.

Ethnic status, identity and power became important considerations in formulating ideas about dance characteristics and performance. Some of the works I relied on in this regard include Peter Wade’s Race and Ethnicity in Latin America (1997) which offered considerations as to how different groups might have seen themselves and each other, complicating purely racial identities and reminding that, for example, some of the black people who arrived in Peru were Spaniards. Peru’s indigenous population too was diverse in terms of geographic location, cultural group and language, but also in terms of maintaining a noble (Inca) and non-noble (indio) class structure during the colonial period. Maria Rostworoski’s edited text, Lo africano en la cultura criolla (2000) was helpful in identifying Afro-Peruvians’ concentration within the Viceroyalty, their work, and their uneven access to manumissions and various types of flex-status between slavery and freedom. Although Marisol de la Cadena’s Indigenous Mestizos (2000) investigates identity development of indigenous, European, and mestizo Peruvians in the twentieth century, this process is historically rooted in the colonial conquest. Importantly she focuses largely on how groups saw and identified themselves. Collectively these sources present a variety of historical and contemporary factors and trends regarding the 40 categorization, naming and controlling of groups during different eras that were useful to this study.

In attempting to understand the dancing of this time and place, texts from dance and performance studies offered methods and considerations salient to looking at history and lost dance objects. A variety of other fields, as well, offered historical and aesthetic insights about the time and place under review that could have influenced the dance’s character. The videos mentioned offered staging and choreographic choices to consider, and recorded music examples allowed me to hear different interpretations, the tempo and other qualities of which would have a bearing on choreography—all crucial considerations in dance reconstruction. The work of this investigation was also dependent upon primary sources which are described in Chapter One.

Structure and Content of the Dissertation

The structure of this dissertation reflects the methodological as well as conceptual points it investigates. Because a major aim of this study is to make the reconstruction process apparent--from initial research through choreographic reconstruction--the chapters are arranged largely in the order of the unfolding of this research and reconstruction project. All chapters and data in the appendix support this chronicling.

The chapters additionally elucidate the more conceptual issues with which this investigation engages as they arose in the research and practical processes.

Chapter One presents the methodology of this study and it carries particular weight since dance reconstruction is both an object and a subject of this work. That is, the process of dance reconstruction is studied here, as is the dance information it yields. 41

This chapter explains the procedures followed in this study—many of these are typical practices that early dance reconstructors use, though on a less studied and formal scale.

This section thus explains the historical and ethnographic research pursued in the course of the study, and also describes some of the very preliminary research that resulted in my selecting a case.

Historical background about the performance piece--the opera Venid, venid deydades—occupies Chapter Two. This chapter discusses the work’s purpose, performance context, historiography, narrative, and musical structure. In terms of my investigative process as well, it represents initial discoveries that fed additional reconstruction research. This section outlines the choice to reconstruct a minuet and a contradanza as historically informed dance examples for this opera—a choice that stems from both formal analysis and conceptual considerations of social context, identity, power, and exclusion.

With the opera case selected and delineated, Chapter Three presents information gleaned from a textual investigation into the presence of the two dance types, minuets and contradanzas, in written sources--first in Peru and then in the European dance archive. I offer here some theoretical observations about the nature of the archives generally, and how these assumptions relate to the types of sources I consulted from Peru and from Europe. While the Peruvian archive sheds little light on formal characteristics of these dances, it does provide evidence that the dances were known and used. In some cases the Peruvian sources offer indications as to how social “others” engaged with this type of dancing, or did not. For dance-specific formal data, I turn to the European 42 archive. Here there is an important cache of eighteenth-century sources from Spain largely based on those from France.

Next, Chapter Four considers how dance is conserved and communicated. Here, the repertoire becomes salient as I trace investigations into the repertoire of contemporary

Peruvian folkloric and Spanish Baroque dancing—for a general understanding of their formal elements and aesthetics, and to consider the how these compared with those of the identified French court style. How instructors conveyed movements and their meanings to students was salient in each case. This chapter also provides a more in-depth analysis of steps and formal elements of the two French dance types theorized for the opera’s reconstructions, offering a kinesthetic idea of how the repertoire has revived and embodied this extant archive, and more broadly to give the reader a sense of the aesthetics of minuets and contradanzas. Through these descriptions of predominantly ethnographic experiences, the benefits and limitations of both the repertoire and the archive come into relief.

Choreography reconstruction narratives for the minuet and contradanza I reconstructed are found in Chapter Five along with additional documentation involved in the process of building the dances using embodied knowledge of the style’s repertoire and specific choreographies from the archive together with the opera’s musical score and libretto. This account makes comprehensible the steps, choices, problems encountered and decisions taken along the way. While the methodological focus of this chapter is obvious, it also engages with the concept of combining and interpreting textual and 43 kinesthetic information into a physical product and chronicling this process in written language.

Language

All translations found within the manuscript are mine unless otherwise noted.

Some Spanish language inconsistencies result from various spellings found in primary sources. I have attempted to use original spellings from these texts and have generally not included the [sic] designation where they do not correspond to modern Spanish, as such instances are numerous.

In English, in some cases I have chosen to use terms such as “ladies” and

“gentlemen” as these terms are implied by the period’s dance treatises. I insert Spanish terms such as criollo/a and mestizo/a into English prose without italics, as equivalent words in English do not exist, and the French word “creole,” which is commonly used in

English, is inappropriate here, as it is sometimes construed to mean people or languages of mixed origin. I employ “criollo” as an adjective or noun to define people of Spanish heritage who were born in the viceroyalty, or something pertaining to them; I use

“mestizo” as an adjective or noun to describe people of mixed Spanish and indigenous lineage and cultural expressions pertaining to them.

The name identifying the city of Cusco, Peru has undergone changes in its official spelling. Although it was formerly spelled Cuzco, its spelling has been changed to better reflect pronunciation. When referring to the city itself, I spell it Cusco; however, I preserve the older spelling in quotations and titles that utilize it, and in referring to the principal character in the opera being studied, who is named Cuzco. 44

Limitations

While this investigation acknowledges and discusses other performative works, places, and periods, the dance reconstructions and their style are applicable specifically to the case opera, Venid, venid deydades. Two dances from the opera are selected for reconstruction; details regarding their selection appear in Chapter Two. The choreographic reconstructions’ formal qualities, steps and choreography are detailed in

Chapter Three, but the dances have not been set on dancers—they remain in a hypothetical or theoretical form, as logistics and costs precluded this additional step.

One limitation I encountered in the course of this investigation stems from a difference in approach between some of my informants and myself to understanding the past. My focus on historically informed dance reconstruction necessitated a linear, date- driven approach to the past in order to identify the dance styles of particular times. My

Peruvian folkloric dance informants, however, tended to be less concerned with when particular changes to dances had occurred or exactly how different influences had been incorporated; they were focused on the more salient, current form of the dance and preparing it appropriately for performance.35

My pursuit of periodized facts and their strong ties to European dance traditions represent a bias, which I acknowledge. Certainly, dance can be studied and appreciated in non-linear-historical ways. Yet I believe this approach to be necessary for historically informed dance reconstruction. I value what its results provide, yet I would also have

35 Raúl Romero, Debating the Past: Music, Memory, and Identity in the Andes (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2001). Ethnomusicologist Romero articulately describes the Andean tendency to conflate and reinvent historical cultural aspects. 45 liked to pursue reconstruction relying solely, or predominantly on information from the repertoire, which tends to conflate and sometimes re-invent the past with little regard for historicism. The two different approaches, and their choreographic outcomes, could then have been considered and compared. The limits of time and resources, however, prevented designing the study to accomplish this.

As this introduction demonstrates, reconstruction of early dance involves not only exploration of the historical archive but, unlike other types of historical study, it requires obtaining information from additional, non-verbal sources. Further, this is synthesized into choreographic works in accordance with given formal musical structures. The process here, is subject to both scholarly and creative analysis to trace new pathways to explore both this emergent methodology and the under-studied area of dance in the viceregal Peru.

46

CHAPTER ONE – METHOLODOGY

To investigate the dance conventions and aesthetics likely used in the opera

Venid, venid deydades, this study utilizes a historical dance reconstruction methodology, employing both historical and ethnographic approaches to investigate the performative practices in question through archival resources and what is known of the practical embodied repertoire. Such methodologies, while not formalized across historically informed performance situations, are commonly applied in historical dance reconstruction.

These standards or guidelines that I have learned from mentors and by “doing” include, where possible, to work from original dance sources rather than from translations; to investigate the sources’ creators, their reasons for producing their materials and their intended audiences; to understand/have training in dance/movement; to understand the music and music/dance forms of the period; to understand costume/clothing conventions of the period; and to understand the cultural/historical contexts of the dances (both social/court & theatrical). These ideas have been handed down to me by reconstructors with whom I have worked, and many originally emanate from pioneering early dance historians and reconstructors, several of whom came from the field of musicology. Ingrid Brainard and Julia Sutton, musicologists, and later

Barbara Sparti—all pioneers in (especially) Renaissance dance, notably called for and were instrumental in establishing scholarly standards in the study and reconstruction of historical dance.36 They and those specializing in other periods have suggested

36 As an example, see Ingrid Brainard,"Renaissance Dance Technique," in International Encyclopedia of Dance, Vol. 5, ed. Selma Jeanne Cohen (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 336-340. Also see 47 methodological practices both through their writings37 and, more directly, through the repertoire, passing on these standards through modeling and telling to the next generation of dancers and reconstructors. Additionally, dance reconstructor and educator Richard

Powers lists many of the aforementioned guidelines in the form of a useful reminder checklist on his website.38 A brief description within the article “How to Read a Dance

Manual,” found on the Library of Congress Dance Instruction Manuals webpage, offers a cursory overview.39

In practice, reconstructors mentioned in the Introduction to this dissertation, including Turocy, Baird, Olsson, Pierce Yepes and many more, internationally, follow their own rules, generally integrating some or all of these precepts. The principles tend to guide research and decision-making as reconstructors rebuild choreographies. Some choreographies may be reconstructed rather directly from primary notated sources with their extant music; where there is no surviving notation or otherwise described choreography, others are rebuilt indirectly by inserting applicable choreographic phrases based on what we know of notated dances into other dance music of the period. This

Barbara Sparti’s “Letter to Friends and Colleagues of SDHS,” https://sdhs.org/sparti-letter-12july2012.; Sparti’s article, “What Can Pictures Tell Us (And Not Tell Us) About Dance? Reading Italian Renaissance Dance Iconography,” in Proceedings of the Society of Dance History Scholars Twentieth Conference, Barnard College, June 1997 (Society for Dance History Scholars, 1997), 21–22.

37 Examples include Shirley Wynne and Dianne Woodruff, “Reconstruction of a Dance from 1700,” in Dance History Research: Perspectives from Related Arts and Disciplines The Proceedings of the Second Conference on Research in Dance, Warrenton, VA, July 1969 (Warrenton, VA: Congress on Research in Dance, 1969), 26-55. Other articles from the same conference are also of interest, including those by Brainard and Sutton.

38 Richard Powers’ “Guidelines for Dance Research and Reconstruction” on his Stanford University webpage at http://socialdance.stanford.e”du/syllabi/Reconstruction.htm. Last accessed February 24, 2015.

39 For the Library of Congress Dance Instruction Manuals webpage and article, “How to Read a Dance Manual,” see http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/dihtml/dihowto.html. Last accessed February 23, 2015. 48 process is often painstaking and almost never leaves a written trail to explain the procedures utilized or the choices made within them. Because relatively little is written about the process of historical dance reconstruction, I intend the present work to add transparency to the practice, suggesting steps and guidelines that proved important for this procedure.

I sought both contextual (exterior) and formal (interior) descriptive and prescriptive information to develop an understanding of dancing in this time and place– what it might have looked like and how it would likely have been executed. By examining textual sources that mention and describe dance and dancing, by studying dance styles and choreographic types physically, and by considering both types of sources in the contexts of the music and narrative of a chosen case opera, I was able to reconstruct an historically informed idea of what the dance in the case might have been like, formally and aesthetically.

As has been stated, in a scholarly investigation the dance reconstruction process itself is a research tool and a critical methodology for studying dance historical materials incisively. This hypothesis is neither provable nor disprovable, but by documenting my own process I suggest a model for other dance reconstructors, and I expose selected procedures of dance reconstruction correlated with recognized historical and ethnographic research techniques to academic scrutiny.

This historical and ethnographic dance reconstruction methodology is qualitative, but also inherently speculative and ultimately creative. Combining practices from dance history and ethnography affords several modes of inquiry; some are text-based, some are 49 movement-based and some are dependent on both types of sources. Where gaps in the textual and embodied information occur in the process of rebuilding historically informed dances, I made decisions and chose movement based on considered period norms and feasible kinesthetic possibilities. This study thus employs archival research, interviews, performance observation, participant observation and choreography reconstruction, each of whose useful elements and limits are described below.

Modes of Analysis

The modes of analysis applied to source data are historical and aesthetic. The written sources used in this study provide references to and descriptions of dance in

Peru’s colonial period. They serve to ascertain the types of dancing that might have taken place in the case under review. Because dance information is in the Peruvian archive of this time is relatively scant, I searched for indications concerning dance rather broadly, considering even fragmentary citations suggesting the circumstances under which a dance was performed, the formal qualities it had, including whether and how these examples might have related to dances in the opera case. I scrutinized the primary and secondary texts for their historical and social contextual information, and I examined the formal evidence in these sources through musical and/or dance analysis. During this process I considered the sources’ creators, their possible biases, their expertise, their reasons for producing the texts and their intended audiences.

Historical Modes of Analysis - Primary Sources

Primary sources provided musical and dance data in this research, but they were also mined for contextual information about the culture in which this opera and its dances 50 occurred. As the next chapter discusses, two of the pieces in Venid, venid deydades are marked “minuet,” referring to a French dance of the Noble Style. These are the only pieces labeled with a dance type. For this reason primary Peruvian references to that dance type and to other dances of the French Noble Style were of particular interest.

Such allusions are found in Pedro de Peralta Barnuevo’s play La Rodoguna (1727),40 which mentions and calls for the dancing of a variety of French Noble Style dances.

Other eighteenth-century sources offer insights into the minuet’s popularity and its use in social and religious circumstances in Peru. These include the letters and synodal constitutions of Lima’s Archbishop Pedro Antonio Barroeta y Angel from 1751 to 1758 in Constituciones synodales (1754) and Carta pastoral (1756). The Archbishop’s views, including those regarding the minuet, parallel those of noted Spanish Enlightenment writer Fray Jerónimo Benito Feijóo y Montenegro in his essays in Teatro crítico universal (1726–1739) and Cartas eruditas y curiosas (1742-1760). Moreover, mentions of these dances as well as of indigenous dances in official spectacles appear in Pedro de

Peralta Barnuevo’s Jubilos de Lima y fiestas reales (1723), Fernandez de Castro’s Elisio

Peruano (1725), and in Ignacio de Castro’s Relación del Cuzco (1788). These records document both religious and civil celebrations in Lima and in Cusco. They are instructive as a window into how dancing was presented at such occasions and by what social and ethnic groups. They suggest that relatively little interaction took place

40 This work is dated variously in different sources. I have dated it 1727 based on Juan Antonio Rodríguez Garrido’s “El teatro cortesano en la Lima colonial” Histórica 32, 1 (2008): 117. He further explains his reasoning in “La fecha de composición de La Rodaguna de Pedro de Peralta y su significado politico,” in Reflexión en la América virreinal, ed. José Pascal Buxó (Mexico City: UNAM 2007), 375-399.

51 between these groups. These sources, which Chapter Three discusses in greater depth, inform the reader on cultural history and engage with more theoretical questions of ethnic identity and colonial power.

Some original historical sources discuss the race of performers, alluding to minuet dancing by members of the black community in the Viceroyalty; however, these authors do not describe the characteristics of the dances. The writings of Josephe de Mugaburu

(Diario de Lima 1640-1694) and Barroeta (Constituciones synodales (1754)) and notes in the newspaper Gazeta de Lima, published between 1744 and 1767 mention black dancing in relation to confraternity activities. The latter two sources also reference black dancing masters working in Lima and the social dancing occasions they inspired in mulatto and black communities.

News journals from the late eighteenth century provided commentary on Peruvian culture. Members of the emerging criollo elite published these news journals with semi- anthropological opinion pieces. Mercurio Peruano, which began publication in 1790, featured articles on the dance and music of different domestic genres. The appearance of these publications like these coincided with a heightened period of repression of performance and popular culture in the Viceroyalty that the journalists tended to oppose.

Aesthetic descriptions of dances are brief, but, as Chapter Three demonstrates, these articles provide evidence of ethnic association with specific dances and social attitudes about them.

I found no Peruvian historical sources that offered instructions for dances of the

French Noble Style such as the minuet, so I consider Spanish primary dance sources of 52 the eighteenth century, published to capitalize on an evident public thirst in Spain for

French dance style. To understand how dance and dance aesthetics changed over time, I consulted both seventeenth-century and eighteenth-century Spanish dance sources. Juan de Esquivel Navarro’s Discursos sobre el arte del danzado (1642) is the only known instructional dance book published in Spain during the seventeenth century. Discursos, together with an unpublished choreographic manuscript by Juan Antonio Jaque, Libro de danzar de don Baltasar de Rojas Pantoja (ca.1680) give an indication of step vocabulary and choreographic conventions of that time.

Eighteenth-century sources offered their readers a different style. Pablo Minguet e Yrol’s Arte de danzar a la francesa, initially published with Explicación del danzar a la española and later updated and published alone; El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española; Breve tratado de los passos del danzar a la española, que oy se estilan en las seguidillas, fandango y otros tañidos; and Quadernillo curioso, de veinte contradanzas nuevas were published between the 1730s and the mid-1760s. Bartholomé Ferriol y

Boxeraus’s Reglas útiles para los aficionados a danzar appeared in 1745. Both Minguet and Ferriol copy and interpret portions of seminal French treatises, which are also important to this study, as their descriptions sometimes make the Spanish works clearer and sometimes differ from them, perhaps signaling a stylistic modification on the part of the Spaniards. These relevant French sources include Raoul-Auger Feuillet’s

Chorégraphie, ou l'art de décrire la danse (1700), which laid out the most widely used dance notation system of the French Baroque (the Spanish sources also used this system, along with modified versions), and Pierre Rameau’s Le Maître à danser (1725), which 53 further elaborated on many of Feuillet’s precepts and explicitly described step execution and choreographies (including minuets). Textual sources from Europe point more directly to the dance aesthetics of the dance types associated with Venid, venid deydades.

The more sparse descriptions of dances in general in the Peruvian archive may signal a lack of first-hand practical knowledge or a subtle ambivalence about them on the part of the archive’s lettered elite contributors. Chapter Three discusses the variety in clarity and descriptiveness of dance materials in the archive, and I cite these eighteenth-century

Spanish sources directly for their notated choreographic material in Chapters Four and

Five.

Aesthetic Modes of Analysis

In this study, modes of analysis associated with music and dance served to clarify the formal aspects of the music and dance within and related to the opera under investigation. These modes include analysis of the opera’s musical score as preserved in

European music notation. The score reveals musical structures, key signatures, meters, written tempo indications, and in two instances, written labels of a dance type—the minuet. Determining through their formal features that these were standard minuets in the French style, rather than creatively named inventions, was essential to this process.

Because of their direct influence on the formal elements of the dances they would accompany, I analyzed these formal factors in the music. I also studied song lyrics of the individual arias embedded in the musical scores for contextual information about the opera’s narrative; they are indications as to how the specific arias I studied and re- choreographed fit into the larger work. 54

To consider formal elements of these dances, I also employed aesthetic modes of analysis. Because the opera includes a stated dance-type that developed in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Europe, my investigation mined European dance manuals and manuscripts for the formal dance information they contain in prose, in dance notation, and in music notation. I consider indications of step vocabulary and execution, entire choreographies, numbers and genders of dancers, floor patterns and spatial use, and timing with music as attributes in the kinesthetic phases of this study by embodying them, especially in the process of reconstructing choreographies.

I further analyzed minuets and contradanzas, two dance types that seemed particularly applicable to Venid, venid deydades, based on my historical and formal research, using the Laban Movement Analysis (LMA) system. LMA represents an aesthetic mode of analysis, which lends a recognized vocabulary of movement qualities to the task of describing dance.41 This system also provides a comparative matrix that can function as an observer’s checklist for considering the same aspects or qualities for each dance examined. Such qualities can later be compared, step-to-step, dance-to-dance or more generally, genre-to-genre to inform the reconstruction process. Where pertinent,

I use vocabulary and concepts as they relate to the LMA elements of body, effort, shape and space. LMA considers the Body in terms of center of gravity, bodily attitude/stance, movement initiation, connectivity, parts of the body emphasized—parts active and held,

41 LMA is a system built on the work of Rudolf Laban in the early and mid-twentieth century and further developed subsequently by Irmgard Bartenieff and others. Peggy Hackney offers a concise presentation of LMA principles in Making Connections: Total Body Integration through Bartenieff Fundamentals (New York: Routledge Publishers, 1998). 55 and sequencing of movement through the body. Effort studies dynamics and attitude as discerned through flow, weight, time and space effort. Shape focuses on basic bodily forms and directional movement (such as spoke-like, arc-like, carving), along with qualities of rising, sinking, advancing and retreating. It examines Space in terms of facings, directions, pathways, dimensions of spatial pulls of movement in space, and kinesphere size. Dances, whether reconstructed from notation, viewed in performance, or attempted in classes, can be considered and compared using this system, as Chapter Four demonstrates. The presentation of reconstruction narratives in Chapter Five also engages with this analysis.

In order to easily capture this information during fieldwork throughout this study,

I created an LMA worksheet with word prompts for qualities related to the various LMA elements to be considered. I used these and a separate dance worksheet filled out for each of the dances or dance types studied (in this and in other ethnographic phases) with spaces to note LMA-related qualities and other formal and descriptive attributes (name of dance; region of origin; number/gender of dancers; floor pattern descriptions; types of movement (individual, unison, canon, solos, groupings); dancer interaction; associated narratives; predominant gestures; nature of repetition; costumes; props; and music— instrumentation, meter, tempo, motifs, structure, dynamics, coincidence with choreography). Although I limited my comments to relevant aspects for each dance considered, the sheets together reminded me of possible aspects of importance.

Appendix A contains a sample of each type of worksheet. 56

Moreover, as this study takes as its basis the cited opera, that work, together with its musical score and libretto, are of paramount importance. A combination of historical and aesthetic analysis have allowed for both an understanding of the formal characteristics of the opera and its probable dance, and of the culture that employed them as expressive behaviors. Detailed descriptions of my research methods follow, offering a map of my historical and ethnographic journey that included archival research, interviews, performance observation, participant observation and choreography reconstruction.

Individual Methods

Archival Research

This journey began with textual sources. Working backward from citations in secondary modern musicology, theater, and cultural history sources, I identified primary sources that I thought might offer more dance information than secondary authors had utilized. As the modern sources were not primarily about dance, it seemed likely that their authors might have neglected to report on dance-specific data in pursuit of their main areas of focus. Using internet, journal and book searches, I identified the libraries and archives in Lima and Cusco that housed the primary sources I wanted to review. I contacted these libraries and archives when possible in order to introduce myself and ask about admittance procedures. I received only a few responses to my inquiries, but these at least gave me places to begin in each city, and I was able to begin my fieldwork in

Peru armed with my identification documents, letters of introduction from my university, passport-sized photos of myself and the fees for reader’s cards. In some cases I was able 57 to contact and/or physically approach repositories I had identified earlier but had been unable to contact.

While in Peru, I received additional suggestions about potentially helpful sources from interviewees and from sources within the libraries and archives. The sources listed in the libraries’ and archives’ catalogues, when available, provided lists of potentially useful published sources on festivals, music, theater and dance by topic. As a preliminary step, I also searched for the interesting sources I found in online databases and catalogues for university libraries to which I would have access in the United States.

This step enabled me spend precious time with sources that would have been inaccessible otherwise. I made notes on these sources and requested copies of book and document excerpts as well as articles when I wanted more complete information. Several locally published sources were unavailable elsewhere, including journal articles and conference papers in national and regional publications on dance, music and festive life during the colonial era. Research for this study was conducted at the Biblioteca Nacional del Perú, the Archivo General de la Nación, the Archivo Central of the Instituto Nacional de la

Cultura in Lima, the Biblioteca del Centro Bartolomé de las Casas and the Archivo

Departamental in Cusco. I obtained additional primary and modern texts and facsimile manuscript copies used for this investigation from colleagues and libraries in the United

States.

My access to sources in the archive and their components directly affected my choice of cases. I began this project wondering about the dancing associated with La púrpura de la rosa, the first opera written and performed in the Americas, wondering if 58 the archive held any clues about the dance music originally used for its 1701 performance, data about the performers, or any allusions to its dancing. Operas at this time traditionally included dancing, and it is not unlikely that this one would have as well. It is not unusual for dance music to be separated from instrumental or vocal music, as it was sometimes composed separately from the main score, and dancers frequently prepared for performance separately from singers’ rehearsals.42 The original score is preserved in the Biblioteca Nacional de Lima, but I found no references to additional dance music, performers or to the dance aesthetics. Modern productions of this piece have utilized the music of Ruiz de Ribyaz (or other Spanish composers with Latin

American connections) to supplement the score with dances. I ultimately selected a different opera, Venid, venid deydades for this expository study because it had extant dance music and consequently, more context to support the dance’s reconstruction.

Despite the robust environment for musical theater performance in viceregal Peru that primary and secondary sources depict, very little theatrical music survives, and the few known examples that do exist are housed in the archive of the Seminary of San

Antonio Abad to which I could not gain access.43 This is the repository that houses the

42 Peggy L. Murray, “Exploring the Difficulties in Employing Historically Informed Choreography in Contemporary Productions of Early Opera” (Master’s Thesis, SUNY Brockport, 2006), 51, 86, 93-94. This observation, commonly acknowledged in historically informed performance circles, is bolstered by Irene Alm, “Winged Feet and Mute Eloquence: Dance in Seventeenth-Century Venetian Opera” Cambridge Opera Journal 15, 3 (2003): 216-280; John S. Powell, “Musical Practices in the Theater of Moleire” Reveu de Musicologie, 82 (1996), 5-37; and Heidi Waleson, “Baroque Dance: A Handful of Period Dancers Keep the Baroque Tradition Alive” Early Music America 5, 4 (Winter 1999-2000), 20-25, 38-39, 46-48.

43 I emailed and called the facility and got no replies. When I approached the archive personally (the archive at the time of my fieldwork was located at the library of the University of San Antonio Abad), I was told that I would need to apply for admittance through several levels of the ecclesiastical authorities, some of whom were in Cusco and some in Lima. My short fieldwork timeframe made this impossible. This experience was later corroborated by my José Quezada Macchiavello interview September 17, 2010. 59 original score of Fray Ponce de León’s opera serenata Venid, venid deydades (1749).44

Fortunately, I was able to find the authoritative performance edition for the work produced by Samuel Claro from the original.45 This opera includes dance music in the score, and pieces are marked as such, as they are in the original).46

Thus, the archive provided the source material that I would investigate deeply in order to build a conception of its missing dance. Textual information continued to inform both the conceptual and formal flanks of research throughout. In addition to these sources, knowledgeable experts provided a living perspective on opera, theater and dance viceregal Peru. Procedures I used in conducting interviews with those experts follow.

Interviews

When engaged in archival research, an investigator deals with static sources that do not permit interaction, whereas interviews afford the possibility to probe particular points with informant sources, to ask follow-up questions and to request examples in order to more fully understand the respondents’ perspectives. To advance my contextual and formal knowledge about dance in Peru during the period under review, I sought interview subjects who were scholars in related fields and whose work touched on dance performance, along with specialists in Peruvian dance. I identified several experts in

Peru through their published works, which I had read before beginning my fieldwork.

Other interviewees were suggested by contacts active in Peruvian music and dance. I

44 Claro, Antología and Quezada, El legado place this work in this archive.

45 Ibid. Claro.

46 Confirmed by Prof. Quezada, José Quezada Macchiavello interview September 17, 2010. 60 became aware of still others while in Peru through finding texts they had published, and another through listings for his dance company’s performances. Participants were a librarian/archivist, a musicologist and musician, an ethnomusicologist, a communications studies specialist and performance producer, a cultural anthropologist, a theater historian and two folkloric dance specialists.

All interviews were planned, face-to-face situations. I prepared and used semi- structured interview instruments with questions tailored to the expertise of each respondent (see translated excerpts in the appendix). In some instances, interviews with dance specialists functioned as dance classes, where movement modeling, appropriation and correction could occur. In some cases, I gathered additional data through follow-up meetings, telephone calls or emails. With the informants’ consent, and where technologically possible, I recorded the interviews. While some recordings were audio, videorecording was useful in dance-driven interviews, where interview participants explained and illustrated movement kinesthetically; I also composed notes after those interviews. When interviews were not recorded, I captured conversations in written notes and email correspondence. The interviews were conducted between September, 2010 and July, 2012. Some took place in Lima and Cusco, Peru, while others were completed in the U.S., in Ellensburg, Washington. I describe these interviews and their contribution to this project in the following paragraphs.

I had made arrangements before my arrival in Peru to meet with Mr. Guillermo

Durand, a researcher at the Instituto Nacional de la Cultura and former archive director at the Archivo Nacional del Perú (now the Archivo General de la Nación). We met at the 61

Instituto Nacional de la Cultura in Lima (San Borja) on September 6 and 25, 2010, and at the Museo Nacional de la Cultura Peruana in central Lima on September 28, 2010. Mr.

Durand was quite pessimistic that there was much information available on the period I was studying and suggested that focusing on the nineteenth-century would bring better results! As it turned out this researcher was quite knowledgeable about the music and dance of the later period, and over the course of a few more meetings he supplied, especially, musical and visual sources and information that pertained to Afro-Peruvian music and dance as it was captured in the nineteenth century, as well as evidence of how they evolved into some of the most popular of Peru’s folklor (folk or folkloric) dances of today. I found that by using this formal and contextual data as a comparative resource in questioning the more European dance style of the opera, the aesthetics and social positioning of the latter appeared in higher relief. Additionally, as is delineated in

Chapter Four, nineteenth-century European dance characteristics seem more present in

Peruvian popular dance of the republican era than do the earlier court styles previous to this one.

I interviewed José Quezada Macchiavello, a musicologist, musician, professor and author at his home in the Lince section of Lima on September 17, 2010. An expert on Peruvian Baroque music, he authored chapters covering music in the Viceroyalty in

La música en el Perú. During our interview he identified different European styles present in Peruvian compositions and spoke to the importance of dance rhythms in some liturgical music, in secular villancicos (a popular song genre that encompassed religious subjects), and in theatrical works produced in churches, seminaries and convents in 62

Peru’s seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. One of the few people to have had access to the important musical archive of the Seminary of San Antonio Abad, and to the original score for Venid, venid deydades, he published a catalogue of the archive’s holdings in his

El legado musical del Cusco barroco. Prof. Quezada attested to the difficulty of gaining access to this archive and prepared me for the likelihood that I would be unable to visit it.

He was also able to confirm the reliability of the corresponding modern musical source to which I did have access, reassuring me on the faithfulness of Samuel Claro’s performance edition of Venid, venid deydades, which I subsequently used. I discuss much of the content of our conversations and of Quezada’s books in terms of historical information about the opera, its archive, and musical trends of the time in Chapter Two.

I became aware of ethnomusicologist Raúl Romero through his books Música, danzas y máscaras en los Andes, which he co-edited, and Debating the Past: Music,

Memory and Identity in the Andes. I reached him through the website of the ethnomusicology department he directs at the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú

(PUCP) and met him October 1, 2010 at his music department office in the Chorrillos section of Lima. Dr. Romero was friendly but seemed convinced that he had little to contribute to my work from his perspective in contemporary ethnomusicology. I was very drawn to the ideas he proposed in Debating the Past about the ways in which the past is memorialized and practiced in Andean communities. This topic is addressed in

Chapter Four. I did not, however, have much success in getting Dr. Romero to elaborate on this issue when we spoke. He was very helpful in providing me with names and private telephone numbers and email addresses of people he thought I should speak with 63 and insisted that I use his name as the referrer. This led to contacts with individuals with whom I likely would not have had been able to meet otherwise.

The first of expert Dr. Romero recommended was anthropologist José Carlos

Vilcapoma, the Deputy Minister of Culture. Dr. Vilcapoma is also the author of La danza a través del tiempo en el mundo y en los Andes, a book I encountered while in

Peru. We intially met at Dr. Vilcapoma’s office at the Ministerio de la Cultura, but due to repeated interruptions, he invited me to meet with him instead at his home a few days later in Lima’s Miraflores section, on October 8, 2010. There we discussed his work as it relates to dance. Dr. Vilcapoma’s dance book mentions European dance as a component of Peruvian “traditional” or “folkloric” dancing, yet his overriding interest is the contribution of the pueblos originarios (native groups). At his home, from his personal library, he made me copies of pertinent book excerpts and articles. These texts and Dr.

Vilcapoma’s perspectives inform the more contextual aspects of my work.

Another of Raúl Romero’s recommended contacts was Luis Peirano, Dean of the

Communications College at PUCP and later Peru’s Minister of Culture. I interviewed

Dr. Peirano at a coffee house in Lima (Barranco) on October 4, 2010 to investigate his research and involvement in productions of autos sacramentales (Spanish sixteenth- and seventeenth-century spectacular outdoor religious plays that were the culmination of solemn Corpus Christi street processions). Dr. Peirano’s aim was not to reconstruct these works with historical accuracy; he was probing aspects of performance that transcend historical periods—questions about the nature of performance and about the role of performance in identity construction. This theoretical consideration is salient to my work 64 and my wondering about identity, memory and the repertoire, in particular. I take up these issues in Chapter Four. While he did not have specific interest or expertise in viceregal music, theater or dance, he provided ideas about the nature of performance and some types of viceregal spectacles.

I also interviewed theater historian, professor and author José Antonio Rodríguez

Garrido after reading his dissertation, Teatro y poder en el palacio virreinal de Lima

1672-1707 and viceregal theater history text, El teatro cortesano en la Lima colonial: recepción y prácticas escénicas. I interviewed Dr. Rodríguez in his office at the PUCP

(main campus in the San Miguel section of Lima) where he is on the faculty on October

7, 2010. During our conversation, Dr. Rodríguez identified examples of viceregal-era

Peruvian theatrical texts that refer to European dances and also confirmed that, although the texts for many comedias and even operas from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries survive, their music has largely been lost. We discussed indigenous dancing at festive celebrations and he directed me to likely period sources that would mention it. He was skeptical about some of the scholarship in currency regarding early theater and opera. By putting into question a few of my contextual assumptions based on this scholarship, Rodríguez encouraged me to consider wider possibilities, especially with regard to the performers in viceregal Peruvian stage productions. Among these perceptions was the belief that female singer-actresses dominated the stages of the

Viceroyalty. Although this appears to have been a convention in Spain, and in the Lima opera La púrpura de la rosa in 1701, Dr. Rodríguez problematized this assumption by, among other arguments, pointing to consistently larger numbers of men than women on 65 theatrical company rosters in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.47 My interaction with Rodríguez and his work informed my understanding of the climate for performance in the eighteenth century and the nature of some of its genres. These are explored in

Chapters Two and Three.

Upon arriving in the city of Cusco I contacted several folkloric dance companies via email. Some had been recommended to me by Lima contacts, some I found listed in online directories, and some were listed in cultural center programs, posters, and advertising. Through email exchanges I met José Luque, a Peruvian dance specialist and instructor at Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad del Cusco and PERUDANZA company director. Mr. Luque invited me to attend company performances, to participate in classes and rehearsals and to interview him on a separate occasion. In exchange for this access we agreed to my teaching a few classes as a guest to expose his dancers to some different styles of dancing. I conducted formal interviews, including questions that sprang from watching his company perform and from my participation in company classes and rehearsals. These interviews with Mr. Luque took place on November 8, 9 and 15, 2010 at the Alianza Francesa, which the company uses for its rehearsals. Here he shared with me his understandings about the origins and development of the dances that I came to know in PERUDANZA’s repertoire which includes dances from different regions of Peru. We also discussed tendencies of bodily use in dances of different regions, and how these related to the history and geography of the most important topographical and cultural zones--designated as the costa, sierra, and selva (coast,

47 José Antonio Rodríguez Garrido interview October 7, 2010. 66 highlands, and jungle). Because of the need to physically clarify some of the movement characteristics discussed, some interviews took a kinesthetic turn and involved responses that were gestures or steps, or examples provided by his modeling and my copying his movement, as discussed in Chapter Four.

A similar physical and verbal interplay characterized my interview with Fabiola

Serra, the director of Tusuy Perú, a Peruvian dance company based in Ellensburg,

Washington in the United States. Ms. Serra is the acquaintance of a dance colleague of mine in the Seattle area who arranged a workshop that included musicians, dancers

(including Ms. Serra and myself) and a Latin American studies class at Central

Washington University in Ellensburg. After watching Ms. Serra’s company rehearse and perform, I formally interviewed her regarding the dances that they performed and her understandings of the histories of these and some other common Peruvian folkloric dances at Central Washington University in Ellensburg on June 25 and 26, 2010. Dance by dance, she verbally described and physically demonstrated some basic characteristics of each, explaining and coaching until I was able to approximate movements, steps or combinations. Many of the dances and their features as she described them coincided with those I had previously seen and/or worked with in Cusco with PERUDANZA.

The interviews whose main value was in connecting me to archival and other human sources are easily discernable in the evaluation process. I scrutinized and judged the information directly related to dance that I had collected during the interview process, like that gathered through archival research from textual sources, for its reliability and accuracy. I considered whether the information amassed was corroborated elsewhere; 67 whether the respondent might be merely stating a prevalently held attitude or offering a considered perspective; and whether his or her assessments seemed plausible and research methods reasonable. Unlike textual sources, which are non-reactive, with ethnographic interviews I was frequently able to pursue with a musicologist or a dance teacher why he said what he did, or held a particular belief, thereby exploring his thought and research process.

Performance Observation

To enhance my knowledge about Peruvian dancing and how it related to the historical dances I was investigating, if at all, I attended performances of Peruvian folkloric dances. A first observation, and a pleasant one, was that everyday twenty-first century Peruvians esteemed and appreciated folk dancing, and that it was not merely a novelty enjoyed by foreign tourists. The many folkloric dance groups in Lima and in

Cusco do not make a point of stating that they are presenting historically informed or reconstructed historical dances; however, it seems commonly understood that the dances they perform have roots in the past—most of them in the colonial past—and that they are examples of mestizaje, a mixing of cultural traditions that have resulted in something distinct from its original components.

Observing presentations of these dances in Lima and Cusco the year before I began my formal fieldwork helped familiarize me with the aesthetics and themes of some of the popular dances. During fieldwork, I viewed presentations in both cities more critically, taking notes, and in some cases, (with prior permission) recording performances on video. I utilized dance worksheets and LMA worksheets that I had 68 developed to be able to quickly record characteristics of the dances and to remind me to consider and comment on a variety of aspects that I could later compare to other presentations of the same dance, and to other dances.

Performances that I engaged with ethnographically included a presentation by the group Las Brisas de Titicaca, performed for a political fundraiser for the Lima mayoral race at the nightclub La Candelaria in the Barranco section of Lima on September 5,

2010; a regular (daily) performance by the center’s dance troupe at the Centro Qosqo de

Arte Nativo cultural center in Cusco on October 16, 2010; and a Festival de Danzas featuring PERUDANZA at the Teatro Municipal in Cusco on October 25, 2010. My field notes, printed programs, annotated dance worksheets, LMA worksheets and videos allowed me to perform surface analysis of the movement I had observed and to begin to associate particular characteristics to one type of dance or another—an essential part of developing an awareness of the formal qualities of these dances. As Chapter Four shows, however, watching dances alone, even with a sharp analytical focus, did not adequately instruct me as to how the body executes particular movements. For this, I relied on participant observation.

Participant Observation

Because I was interested in exploring the dancing in viceregal Peru and in looking at how dance comes down through the repertoire, an additional component of ethnographic inquiry consisted of experiencing the dance styles through my body. By placing myself physically within the dance setting I could examine movement closely, both intellectually and kinesthetically. I participated in classes and rehearsals with the 69 folkloric dance company PERUDANZA, and in workshops on Spanish Baroque dance. I was able to understand the dances–their formal characteristics and choreographic conventions--in a dramatically more profound way than I could have by simply observing performances of those dances.

I began this project with the assumption that although European dance traditions might have been most visible in official and formal situations, indigenous, Afro-based and hybrid forms of dancing were also present within colonial culture. So that I could explore the aesthetics of folk and popular dances of various regions in Peru and to learn about their step patterns, conventions, and understood histories, the Peruvian dance company PERUDANZA kindly allowed me to participate in classes and rehearsals and to observe its performances unobtrusively in Cusco, Peru between October 25, 2010 and

November 29, 2010. PERUDANZA specializes in performing traditional dances from various regions of the country. I completed a similar study two years later with a

Peruvian dance group based in Ellensburg, Washington, in the United States. In both of these experiences with Peruvian dancing I was challenged to hone a new sense of bodily and movement coordination in response to new rhythmic patterns—facets of movement that I had overlooked when observing the dances but which were apparent when actually doing the steps and associated movements. As I did with the Spanish Baroque dance study, I captured excerpts from these participant observation experiences on video, documented them in ethnographic field notes and analyzed them using LMA. Again, by using my worksheets I could quickly make notes on a dance while it was performed or 70 shortly after I saw or danced the dances. Chapter Four describes the findings of these opportunities.

In order to experience Spanish Baroque dance, I participated in workshops in

Mexico City with master teacher Ana Yepes July 5-10, 2010 and August 8-13, 2011.

While I am very familiar with French Baroque dance, I wanted a stronger and more nuanced working knowledge of Spanish Baroque dance, including its texts, the step vocabulary they prescribe, and the rules of posture and comportment they convey. I also needed to know more about the points on which the texts are silent, the gaps in information that reconstructors deal with, and the places at which they must make

“educated guesses.” This experience informed my understanding the types of dances that would likely have been associated with the official culture—the religious/civil establishment—during Peru’s viceregal period, though earlier than my opera case. My approach to these opportunities was thus focused more on dance technique, choreography, how these were taught, and my grasp of them as a participant and observer, and less on understanding the dance workshops as social communities to be studied. As such, both seeing how Yepes interpreted archival resources physically and drew connections to additional sources, mining them for possibilities (discussed in

Chapter Four) was instructive as a reconstruction procedure. Excerpts from these participant observation experiences were captured on video. All have been documented in ethnographic fieldnotes and analyzed using LMA as an observational and descriptive analysis tool. 71

An additional participant observation occasion that contributed to this study was an early music workshop, where I was able to reconstruct and set on dancers complete original choreographies, portions of which I would use to reconstruct the two dances for

Venid, venid deydades. This opportunity was the historical dance component of the

Amherst Early Music Festival Winter Weekend Workshop, a gathering convened at

Rutgers University Camden, NJ campus, January 18-21, 2013. At this workshop, co- taught with Dr. Dorothy Olsson, an experienced historical dance reconstructor, I encountered physical, logistical problems, as well as surprises that occur in bringing choreography from the page to the stage, in an exercise that brought together the archive and the repertoire. Several of these instances are noted in narratives of the reconstructions in Chapter Five, along with solutions found or decisions taken where they were required. The dancers with whom we worked performed the dances at an informal workshop performance. The workshop thus served as an occasion for both participant and performance observation. Through actively “doing” the reconstructions, working with the texts and the dancers’ bodies, as well as my own, and then through watching how the written movement prescriptions appeared when animated, I became intimately familiar with the choreographies and the nature of the choreographic presentations in the eighteen-century Spanish dance treatises I used, which I consider applicable to the dances in Venid, venid deydades.

Choreography Reconstruction

Lastly, by distilling the information gained in the preceding steps, I fashioned choreography for the two chosen dances from the Venid, venid deydades using the 72 opera’s musical score and applicable dance notation. Narratives of this choreographic work, showing the choices made to fill gaps in notational information and those necessary to accommodate the choreography to the opera’s music are found in Chapter

Five, along with the dance notations and musical scores used.

In all, my archival research, interviews, performance observation, participant observation and choreographic reconstruction involved using both passive textual and active human sources. The course I took in this research, including its successes and dead-ends, contributes to the literature about the process of reconstructing historically informed early dance. I have presented a detailed view of data collection and analysis methods in the hopes that future users might replicate, amend, or avoid the process that I followed based on both my results and their own projects.

73

CHAPTER TWO - VENID, VENID DEYDADES: BACKGROUND AND CONTEXT

This investigation contributes to scholarship in dance studies about an understudied performance situation, that of viceregal Peru and, in particular, seminary performances there. It also examines an understudied extant opera, Venid, venid deydades, for which there exist no monographs and only relatively brief mentions in a handful of book chapters, journal articles, and CD liner notes. In this chapter I discuss factors related to the opera and its context, and which have a bearing on the process of reconstructing dances for it. I also consider some of the theoretical issues that stem from these observations. These concepts include the nature of the work’s archive and issues of identity, in terms of the work’s purpose, intended audience and style. In providing background information about the performance piece Venid, venid deydades, I begin by discussing the archive in which it resides and its historiography, both as practical considerations for the reconstruction researcher and to open a conceptual discussion about the archive, a discussion that will continue in Chapter Three. Next, I consider the socio-political climate for performance in the Viceroyalty of Peru in the mid-eighteenth century. I also discuss the opera’s purpose, composer, venue and probable audience, and

I explore questions raised through my research about the work’s performers. The work’s historical and socio-political context has a direct bearing on conclusions that can be drawn about the opera’s dance style; this context also allows us to analyze the culture surrounding the performance of this work. In this chapter, I consider the culture of this opera’s production. Music, viewed from a distance, can be read as a cultural product.

More technically, I take up the work’s narrative and the music’s formal elements as 74 disclosed by its score and libretto, discussing the selection of two pieces to reconstruct as historically informed dance examples. The first of these is one of the work’s aria minuets, and the second is a duple meter aria construed as a contradanza.

Honoring a Local Dignitary: Imagining the View

The audience gathered that 1749 day in the seminary courtyard in Cusco was there to enjoy an entertainment and also to fête a local figure. Fray Esteban Ponce de

León composed this “opera serenata” (serenade opera) expressly for the occasion to celebrate the local prelate and rector of the Seminary of San Antonio Abad, who had been named the new Bishop of Paraguay. The opera’s narrative was told through an Italianate da capo aria-recitative structure that incorporated French dance rhythms.

We have quite a good sense today of the sound associated with that courtyard performance because of the existence of the opera’s basic written text, and also because present-day musicians and singers are able to reconstruct its sound based on the study of period performance practice. But what might the audience have seen? Because there are no known accounts of this particular performance, we must extrapolate information from the score itself and from accounts of similar performances and a variety of other information to reconstruct an idea of how the dance in this production might have looked on that day.

To acquire a sense of the work’s dance, it is essential to understand the work itself. The formal and qualitative characteristics of dances within a work follow the work’s music, narrative, and context. Thus to discern what the dancing in the opera might have been like requires an in-depth look at the opera itself--its purpose, social and 75 formal milieu and its particular formal characteristics. In addition to introducing the opera and exploring these facets, this chapter also notes personal observations and discusses the pertinent challenges that I encountered in the research process, in the hope that these details will serve others venturing into this archive or another like it. Thus, I address the nature of the archive in which the opera resides and present a historiography of those who have investigated it. I next discuss the opera itself--its purpose, composer, performance venue and probable audience. Because of a lack of concrete evidence, likely identities of the original performers are interrogated, though not conclusively.

Finally, the opera’s narrative and its semiotics are discussed, as are the work’s formal musical elements. This chapter, then, offers research information related to the work, its archive, and broaches contextual and formal features to understanding the opera, situating its dance, and discerning its style.

The Physical Archive: The Seminary and Past Studies of its Holdings

This section presents practical, practical information related to archival research for the types of sources dance reconstructors are likely to pursue. My investigations into

Peru’s musical archives for possible cases to study for their dance led to a realization that, although the Peruvian viceregal era was characterized by a strong and diverse musical theatrical tradition, with extant scripts and narratives for several theatrical works, their musical portions had largely been lost. This is a depressing and important condition for any researcher intent on understanding the dance of the time to grasp—in my case, it meant that I would be searching within a limited cache of material. The physical separation of musical scores from their scripts is actually not unusual, as musicians often 76 composed music separately from the playwright or librettist’s spoken texts.48 While more than one script copy of a spoken text might have been required for literate cast members, fewer full musical scores would commonly have been produced. Musicians often relied on less complete notations that indicated only the parts for their own instruments, and at that, these parts generally provided a rough basis upon which musicians improvised.49 Vocal parts sung by cast members were normally learned “by ear” rather than from notation,50 making multiple copies unnecessary. The exception would have been for vocal parts in church, convent and seminary productions, where music training and notational literacy was standard.

In addition to loss from separation, the holdings in Peruvian archives have faced other threats over time. Destructive earthquakes and fires have exacerbated the loss of scripts, scores and fragments, beyond the losses due to neglect and mishandling to which such texts are potentially generally subject. Commenting on scholarship on Cusco’s music, Martin Oliver Carrion notes in the journal Early Music America that “Cuzco’s

Baroque music continues to be one of the least studied and seldom recorded repertories

48 Quezada, “La música,” 83-89. Estenssoro questions about the composer of the now lost musical composition for a Peralta script which is extant. Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 43.

49 Improvisation was typical in Baroque music generally. See Donnington, Baroque Music, 91-106. Louise K. Stein, Songs of Mortals, Dialogues of the Gods: Music and Theatre in Seventeenth-Century Spain (Oxford, UK: Clarendon Press, 1993) 47, 122, discusses improvisation the context of Spanish music; Quezada, El legado, 105, in Peruvian colonial music. 50 Stein discusses “singer-actresses who were largely untrained in music and learned their roles by rote” in discussing La púrpura de la rosa (1701). Louise K. Stein, La púrpura de la rosa: fiesta cantada, ópera en un acto (Madrid: Instituto Complutense de Ciencias Musicales, 1999), XXIV. Also see Stein, Songs of Mortals, 191; Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático, 167; and Robert Stevenson “The South American Lyric Stage to 1800,” Inter-American Music Bulletin 87 (1973): 2.

77 from Latin America.”51 Additionally, musicologist Geoffrey Baker points out, “The problem of sources is acute in Cuzco, as elsewhere in the continent: the city’s monastic or conventual archives are either closed to researchers or have been lost entirely.”52

Religious Archives and Music

Because religious archives contain the largest cache of viceregal-era music— including theatrical music and dance songs—early dance reconstructors and/or the musicians with whom they work will likely need to consult materials from this type of archive. While they might be overlooked by those searching for secular musical theatrical sources, religious archives are a valuable starting place. Religious repositories in Latin America contain most of the extant music scores from the viceregal period. The majority of the music preserved there are of a liturgical nature, but secular works, many composed by members of the religious community, also figure among the holdings of religious archives, and some of these are theatrical. In fact, the little music for dramatic works that has survived from the viceregal period has been preserved, almost without exception, in the archives of religious institutions alongside other types of music, both sacred and secular.

Religious institutions were the foremost employers of composers and musicians during the viceregal era, and they served as centers for formalized European-style music education and performance. Thus, extant European-influenced music of the viceregal

51 Martin Oliver Carrion, “Indigenous Musicians in Colonial Cuzco,” Early Music America 19, 2 (Summer 2013): 32.

52 Geoffrey Baker, “Music in the Convents and Monasteries of Colonial Cuzco,” Latin American Music Review 24, 1 (Spring-Summer, 2003): 2.

78 period is found in religious archives in centers within the former Viceroyalty of Peru, including the cathedral archives in Bogotá, Santiago and Sucre; the church of San Ignacio de Moxos; the Monastery of Santa Clara in Cochabamba; the archbishopric archive in

Lima; and the Seminary of San Antonio Abad in Cusco.53 These archives are in present- day Colombia, Chile, Bolivia and Peru. Despite the possibilities that still exist for discovery within these understudied archives, religious archives are essentially privately owned, and access to them cannot be taken for granted.

The Archive’s History and Current Location

The Seminary of San Antonio Abad served as both performance space and archival repository for the opera Venid, venid deydades. During my research it became apparent that the Seminary played a crucial role in Cusco’s history, as did its related clergy. The religious community continues to control the archive. The Seminary of San

Antonio Abad maintains what is arguably the most important archive of viceregal music in South America, given the quantity of its holdings, their quality and diversity, and the importance of composers represented there. The original Seminary was founded in 1598 and was the second college established in Cusco.54 It was intended, from its inception, that the Seminary would provide music for musicians, singers and choirs for regular liturgical occasions at the Cathedral of Cusco and for special festival events outside the building associated with it.55 Eventually the Seminary became the centralized repository

53 Claro, Antología, xiv.

54 Baker, Imposing, 58, 75; Quezada, El legado, 29.

55 Baker, Imposing, 75. 79 for musical texts from the Cathedral and from neighboring parish churches and area convents. The original Seminary structure, on Plaza de Las Nazarenas in Cusco, was converted into a luxury hotel in 1965.

On a preliminary trip to Cusco in 2009, I searched for the current physical location of the archive, and after inquiring about its location and admittance procedures at several dioceses as well as civil, library and museum offices, I eventually found that the archive of the Seminary had been moved outside the historic city center to the library of the current Universidad de San Antonio Abad on Avenida de la Cultura, a main route that leads away from the heart of town.56 Traveling physically to this library seemed the only way to make contact to ask about admission, but when I did, after several attempts, I was denied entrance and given erroneous contact and admissions information. Over the next year I was unable to obtain coherent information about entrance procedures,57 and when I later met musicologist José Quezada Macchiavello (my interviews with him are described in the Introduction), he described similar complications with admission; his attempts spanned years before he was successful.58 Nevertheless, Quezada, and a very few others can attest to the existence and condition of the music contained here.

56 These visits took place August 7 and 12, 2009, and precipitated off-site searches for admissions information over the next year.

57 I found the library at the Universidad de San Antonio Abad that houses the Seminary archive, and spent the next few days attempting to gain admission in June, 2009. I also attempted to access the library when I returned on October 23, 2010 but had no better luck.

58 José Quezada Macchiavello interview September 17, 2010. 80

How Manuscripts are Preserved

While I did not gain access to this archive, I offer the following considerations for those venturing into this, or other Latin American musical archives. As in most of the musical archives in Latin America, the music at San Antonio Abad Seminary is preserved on paper manuscript pages.59 Unlike some of the Mesoamerican musical archives, in

South America the works are rarely found in book form.60 At San Antonio Abad each vocal, instrumental or basso continuo part is on a separate page, with the basso continuo

(bassline) part serving as a cover or folder into which the other parts of the work are tucked.61 The majority of the oblong folios or folders measure 31 x 21 cm—some are half, and some are double this size.62 The continuo parts used to enclose score pages often exhibit more damage from handling than other parts. In some cases where handling and damage has made parts unusable they have been copied for posterity; however, in the past copyists frequently omitted composers’ names on the new covers, and the new versions present with some slight differences and small errors.63 The lack of binding has led to the loss of parts of some works, and perhaps the loss of entire unnumbered works over time. The loose, unbound pages without durable covers are also subject to easy deterioration and damage from fire, water, moths, worms and the rigors of human

59 Claro, Antología, XVIII.

60 Ibid.

61 Ibid.

62 Quezada, El legado, 188.

63 Claro, Antología, XVIII. 81 handling.64 Despite these problems affecting the condition of the Seminary archive, it is nevertheless located in a dry, high altitude climate favorable to the conservation of the documents. Additionally, access to the holdings is highly controlled, which ensures that they remain protected from inexpert or unscrupulous handling by outsiders.

Past Studies of the Archive

In methodological terms, surveying prior research may present fruitful veins of information to follow, or as in this case, useful score transcriptions as well as contextual information. Even when physical access to the archive is not possible, reproductions and descriptions of primary sources executed by others who have gained access can be helpful. An analysis of past known studies of the Seminary’s archive indicates that the archive and its contents have not been thoroughly investigated. Peruvian historian Rubén

Vargas Ugarte, credited as the twentieth-century discoverer of this archive, numbered and published the titles of its works in 1953.65 His initial investigation went into an uncharted, under-researched subject that has gained interest in past decades, yet few researchers have accessed the archive. Chilean musicologist Samuel Claro’s 1969 taxonomic catalog of the holdings divides the works by type and notes characteristics of each piece.66 Claro also photographed and transcribed twelve of the works from San

Antonio Abad and published them together with selected works from eight other South

64 Ibid.

65 During this era others investigated viceregal Peruvian music, including Rololfo Holzmann, Andrés Sas, Rodolfo Barbacci and César Arróspide. Quezada, El legado, 35.

66 See Samuel Claro and Gilbert Chase, “Música dramática en el Cuzco durante el siglo XVIII y catálogo de manuscritos de música del Seminario de San Antonio Abad (Cuzco, Peru),” Anuario 5 (1969): 29-48. 82

American musical archives in a 1974 anthology.67 Robert Stevenson, a musicologist from the United States and one of the early instigators of Latin American musicological research internationally, published a geographical study in English using Claro’s work in

1970.68

Only a few investigators produced transcriptions of selected works of the archive between 1970 and 1990, some relying on microfilms made in the 1970s by an artistic association, later defunct; today, these are inaccessible and are thought to be of poor quality.69 Since the 1980s members of the musicological Instituto Carlos Vega in Buenos

Aires have been active in indexing and studying photographed works in the archive, but a comprehensive study has not yet been published.70

The archive was closed in the 1970s and re-opened on a very limited basis in

1998 for the Seminary’s 400th anniversary.71 Its tightly controlled access, has clearly kept its holdings safe, but it has also inhibited first-hand study of its works, in some cases, requiring years of petitioning and keen negotiating skills in dealing with the many

67 Claro, Antología.

68 See Stevenson, Renaissance and Baroque Musical Sources in the Americas (Washington, DC: Organization of American States, General Secretariat, 1970). 69 Among these investigators are Arndt Von Gavel, Robert Stevenson, Waldemar Axel Rodán, Aurelio Tello and Bernardo Illari. The Asociación Artística y Cultural “Jueves,” active during the 1970s, made microfilms of some of the archive’s musical holdings, but Quezada believes that their quality had deteriorated to the point of illegibility by the late1990s. Quezada, El legado, 38.

70 Carmen García Muñoz and Waldemar Axel Roldán spearheaded investigations by Argentine musicologists. Quezada, El legado, 36; and the website for the Intituto de Investigación Musicológica “Carlos Vega” http://www.bn.gov.ar/descargas/publicaciones/mat/MyDFC(1).htm Last accessed March 2, 2013.

71 José Quezada Macchiavello email of March 6, 2013. 83 layers of diocesan and Seminary gatekeepers to gain access.72 Although he was a respected musicologist from the Universidad Católica Pontificia del Perú, the country’s largest, most reputable university, and a practicing Roman Catholic knowledgeable about ecclesiastical policies and hierarchies, Quezada’s admittance to the archive was hard- fought.73 Quezada came from Lima, and he assumed that this factor impeded his admission--he inferred that a historic rivalry and distrust that has simmered between

Cusco and Lima since the beginning of the viceroyalty is still alive and ingrained in individuals and institutions. He acknowledged that the politics of these biases needed to be carefully negotiated.74 The theoretical suggestion that the archive is controlled by those in power has practical resonance here. Once admitted, Quezada found the archives in a state of chaos, with different parts of scores left rather arbitrarily and carelessly in boxes. While he briefly mentions this state of disorganization in his book, Quezada also praises the Seminary’s stewardship of the material, noting that after a phase of organizing the holdings, he found that there had been no significant losses of material since Vargas’ first inventory in 1953.75

In 2000, Peruvian musician and musicologist José Quezada Macchiavello began work on a descriptive catalog of the individual works in the repository by genre, class and type, providing background information and explanations about the pieces he

72 José Quezada Macchiavello interviews September 17, 2010 and October 9, 2010.

73 Ibid.

74 Ibid.

75 Quezada, El legado, 22. 84 encountered. His book El legado musical del Cusco barroco: estudio y catálogo de los manuscritos de música del seminario San Antonio Abad del Cusco (2004) provides deep formal information about the individual pieces, and detailed context about the various types of music found.

These musicological incursions into the archive have spurred interest among early music performers, and in recent years works from the archive have been included with increasing frequency on CDs and concert offerings. The difficulty in gaining access to these important musical sources has meant that most subsequent researchers and musicians have relied heavily on Samuel Claro’s work from the 1960s and 1970s, including the important transcriptions published in his 1974 Antología de la música en

América del Sur. There has been no concerted, funded effort to systematically and comprehensively maintain the archives or to preserve them, digitally or otherwise. In a developing nation where scarce national resources are probably thought to be best spent preserving the aspects of Peru’s rich cultural heritage that attract tourism (archeological sites such as Machu Picchu and Nazca, and other pre-Columbian and colonial art and artifacts), the government has not directly taken on church archive preservation. At the time of my research, there were no known planned projects or investments on the part of the religious community to preserve and maintain the archive.

The Archive’s Holdings

The inventory of any archive reflects what has been valued by its keepers. From a methodological perspective it may offer the reconstruction researcher information about a wider range of possibilities for comparison or use than merely one primary source. 85

Taking a theoretical view of the archive holdings, as is further elaborated in Chapter

Three, allows us to consider how they reflect their insular institution and the larger society, or fail to do so. We can question who the creators of the sources preserved there were, why their works were kept over time, and what cultural viewpoints this mediation preserves and reveals. In this case, the creators of those sources were, or are assumed to have been, affiliated with the ecclesiastical institutions, and in some cases, with the civil administration, as well. The works were preserved to document musical production that went beyond liturgical music, but not beyond European musical frameworks.

Through consideration of the types of works in this archive that have survived along with Venid, venid deydades, we gain an impression of the styles of music that have been valued by the religious community here. The repository at the Seminary of San

Antonio Abad contains more than three thousand manuscript folios with 404 titled compositions produced in the second third of the seventeenth century until the end of the eighteenth century. In large part the archive is comprised of sacred pieces with Latin texts, which are bi- or polychoral, with up to seven choirs. There are, as well, many examples of religious-themed (though non-liturgical) and secular songs, or villancicos, in

Spanish and some vernacular languages for two, three, and up to four choirs.76

Villancicos, both religious-themed and secular, are frequently based on dance rhythms.

Their types are characterized by such names as bailete (a brief, usually theatrical dance) and jácara (the name of a popular Spanish dance type).77 There are also compositions

76 Quezada, El legado, 29-30.

86 meant for the lyric theater (in Spanish), and wholly instrumental pieces rarely found in

South American Baroque collections.78

Esteemed local and peninsular composers produced many of the archive’s holdings. The Abad archive contains the largest cache of the work of Tomás de Torrejón y Velasco, one of the most important composers of the viceregal era who served as composer to the Viceroy and chapel master in Lima. He is best known for his secular opera La púrpura de la rosa, now in the Biblioteca Nacional de Lima, but most of his other sacred and secular works are at San Antonio Abad. This archive also has works by the Italian composer Roque Ceruti, who is credited with instilling an Italianate pan-

European style in the Viceroyalty of Peru in the eighteenth century.79 Other important composers whose works are represented and who worked locally in Cusco include Juan de Araujo, Antonio Durán de la Motta and Fray Esteban Ponce de León, composer of the opera-serenata Venid, venid deydades, the principal case of the present study. The archive also holds works by Spanish composers who never came to Peru, pieces by minor composers and musicians from Cusco, and many compositions by anonymous composers.80 The anonymous pieces may pertain to known Peruvian and/or European

77 Quezada provides explanations and definitions for the various structural parts of the villancico (Ibid., 111-115), and their various sorts, or “species,” as he calls them, including rorros, negrillas, bailetes, batallas, juguetes, quedititos, xácaras (or jácaras), cantadas, and los tonos humanos (Ibid., 123-130).

78 Ibid., 30.

79 Bourbon-era Viceroy Castell dos Rius brought Ceruti to Peru and he eventually succeeded Torrejón in Lima. Quezada, La música, 88-89; Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático, 323-324; Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 42-43.

80 Quezada, El legado, 147-151; Claro, Antología. 87 composers, though not as yet attributed to those individuals based on stylistic markers; they may also be the work of composers who are unknown today.

A view of the archive and its holdings allows us to appreciate Venid, venid deydades as representative of a small but important subcategory of lyric theatrical works within religious musical archives. The fact that non-liturgical lyric pieces were conserved along with sacred music reflects their acceptance by conservators, both in their own time and since. Whether sacred or secular, works by composers from the religious community predominate in the archive, and their works are stylistically European—an observation crucial to this study, which suggests that this European style that pervaded music, likely also pervaded its associated dance.

The Climate for Theatrical Performance

A conceptual view allows an understanding of the variety of performance genres and to whom they pertained. This helps the reconstructor to determine and differentiate styles and formal conventions in use by context. In this case, being able to situate the opera within the context of viceregal musical theatrical performance was crucial to my understanding of the work and its likely dance aesthetics. Peru’s colonial performance history encompasses many genres practiced by its diverse population. Indigenous

Quechua-language theater and Afro-Peruvian performance represent understudied but important areas of inquiry.81 The official Spanish colonial culture of church and state

81 For more on indigenous and Afro-Peruvian performance, see Luis Millones, Actores de altura: ensayos sobre el teatro popular andino (Lima: Editorial Horizonte, 1992); Teatro quechua, vol. 1, Antología general del teatro peruano, with introduction by Ricardo Silva-Santisteban (Lima: Banco Continental/Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2000); Carolyn Heidi Feldman, Black Rhythms of 88 sometimes encouraged participation of the different groups and their music and dances in its festivals, but this support, which was linked to conversion and conquest projects, waxed and waned over time. The different social and ethnic groups performed their distinguishable dances in discrete segments of processions and official festivals. This separation, discussed in Chapter Three, served the official culture by presenting a demonstration of diverse, perhaps universal allegiance to Spanish and Christian authority.

Full-length indigenous or black theatrical productions seem absent from official festivals.

From what we know of Quechua theater, its content was frequently criticized as subversive and censured by authorities.82 European performance practices were the basis for theater, music and dance production formats as well as technique in the official church and civic culture,83 and seem to have maintained a more purely European character than I might have thought, in this third century of the viceroyalty. Within this

European character, though, questions about identity exist in the Peruvian shift from more typically Spanish style to an amalgamation of other European styles. Italian music and French dance seem to have gained popularity during the eighteenth century.

From the early days of the Viceroyalty, European-style theatrical presentations of various sorts could be found in churches, corrales (public theaters), public plazas and the

Peru: Reviving African Musical Heritage in the Black Pacific (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 2006); and Kydalla Etheo Young, “Colonial Music, Confraternities and Power in the Archdiocese of Lima” (PhD diss., University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, 2010). 82 See Millones, Actores de altura; and Raquel Chang-Rodríguez, Hidden Messages: Representation and Resistance in Andean Colonial Drama (Lewisburg, Bucknell University Press, 1999).

83 Works by Baker, Quezada, Lohmann Villena, Stevenson, Stein, and Russell appearing in the bibliography discuss this topic. 89

Viceroy’s palace.84 Although there were a variety of types of musical theatrical productions, the various genres seem to overlap a good deal with regard to their characteristics. Amateur performers from confraternities, seminarians, nuns and novices and professional actors, musicians and dancers all contributed to a diversity of types of theatrical experiences that could be had in a variety of venues. By the seventeenth century, theater companies under the direction of impresarios had created an apparently lucrative industry presenting comedias (the generic name for Spanish plays) in the

Viceroyalty’s major urban centers.85 Comedias were based on secular or sacred themes, and normally contained spoken text interspersed with instrumental music, singing and dancing.86

In this loosely defined genre, a comedia was often preceded by a loa (a dedicatory or explanatory musical prologue). Sprinkled between acts of the comedia were various types of skits and musical acts independent of the comedia’s plot, similar to intermedi or entr’actes in other European genres. These shorter stand-alone sections were termed entremeses, sainetes, bailes—which normally means “dances,” but also used to define theatrical sections that typically included some type of narrative skit with dancing—and jácaras, a term that generally refers to a specific type of popular dance from Spain but may also be used to denote a theatrical section that featured this popular music and its dance. A show normally ended with a fin de fiesta or mojiganga (an often raucous

84 Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático; Quezada “La música,” 83.

85 Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático; Stevenson, “The South American”; Quezada, El legado.

86 Ibid., and Baker, Imposing, 79. 90 masque that sometimes included the audience in dancing).87 Well-known tunes from popular culture and from Spanish theater were undoubtedly used in Peru’s public theaters, but Quezada notes the public expected “new tunes for the entremeses and other numbers, written for several voices or for solo voice, sung accompanied by a variety of instruments.”88 An additional possible section was a sarao (a court ball). A sarao generally contained courtly dancing. The term was also used for short independent works featuring refined dances.89 Moreover, the various sections of works are ill-defined by rigid characteristics, as their attributes and their nomenclature were in flux.

This ambiguity extends to the larger genres themselves, though “comedia” tends to be descriptive of theatrical presentations.90 The term zarzuela was frequently used for entertainments containing more, and more integrated, music and dance than might have been typical in a comedia; however, the terms seem often to be used interchangeably.

The zarzuela could also exhibit the various types of entr’acte sections that comedias had.

87 Emilio Cotarello y Mori, Colección de entremeses, loas, bailes, jácaras y mojigangas desde fines del siglo XVI á mediados del XVIII, tomo I, vol. 2, Nueva Biblioteca de Autores Españoles (Madrid: Casa Editorial Bailly/Billiére, 1911); Craig H. Russell, Santiago de Murcia’s “Códice Saldívar No. 4”: A Treasury of Guitar Music from Baroque Mexico, vol. 1, Commentary (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1995) 17-18; and Baker Imposing, 79.

88 Quezada, “La música,” 83; also Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático provides multiple examples of the contractual obligations of some of those charged with preparing music and the performers. Many comedias’ dialogs and some of the loas’ and entremeses’ lyrics are extant, but the music produced in Peru for the public theater does not survive. This was corroborated by Quezada (José Quezada Macchiavello interview of October 9, 2010) and Rodríguez (José Antonio Rodríguez Garrido interview of October 7, 2010). Some of this music was likely never written down. Copies of music that was written may have been lost or destroyed.

89 Russell, Santiago de Murcia, 96; Lynn Matluck Brooks, Dances of the Processions of Seville in Spain’s Golden Age (Kassel, Germany: Edition Reichenberger, 1988).

90 Brooks, Dances of the Processions, 389. 91

The opera, a rarer type of entertainment, was typically “through-composed” with music, and virtually all of its dialog was sung.91 Operas seem to have been presented in courtly or religious community settings until the second half of the eighteenth century, when they were also presented in public theaters.92

Most professional troupes in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries traveled the

Viceroyalty’s theatrical circuits northward from Lima to Trujillo, or they went southeast to Potosí and then north to Cusco fulfilling seasonal itineraries. The urban public in distinct regions of the viceroyalty was thus treated to the same comedias (or zarzuelas, or later, operas), presented by the same performers.

In addition to the public theaters, audiences in Lima also took in performances at the Viceroy’s palace where courtyards and gardens could be elaborately adorned with scenery and rigged for mechanical special effects.93 Palace performances were special occasions that were generally presented to commemorate civic events that might not be repeated, such as births, marriages and deaths in the in the monarch’s and the viceroy’s families, visits from dignitaries, arrivals of new officials, and so forth. The production of the through-sung opera La púrpura de la rosa (1701) by the Viceroy’s composer, Tomás

91 Stein, La púrpura; and Songs of Mortals.

92 Estenssoro, Música y sociedad; Quezada, “La música”; Juan Sixto Prieto, “Operas y ballets en Lima colonial,” Estudios de teatro peruano 53, IV (1968): 1-8.

93 Josephe and Francisco de Mugaburu, Diario de Lima 1640-1694 (tomo II): crónica de la época colonial. Reprinting and prologue notes by Don Carlos A. Romero (Lima: Imp. C. Vásquez L., 1935), 145; Claro and Chase, “Música dramática” 6-8; José Antonio Rodríguez Garrido “El teatro cortesano en la Lima colonial: recepción y prácticas escénicas,” Histórica XXXII, 1 (2008): 115-143; José Antonio Rodríguez Garrido interview October 7, 2010. 92 de Torrejón y Velasco is an example of a palace performance given to honor Felipe IV’s eighteenth birthday and his ascension to the throne of Spain. The 1701 palace production of La púrpura utilized actress-singers from professional theater troupes and court musicians.94 Cusco was not the seat of the viceroyalty, so its official civic involvement with performance was less than that found in Lima. Cusqueños celebrated civic events with occasional comedias in the public plaza while the corral de comedias offered popular theatrical fare regularly. But Cusco also saw a great deal of performance activity—from concerts and dances to comedias, zarzuelas and through-sung operas—in its seminaries and convents to mark important happenings in the ecclesiastical community, especially, as in the case at hand, for the promotions and visits of bishops.95

Their participation in these theatrical events in addition to their regular liturgical church and festival duties made seminary and convent musicians and singers important contributors to Cusco’s cultural life. As Baker notes, “The church was the only musical patron of note in Cuzco, for there was no court; theatrical performances were put on most frequently by ecclesiastical institutions such as the seminary and the convent.”96 In the absence of a viceroy, court composer and viceregal palace productions, Cusco’s religious institutions and occasions were of great performative importance.

94 Stein, La púrpura, XXI.

95 Diego de Esquivel y Navia’s Noticias cronológicas de la gran ciudad del Cuzco [c. 1749] (Lima: Fundación Augusto N. Wiese, Banco Wiese Ltdo., 1980) 2:294, and the eighteenth-century account compilation, Anales del Cuzco, edited by Ricardo Palma, Ricardo (Lima: Imprenta de El Estado, 1901) 308, 322-323, 436, detail (among other events) performance occasions in Cusco including some within seminaries and convents especially for visits by bishops. For more on this topic, see the informative chapter titled “Convents and Monasteries” in Baker, Imposing, 111-148.

96 Baker, Imposing, 64. 93

The Purpose and Occasion for Venid, venid deydades

Performances that involved the official worlds of church and/or state were intrinsically venues where power and privilege would be on display. It is important to consider the purpose and occasion for a performance to understand how these dynamics might have affected the planned aesthetics of the production. The circumstances of the opera drove its content and likely had a bearing on its dance, which would have been fashioned in an appropriate style for the occasion. The opera-serenata Venid, venid deydades is an example of the encomiastic musical theatrical productions typical in

Cusco. The work was first presented in 1749 to celebrate the elevation of Don Fernando

Joseph Pérez de Oblitas, the former rector of the Seminary of San Antonio Abad and treasurer of the Cusco Cathedral to the post of Bishop of Paraguay.97 The promotion occasioned celebrations in Don Fernando’s honor, including the performance of this short, through-sung and loosely biographical work. Pérez de Oblitas was born in the city of Arequipa to a noble family.98 After moving to Cusco, he attended the Jesuit college of

San Bernardo, the rival college to San Antonio, and eventually overcame local opposition and an original peninsular edict banning non-alumni from that position in order to head

97 A reprint of the cover page of the work states: “Opera Serenata ā quarto voses, y dos Violines, con variedad de Musica de Arias, y Recitados, que se le canto al Iltmo Sr. Dr. Ferman do Joseph Perez de Oblitas, celbrando su ascenso a la Mitra del Paraguay. Año de mill, setesientos, quarenta, y nueve / Venid, vendid Deydades.” (“Opera Serenata for four voices, and two violins, with variety of Music of arias and recitatives, sung to the Iltmo. (Illustrious) Sr. Dr. Fernando Joseph Perez de Oblitas, celebrating his ascension to Miter (Bishop) of Paraguay, Year of one thousand, seven hundred, forty nine / Come, come deities.”) Claro, Antología, LXXXV. Also see Baker Imposing, 80; Quezada El legado, 164-165; Claro and Chase, “Música dramática” 18-19. The appointment was made previously--depending upon the source, in 1747 or 1748.

98 Claro and Chase, “Música dramática” 18. 94 the Seminary of San Antonio Abad.99 The work’s dance, then, would have been appropriate for a unique, festive, yet formal occasion.

Composer Fray Esteban Ponce de León

A composer’s influences and style have a direct relationship to the work’s music, and therefore, to its dance. The music for Venid, venid deydades was composed by

Augustine monk Fray Esteban Ponce de León (ca. 1692-175?),100 who might also have served as the work’s librettist, as there is no other name associated with the work.101 He is believed to have been born in Lima, and his approximate birth year is deduced from mentions of his name and his occupation as professor of moral theology in records associated with the Augustinian order.102 Fray Esteban’s name appears on musical compositions in Cusco from the 1730s, and documentation provides clear evidence that he served as chapel master at Cusco Cathedral from 1738 to 1755.103 The cache of his compositions at San Antonio Abad, those which directly bear his name and those attributed to him because they bear his occupational titles and/or his compositional style, are all from the period during which he served as chapel master. These works include both religious and secular musical theatrical pieces.104 The shorter of Fray Esteban’s

99 Ibid., 13; Quezada, El legado, 165.

100 Claro, Antología, XXXI.

101 Claro and Chase, “Música dramática” 18.

102 Claro, Antología, XXXII.

103 Ibid.; Quezada, El legado, 146.

104 Claro Antología, XXXII. 95 dramatic works include a loa and the incidental music for two different comedias.105

Venid, venid deydades is his only through-composed musical theatrical work in the archive, and it is complete except for two missing violin parts (i.e., the lyrics, the vocal melodies and the basso continuo parts all extant). Nothing is directly known about Fray

Esteban’s musical training, but his compositional style reflects the Italian influences that gained favor in the eighteenth century.106 He inclusion of French dance music is, again, consistent with European operatic style, and Bourbon court tastes. Ponce’s religious ties serve to connect the notion of secular lyric drama and French dance to the ecclesiastical community in Cusco.

The Seminary as Performance Site

The nature of a performance space surely affects the qualities of the dance’s staging. An important theoretical element to understanding this opera’s milieu is reflection on who had access to this space and its performances, and who was excluded, as described below. While the next two sections discuss the probable audience and performers of the original production, current access to this site is discussed here.

While specific information about the performance space such as the size, shape and height of the dance space remains unknown available information offers contextual data about the nature of similar performances and the ambiance of the Seminary. The

Seminary of San Antonio Abad’s courtyard served as the performance space for this

105 Ibid.

106 For the Italianate musical style in Peru, see Claro and Chase, “Música dramática,” 19; Quezada, “La música,” 88-90. Regarding the Spanish Bourbon connection to Italianate music, see Stein, Songs of Mortals; and Louise K. Stein, “The Iberian Peninsula,” in Music and Society The Late Baroque Era from the 1680s to 1740s, ed. George J. Buelow (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall 1993), 415-426.

96 opera, as it had for other works of musical theater for at least a century.107 No accounts or renderings describe production details of Venid, venid deydades or other works at the

Seminary, but there are accounts of other outdoor spaces, from public plazas in Lima and

Cusco to the Viceroy’s palace gardens in Lima, having been dressed up and remodeled lavishly for theatrical productions. As early as the 1670s, stage scenery like that found in

Madrid’s Retiro Palace was employed in the outdoor Peruvian productions.108 The Retiro

(and ostensibly, Peruvian venues) utilized stage scenery based on the Italian style system of backdrop and wings, or legs, that gave the illusion of a receding perspective.109 If this was also the convention at the Seminary, audiences there could enjoy more elaborate scenic effects than they could at the public corral—the open-air, and later enclosed public theaters--which traditionally provided bare-bones stage décor and production apparatus.

An anonymous compilation of accounts preserved in Anales del Cuzco (1743) describes the atmosphere surrounding a performance of comedias honoring the Bishop of

Cusco in the same Seminary courtyard seven years before Venid, venid deydades. On

Saturday, November 30, 1743, the courtyard was the scene of the comedia Antíoco y

107 Quezada, El legado, 164; Baker, Imposing, 79.

108 Mugaburu, Diario de Lima 1640-1694, 145; Rodríguez Garrido “El teatro cortesano,” 115-143. Claro and Chase “Música dramática,” 6-8 describes Lima’s Plaza Mayor dressed as a “sumptuous theater” citing the anonymous source, Alcamacion y Pendones…por…el Catolico…Rey D. Carlos II [sic] (Lima: Juan de Quevedo y Zarate, 1666).

109 Aurora Egido, El Gran teatro de Calderón (Kassel: Edition Reichenberger, 1995) 237-240, describes scenic effects and construction for La fiera, el rayo y la piedra at the Retiro. Renderings from this and a previous production of the same play distinctly show the receding perspective. Also see Javier Navarro de Zuvillaga, "Espacios escénicos en el teatro español del siglo XVIII," V jornadas de teatro clásico español (Madrid, Ministerio de Cultura) I (1983): 71-131. 97

Seleuco, with incidental music also composed by Fray Esteban Ponce de León performed in honor of the new Bishop Pedro Morcillo Rubio de Auñón.110 “The second entr’acte having ended it began to rain, and [some of the important civil dignitaries] left.”111 After the third and final act, the rain intensified.112 To make matters worse, some of the guests—those from the civil administration--were not offered the customary ice cream and wafers—“this caused murmuring.”113 The next day the festivities for Bishop

Morcillo continued with the comedia, No hay reino como el de Dios. For this occasion the writer’s observations centered, again, on there not being enough ice cream for the city leaders, but also that “the comic skits and dances were not good.”114 It was not a particularly successful theatrical weekend for the Seminary, but the account points to considerable production activity, by noting two different shows in two days,. The writer of the account takes notice of the weather and people leaving, the ice cream shortage, and only lastly the quality of the performance. One wonders whether the low level of interest in the performance shown by the reporter was shared by the rest of the audience.

110 “—El Sábado 30 de Noviembre se representó en el colegio del seminario de san Antonio Abad, en honor del señor Obispo, la comedia de “Antonio Seleuco.” …..Acabado el segundo entreacto comenzó á llover, y se salió el Corregidor, marqués de Valleumbroso, con sus capitulares. Cesó un poco la lluvia y se principió el tercer acto, acabándose la comedia. La lluvia se acentuó con más fuerza. Se repartieron helados y barquillos al señor Obisopo, Cabildo eclesiástico y familiares, sin dar este agasajo al Corregidor y Cabildo secular, lo que motivo murmuraciones. –El Domingo 1o de Diciembre se representó en el collegio de san Antonio Abad la comedia titulada “No hay reino como el de Dios”….Tampoco hubo helados para el Cabildo secular. No fueron Buenos los sainetes y bailes.” Palma, Anales, 322-323.

111 Ibid. 322.

112 Ibid.

113 Ibid.

114 Ibid. 322-323. 98

Because the Venid, venid deydades was written and performed years later in the

Seminary’s courtyard, I made several visits to the (now) Hotel Monasterio on Plaza

Nazarenas during my field work to gain a sense of the space and how it could have been configured to host such a performance; I also wanted to soak in its ambience. The

Seminary’s rectangular courtyard, 36.5 meters long x 27.5 meters wide,115 is completely surrounded by colonnaded walkways, from which rise a two-story edifice. The courtyard is thus surrounded by two stories of repeated columns and archways and is open to sky.

While my research did not reveal evidence to this effect, a likely arrangement for the staging would have been a temporary raised stage positioned on a short end of the rectangular space.116 This configuration is consistent with European theatrical conventions and would have allowed for the best viewing options by the most people, yet we cannot be sure of the goals for the original performance. A few hundred spectators could easily have been seated in the courtyard, but we have no way of knowing the size of the audience.

In addition to the courtyard, the former Seminary’s architecture houses elaborate examples of viceregal religious altar design, sculpture and examples of “Cusco school” painting. Visitors, whether they are guests of the hotel, or not, are supposed to be granted admission to see the art and architecture of the common areas, ornate chapel and the courtyard because the site has been officially designated a national historic landmark.117

115 Exact dimensions provided by Paola Sato of Hotel Monasterio Guest Relations in a personal email communication to the author June 1, 2015.

116 Such an arrangement would complement the aforementioned possible design facets.

117 Hotel Monasterio website. http://www.belmond.com/hotel-monasterio-cusco/history. 99

Regardless of this policy, during my field work visits I saw many people turned away from the entrance. Better dressed people who approached with an air of confidence and intention seemed not to be questioned and were allowed access. However, local people in poorer or traditional dress were denied access. I assumed that this policy, whether official or not, was instituted to prevent the tourists from being “bothered” by local people begging or pushing their handicrafts. It seemed ironic that tourists, interested enough in the cultures that the local people’s ancestors had wrought to travel to the interior of Peru, should need to be protected from them in their own territory.118 This observation kept questions percolating during this investigation about the original

Seminary’s degree of isolation or involvement regarding the local community and its diversity of ethnicities and classes. It also allowed me to plan my visits carefully to ensure my own admittance.

The Audience

The intended audience for a production offers clues as to the style of dance it would have contained. Dance, among other facets of a production, tends to be devised to meet with the expectation and approval of its audience. Understanding what the

Seminary audience might have been expecting points us to stylistic probabilities.

Musicologist Geoffrey Baker observes that the Seminary generally hosted comedias and musical entertainments that celebrated events and achievements of church leaders, while the Plaza de Regocijo, with municipal buildings situated a few blocks away, was the site

118 Peru’s government and its agencies rhetorically, at least, embrace the importance of the cultural contributions of the pueblos originarios (original peoples). It is literally this culture--dances, costume, and material and architectural culture--that Peru is selling to the international tourist market. 100 of those productions commemorating civic and royal happenings.119 Traditionally, the public celebrated a new Bishop outside the Seminary with festivities such as dances, fireworks and bullfights; for Bishop Morcillo of Cusco, a complete week of festivities occurred in 1743.120 The usual audiences for Seminary productions like Venid, venid deydades were comprised of high-ranking ecclesiastical and secular leaders perhaps with their families. Baker comments,

While the civic comedia entertained a cross-section of the city population in a public square, the seminary comedia became an art form for the city’s criollo elite, its purpose to sing the praises of members of its group (as well as of the institution and the city) rather than to entertain or edify the public.121

Baker suggests that the dramatic productions of the Seminary were formal performances that allowed the Seminary to demonstrate and solidify its ties with ecclesiastical and secular power bases. Baker contends that the music “was more than just adornment or entertainment; it was a means for the seminary and for the criollo elite to forge social, political and religious connections.”122 In this way, performances in the Seminary functioned as socio-political tools.

The Performers

In any society, gender, social class and ethnicity shape performers’ experience and training. Often, by determining who danced, we can extrapolate some probable

119 Baker, Imposing, 80.

120 The festivities form Bishop Morcillo are described in Palma, Anales, 322-323, and Claro and Chase, “Música dramática,” 10. That these types of festivities were customary is also addressed in Baker, Imposing, and Quezada, El legado.

121 Baker, Imposing, 80.

122 Ibid. 101 attributes of their style or aesthetic. The people who actually used their physical skills to present the opera were surely informed through their culture as to how this should be done. The identities of the opera’s performers would have determined their dance experiences and influences. This information assists us to speculate about the opera’s dance.

It is easier to discern the make-up of the performance’s probable audience than that of its performing cast. We know from the score and the libretto that the production required musicians as well as singers and possibly dancers, if the singers themselves did not dance. Of these performers, it is easiest to speculate about the musicians. The

Seminary, a center for musical activity and music education in Cusco, supplied musicians for Cathedral and area parish church events and would have most likely used them for its own productions as well. Its theatrical events were geared to the city’s elite and it enjoyed a special relationship with the Cathedral, but we must also consider that “San

Antonio Abad was the ‘other’ college in the city of Cuzco. The truly aristocratic attended the Jesuit school”123 of San Bernardo.

At San Antonio Abad criollos and mestizos constituted the largest portion of seminarians, and the school also educated indigenous students--usually Inca elites--and probably a small percentage of Spaniards.124 Musicologist José Quezada Macchiavello notes that “in general, it seems that the presence of indigenous musicians was nourished

123 James Middleton, Performance program for Prohibited by Order of the King: Festival Music in Eighteenth-Century Cuzco (Performed by Ex Machina. Scott Hall Auditorium, The University of Minnesota, MN, April 10-12, 1992 and Beethoven Hall, San Antonio, TX, April 8 and 29, 1992) 5.

124 Quezada, El legado, 140-141. 102 in the area of ecclesiastical music, and they, like mestizos, presumably had greater space in the musical life in Cusco than they would have in other cities of the Viceroyalty.”125

Evidence suggests that black musicians, singers and dancers were active in the popular culture of Cusco’s confraternities,126 and Musicologist Geoffrey Baker notes that while

Africans were not numerous in Cusco, records reveal the presence of black slave trompeters in association with confraternities in events.127 The connection between these musicians and the seminary, if any, is unknown. It seems safe to assume that the musicians for the opera would likely have been criollos, mestizos, sons of Inca nobility, and/or Spaniards. Baker and Quezada have come to the conclusion that regardless of their ethnicities, these musicians would almost certainly have played codified European- style music in Seminary and Cathedral situations, and that these European-rooted contexts gave them no room to impart any alternative character in their playing, as they might have done in parish churches.128 Their ethnicities notwithstanding, the musicians for the opera would no doubt have been male, but we cannot be as definite about gender when considering who the lead performers might have been.

125 Ibid., 140.

126 Quezada, El legado, 142; Juan Carlos Estenssoro Fuchs, “Música y comportamiento festivo de la población negra en Lima colonial,” Cuadernos hispanoamericanos 451-2 (1988): 161-168; Robert Stevenson “The Afro-American Musical Legacy to 1800,” The Musical Quarterly 54 4 (1968): 475-502.

127 Baker, Imposing, 86.

128 Quezada suggests that when mestizo and indigenous musicians who more typically performed in the chapels of the principle churches and the cathedral played in Indian parishes or doctrinas, they may have integrated their own rhythms and forms into European style formal music, transforming it, perhaps, with more freedom. Quezada, El legado, 140.

103

Gender

The question of gender arises with regard to the performers in Venid, venid deydades because the work’s narrative is centered on two fictitious female characters who are at once allegories of the cities of Arequipa and Cusco and “mothers” of the new

Bishop Pérez de Oblitas. The music for their vocal parts, which predominates in the opera, is in a high tessitura typical of female voices (marked tiples I and II). The young male seminarians, known for their musical skills, would surely have performed in the musical-theatrical productions at San Antonio Abad, but the casting of female characters’ roles remains unclear. Noting that the piece was composed for this occasion and circumstance, the choice of two female characters as the lead roles in a Seminary production is an interesting one. A century before, priests were prohibited from attending plays in which women were represented at all.129 It is certainly possible that this ban was never rigidly enforced or that the admonition was relaxed over time as church personnel, ideology and theater styles changed.130

In performing French court dances, the performers’ gender would have made little difference. In this style, unlike later European styles, dancers of both genders performed the same steps, and choreographic requirements are the same for each. Determining their genders, though, would give us a fuller view of how the Seminary related to the outside world and would increase our understanding of the performers.

129 Baker, Imposing, 79 (citing Juan Bautista Lasseque-Moleres, “Sínodos diocesanos del Cusco, 1591- 1601,” in Cuadernos para la historia de la evangelización de América Latina 2 (1987): 31-72).

130 The aforementioned Antíioco y Seleuco featured father and son (i.e., male) characters. 104

There seem to be three possibilities as to who might have sung the lead roles in

Venid, venid deydades: seminarians en travesti; nuns or novices from a local convent; or singer-actresses from a professional theater company on the regular circuit which brought them from Lima to Potosí to Cusco. I did not discover clear evidence to support any of the three possibilities definitively.

Seminarians in Female Roles?

Perhaps the most likely of these scenarios is that the seminarians themselves took these roles dressed as women and sang the parts in falsetto, or sang them naturally if they were pre-pubescent boys. Their musical training and experience with formal music and its structures would have facilitated the young men’s performance capabilities, and of course they would have been present at the Seminary and available for the opera’s preparation process.131 It should be noted that this would have run counter to the conventions of Spanish theater in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, where there was a strong tradition of performing actress-singers who often sang the roles of both women and men, both in the corrales and at court.132 Peruvian theater troupes employed performers of both sexes, and in La púrpura de la rosa, the first through-sung opera given at the Viceroy’s palace in Lima, women sang almost all, female and male roles.133

131 The practice of using young men and boys en travesti to portray female characters was not uncommon in the European theatrical or the religious-theatrical tradition, especially outside Spain. Judith Rock discusses this practice in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries at the Paris Jesuit college, the Louis-le- Grand. See Judith Rock, Terpsichore at the Louis-le-Grand: Baroque Dance on the Jesuit Stage in Paris (St. Louis, MO: Institute of Jesuit Sources, 1996), 164-171.

132 Stein, Songs of Mortals, 190-191. See also Stein, La púrpura, XXI.

133 Stein, La púrpura, XXIV. 105

This gender-bending on the part of women met its limits, or at least its protestations, in the ecclesiastical world. As in the convents, cross-dressing might have occurred at the

Seminary as a means to represent the other gender, absent actual performers of that sex.

Bishops roundly criticized the practice of nuns and novices appearing on stage wearing men’s clothing in convent theatrical productions.134 The church may not have seen transvestism at the Seminary in the same light as in convents, as there are many examples of ecclesiastical recommendations and edicts aimed at controlling women in convents and fewer aimed at men in religious orders.135 If the church hierarchy condoned it, the seminarians might have taken the roles of women.

Nuns?

Several musicologists maintain that there was a very rich musical and musical theatrical tradition in Cusco’s convents.136 Musical training in particular convents was renowned, and so were the performances of comedias and zarzuelas, despite a seemingly perpetual onslaught of letters and proclamations of disapproval and condemnation written by ecclesiastical leaders.137 José Quezada Macchiavello’s account of his investigation into the archive of San Antonio Abad allows us to consider the female presence in the musical holdings there.

134 Luis Martín, Daughters of the Conquistadores: Women of the Viceroyalty of Peru (Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press, 1983),79; Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 91; Andres Sas Orchassal, La música en la catedral de Lima durante el virreinato, vol. 1 (Lima: Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos/Casa de la Cultura del Perú, 1971), 45.

135 Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 88-90., Martín, Daughters, 72-85.

136 Works by Baker, Claro, Quezada and Sas appearing in the bibliography address this topic.

137 Sas, La música; Martín, Daughters; Claro and Chase, “Música dramática,” 13-14; Baker, Imposing 113- 115. 106

The musical papers show frequent and numerous instances of participation by women in the execution of music and the existence of a repertory for female voices. Female names of singers appear included alongside those of men singers—they might have been instrumentalists, dones and doñas, students and perhaps nuns or novices which give [by the use of] their diminutives and nicknames, a very pleasing splash of local color .138

Quezada provides a sample list of the women’s names he encountered written on various scores. He does not say whether any of these names appeared on dramatic music performed at the Seminary, and we have no way of dating their addition to the scores.139

The nature of conventual singing had contradictory facets. Highly trained and organized female choirs in their own convent churches were hidden from the public behind screens or decorative grillwork with the rest of their sisterhood.140 On the other hand, there are accounts of nuns giving concerts and plays in the same convents’ visiting areas, or locutorios, for Bishops and church dignitaries as well as the public.141 Based on

138 Quezada El legado, 154: “En los papeles de música se constata la participación frecuente y numerosa de la mujer en la ejecución de la música y la existencia de un repertorio para voces femininas. Los nombres de las cantoras aparecen agregados al lado de los cantores; son también quizá tañedores de instrumentos, dones y doñas, colegiales y quizá monjas o novicias que dan, con sus diminutivos y jocosos apodos, un rasgo de color local muy grato.”

139 A comparison of these names to convent records could reveal interesting coincidences. Neither Quezada nor I have been able to gain access to convent records. The most important convent concerned would be the Monasterio de Santa Catalina, which has the richest musical history of the Cusco convents. Quezada noted that his requests were not answered (José Quezada Macchiavello interview September 17, 2010). Neither my written requests nor in-person solicitations at the convent for access to historical information were answered (Personal visits August 11, 2009 and November 23, 2010.

140 This was standard at the masses at convent churches I visited in Cusco in 2009 and 2010. Personnel in convent churches and associated museums with whom I spoke informally believed that this condition had not changed since the convents’ beginnings.

141 The nature and degree of claustration in convents presumably differed by order and over time, however the Dominican Monasterio de Santa Catalina--the Cusco convent best known for its music during the Viceregal period--functioned in this somewhat incongruous way. Presentation here are noted in Esquivel y Navia, Noticias, and also in Claro and Chase, “Música dramática” 13-14; and Kathryn Burns, Colonial Habits: Convents and the Spiritual Economy of Cuzco, Peru (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1999), 101-107. 107 their professed cloistered existence, and on frequent written attempts by church leaders to curb their behavior, nuns or novices might not have ventured out to appear in a different, all-male venue in costume in a theatrical production.

Professional Actresses?

Women singers for the opera production might have been hired from among the female performers in the touring professional theater troupes that frequented the area.

These companies’ circuits brought them from Lima to other urban centers of the

Viceroyalty (including Cusco). This theory has some drawbacks, however. Actresses from these companies (often called cómicas or farsantes) traditionally acted, sang, danced and sometimes played musical instruments. Most of these performers had no formal music training and were accustomed to learning their roles by rote.142 According to some scholars, this might disqualify them as capable participants in the formal and more sophisticated music of aria-recitative style opera. Though it was composed in this style, Venid, venid deydades is a very short work with only a few solo songs for each woman and a few ensemble choruses, so the ability to read music may have been unnecessary for performers learning these roles.

The women’s perceived social or moral status may have been more pertinent to the Seminary’s hierarchy than their level of musical training. It is possible that these women were held in such low esteem that they would not have been considered wholesome enough to grace the Seminary stage. Still, theater history is rife with contradictions about the valuing of female performers. In Spain and Peru, the same

142 Stein, La púrpura, XXIV; Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático, 167; Stevenson, “The South American,” 2. 108 actress-singers from the public theaters sang the roles of gods and goddesses in palace performances for kings and viceroys143 without regard to their low social class and assumed lack of honor. The gender of the performers may have depended upon whether the opera’s producers thought it more seemly to have seminarians dressed as women or to have professional women of dubious repute on their stage.

The performers’ identities may or may not have influenced the character of the dancing in this work. Musicologists suggest that the style applied to playing formalized music in official venues would have been consistent with the formalized musical training promulgated at the Seminary. The same might be true of the dance if those performing it were educated similarly or were adept at approximating the formal style likely expected in this type of performance situation. We cannot be sure who the lead performers were, but it is likely that they adhered to the norms and standards of the official culture of the

Seminary.

The Narrative

From a reconstruction point of view, the narrative as told through the work’s libretto has a direct effect on the formal and qualitative features of the dance, as the dance should be consistent with the narrative’s message and tone. Considering the narrative from a greater distance allows us to consider its story and tropes, symbolism and imagery in the context of its time and place. Dance, when integrated into Baroque opera, functioned to enhance narrative moments that were told through the sung libretto.

Understanding the narrative is essential to being able to envision and reconstruct dance

143 Stein, Songs of Mortals, 190, and La púrpura, XXIV. 109 within the opera, as the dance must convey the appropriate mood based on its place in the work. The premise of Venid, venid deydades is that of a judicial trial of sorts. A messenger summons the gods to settle a dispute. The deities come to hear the arguments of the allegorical female figures of Arequipa (the birth city of Pérez de Oblitas) and

Cuzco (the city where he honed the skills necessary for his illustrious career). The characters vie to be deemed the most noble, each woman claiming to be the prelate’s mother and citing her contributions to his development through her careful nurturing and guidance. In the end it is decided that neither one can be judged more excellent.

Although the competition ends in a tie, an odd little chorus at the very end of the opera celebrates only Cuzco’s glories.

The narrative employs both conventional and unusual tropes and devices. A trial or judgment setting is common in Baroque European operas and plays, and many are based on Classical mythology. An integral part of this opera is the participation of “the gods,” and although they are not named individually in Venid, venid deydades, the allusion undoubtedly refers to Greco-Roman deities so ubiquitous in the European operatic tradition. This work, however, is not really a story about the gods or about

Europe, or even about Biblical characters or events, themes common in many colonial- era works of musical theatrical.144 Instead the work names and personifies local places.

This plot device is rare in cultivated, stylized musical works, which tend to have more distant and lofty subjects. Since this work is a short, light “opera-serenata” perhaps it

144 The names of several such plays and musicals from the colonial period are known, yet their scores and libretti have been lost. See Robert Stevenson, “The South American.”

110 was not viewed as requiring the gravitas of a European or heavenly setting.145 It is worth noting that a well-known zarzuela by Peruvian playwright Lorenzo de las Llamosas,

También se vengan los dioses (1689), featured a similar dispute in its loa, this one between the personages of the cities of Lima and Mexico City.146 It is not known whether Ponce de León was familiar with the older work, but it is possible.

While the use of female allegorical figures to represent the cities of Arequipa and

Cusco might seem a peculiar choice for a work created and presented in a male seminary, it served to elevate the subject matter, giving it a supernatural aura. In European Baroque opera, probably because of its heavy reliance on Classical mythology and its tendency toward personification, there were frequent allegorical representations of ideas like love, folly, discord, and even the arts, and somewhat fewer personifications of places. In

European visual arts, however, female allegories frequently represented places, especially

“America” and places within the Americas—places to be conquered and tamed by the

European man.

Employing female characters to represent Arequipa and Cuzco likely had a different impetus. These cities are represented as noble and virtuous women: each has, in her way, mothered the praise-worthy prelate. Like the Virgin Mary, these characters

145 Lohmann Villena, in El arte dramático, 625-634 lists works (including comedias, bailes, entremeses, sainetes, tonadillas and zarzuelas) titled, for example, En Amazonas, Amor en Lima es azar and Comedia de Santa Rosa, which presumably had Peruvian themes, and other works listed without obvious titles certainly may also have had local themes.

146 Susana Hernández Araico, “Música y mitología en fiesta palaciega peruana: la primera zarzuela de Lorenzo de las Llamosas” in Estudios del teatro áureo: texto, espacio y representación (Mexico City: UNAM, 2003) 112-115; Miguel Zugasti, La alegoría de América en el barroco hispánico: del arte efímero al teatro (Valencia, Spain: Fundación Amado Alonso, 2005) 138.

111 achieve importance by way of maternal connections to their venerated son. Fervent

Marian devotion throughout the Viceroyalty is reflected in artworks associated with the

Cusco school of painting. Churches, festivals and musical compositions were dedicated to the many distinct Peruvian archetypes of the Madonna. The Virgin Mary’s sainthood differentiates her from actual living women, since she was honored and afforded a level of esteem and praise that real women, with the possible exception of royalty, were not.147

Madonna-like, the allegorical characters of Arequipa and Cuzco are also separated from actual women. This distinction may have made their portrayal by young male seminarians more acceptable—depicting noble, virtuous ideas in allegorical female guise might have been perceived as more acceptable than impersonating true human women, which could have been viewed as burlesque.

The allegorical female character of Cuzco may represent not only the imperial

Incan city but also the Seminary of San Antonio Abad itself. Peruvian art historian

Francisco Stastny considers the prevalence of garden and seminary cloister imagery as allegorical representations of knowledge in literature and in Cusco School painting. El jardín de San Antonio, or The Garden of St. Anthony (anon. Cusco School, 1770-75), a painting that he specifically analyzes, likely references the very courtyard of the opera’s performance. In the painting St. Anthony offers symbols of university life to a female allegorical figure identified as Divine Wisdom. Thus, the character of Cuzco in the opera

147 For more on the status of women in the viceroyalty, see Martín, Daughters; Mabel Moraña, ed. Mujer y cultura en la colonia hispanoamericana (Pittsburgh: Instituto Internacional de Literatura Iberoamericana, University of Pittsburgh, 1996); Susan Migden Socolow, The Women of Colonial Latin America. (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2000). 112 may represent not only the city but also wisdom and perhaps even the Seminary itself.

Although Venid, venid deydades predates the painting, Stastny asserts that such imagery occupied the public and ecclesiastical consciousness prior.148

An additional point of interest in the plot is the local problem around which it is based, a problem that needed to be resolved by an outside authority with power. The idea of looking to Europe and its religious or mythological constructs is consistent with the colonial condition in which Peruvians found themselves. This occasion, however, celebrated a Peruvian-born priest’s ascension to the post of bishop—a rare occurrence in an ecclesiastical system whose leadership in the Viceroyalty was largely comprised of peninsular Spaniards. The appointment, if not the trappings of the plot, is consistent with the rise of a criollo culture in the latter half of the century.

The Music and Style

The work’s music is the most critical facet that influences its dance formally. This is the case because music actually determines dance types and therefore some of their formal elements, as well as the affective qualities. Conceptually, we can trace stylistic connections to possible influences from music of other places, and consider the function of the style. The musical style of Venid, venid deydades allows us to seek connections to

European operas of its time, and therefore to consider European conventions where dance was concerned. The work was written in an Italian operatic style in which the arias are composed in ternary form. In this style, an independent A section is sung followed by a

148 Francisco Stastny, “The University as Cloister, Garden and Tree of Knowledge: An Iconographic Invention in the University of Cuzco,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, Vol. 46 (1983): 98-102. 113 contrasting B section, succeeded by a repetition of the A section. During the repetition of the A section, singers traditionally embellish the melody by using such vocal ornaments and trills as they deem appropriate. These arias, termed da capo, alternate with recitativos--lines of descriptive or expository sung prose which are normally accompanied only by the continuo, are not repeated, and are not intended to have poetic impact.

This use of the Italianate alternating aria-and-recitative proliferated throughout

Europe during the eighteenth century. Eighteenth-century composers in Peru working after the Bourbons came to power in Spain veered away from a more characteristically

Spanish musical style toward an Italianate one.149 Although tastes in Spain had begun to change in the late seventeenth century, they tended toward the new French-bred Felipe

V’s preferences for Italianate music.150 Not surprisingly, the same trend influenced

Spain’s viceroyalites. This shift in operatic style is evident when comparing the more strophic Spanish coplas y estribillo format of stanza and refrain, as found in the first

Peruvian opera, Tomás de Torrejón y Velasco’s La púrpura de la rosa (1701), to the later

Italianate structure of Venid, venid deydades. Torrejón had traveled from Spain to Peru to compose for the court of Viceroy Pedro Fernández de Castro y Andrade, the Count of

Lemos, and stayed through the reigns of subsequent others. He was eventually named chapel master at Lima Cathedral. With the passage of time and the change in stylistic

149 Quezada, El legado, 40; Quezada, “La música,” 88-89; George J. Buelow, A History of Baroque Music (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2004), 405.

150 Louis XIV, the Felipe V’s grandfather, had famously engaged the Italian Jean-Baptiste Lully (Lulli) as his court composer. 114 preferences, later viceroys brought Italian composers to court, and they eventually infiltrated the church as well, along with the Italianate style.

The Viceroy the Marquis de Castell dos Rius, who had served as Spain’s ambassador to Versailles prior to receiving his post as Viceroy in Peru, is noteworthy in this stylistic transition. During his tenure as Viceroy (1707-1710), Castell dos Rius made a concerted effort to guide his Lima court according to the cultural and artistic aesthetics he had experienced in Versailles.151 This Viceroy brought with him the Italian composer

Roque Ceruti, who later inherited Torrejón’s position as chapel master in Lima (active in

Peru between 1721 and his death in 1760). Ceruti and other Italians quickly began to promulgate the Italian style, by then in vogue in Europe. A particular development that marks the new style, sometimes called “trio,”152 is the practice of positioning two melodic lines over the basso continuo, the ongoing base-line accompaniment, which is often partially improvised. This structure, when coupled with a penchant for arias and recitatives and enhanced use of violins, gives Ceruti’s and others’ sacred works and secular, popular-influenced villancicos an operatic theatricality.153

An additional convention of the time in both Europe and Latin America was to integrate French dance music into the works. As discussed in the next chapter, the popularity of Italian operatic styles and French dance styles met with some resistance on

151 Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático, 322-327. Núria Sala i Vila, “La escenificación del poder: el marqués de Castelldosrius, primer virrey Borbón del Perú (1707-1710),” Anuario de estudios americanos 61, 1 (January, 2004): 31-68.

152 This form is widely associated with Italian Baroque composer Arcangelo Corelli.

153 Buelow, A History, 405. 115 the part of ecclesiastical authorities where liturgical music was concerned.154 However,

Venid, venid deydades combines an Italianate aria-recitative style and da capo arias with triple meter French minuets, marked as such, and pieces that lend themselves to other types of French dances such as bourrées or contredanses in duple meter. In this way, the work is consistent with a pan-European opera style popular at the time.

Basic Analysis

Once the critical context and characteristics of the performance have been researched and considered, reconstruction researchers turn to a close analysis of the music and libretto to formulate a conception of the dances. In the search for dance- related information, I reviewed the opera score for its most important dance-related features. I looked at the libretto to understand what was going on in the narrative for each piece of music, and also examined the music for its meter and any tempo indications—which, along with other structural components, determine dance type. I also considered the keys of the pieces to gain a basic idea as to the tone of each piece, and to determine if the composer had given tonal motifs to characters (or types of characters) by assigning them particular keys. In this case he had not.

Musicologist Samuel Claro transcribed and published the score for Venid, venid deydades along with other works from South American archives in his Antología de la música colonial en América del Sur (1974), and this version remains the only accessible extant copy of the original. José Quezada Macchiavello, another of the few musicologists to have seen the original in the Abad archives, hails Claro’s work as

154 Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 92-95. 116

“impeccable.”155 He confirms that Claro has corrected some of the errors evident in the original manuscript, and that his transcriptions are directly playable by modern musicians.156 Claro’s only apparent addition to the original is a reconstruction of two violin parts, lost from the original. These parts are organically guided by vocal and basso continuo parts and were added to facilitate the use of his transcription as a performance edition.157

The opera-serenata Venid, venid, deydades is written for four soloists: two soprano voices (tiples, or trebles, I and II), an alto and a tenor. Specific sections of the work call for some or all of these voices to be joined in chorus, so as to be construed as the voices of the gods, the supporters of one city or the other, or a more generalized assembly. The instrumentation involves only two violins, whose original parts are lost, and a basso continuo.

Unusually, nearly all this opera’s vocal sections have extended introductory or trailing instrumental phrases, directly imitating the vocal phrases that either precede or follow them. Most of the instrumental phrases are found in the A sections of pieces, repeated as per the da capo format. These interstitial phrases of non-vocal music suggest

155 “Sus transcripciones son impecables—no obstante ser literales y no corregir ciertos errors evidentes presentes en los manuscritos.” Quezada, El legado, 38.

156 Quezada, El legado, 37-38.

157 Claro, Antología, LXXXVI. Eighteenth-century musicians were accustomed to improvising, using any notated indications as a suggestion, as an accepted part of their training. But when Claro published his anthology in the 1970s, this aspect of Baroque performance practice was less widely understood than it is today. His inclusion of the added parts made his transcription more usable by contemporary musicians of his own day. 117 choreography or some other stage business. Thus, vocalists could have been integrated into movement staging at these points.

The work begins with a common time piece for tenor and chorus, (1) Venid venid deydades, in D major, where the tenor summons the gods and they, as the chorus, respond and make ready for the trial. Next, in a recitative, (2) Yo que Arequipa soy, the second soprano makes clear her identity as Arequipa, and then continues by singing a da capo aria in common time and in G major, (3) Con tal derecho bien disputo. In this aria

Arequipa pleads her case to the celestial jury, claiming as her attribute the fruit of her bosom (ostensibly, Pérez de Oblitas). The impressed and supportive chorus responds with its own da capo aria in 3/4 time, (4) Viva, viva mi Arequipa, also in G major. Next,

Cuzco, the first soprano, takes her turn with the recitative (5) Yo su madre segunda, asserting that through her guidance, the Bishop’s studies brought him to perfection. Her recitative and her minuet follow, both in G major, the same key that Arequipa used.

Cuzco’s da capo minuet, (6) Bien lo pregona la voz del clarín, is in typical 3/4 meter and is accompanied by continuo and one violin. In this dance Cuzco claims that while

Oblitas was from Arequipa, his later cultivation made him the noble fruit of her own garden.

Continuing in this vein, Cuzco has the floor for the next da capo aria as well. In her G major, duple meter (4/4 or common time) aria, (7) Luego a mi toca el blasón, she claims that she has, in effect, forged a new being and that her influence surely exceeds any other. The ensemble voices its approval for her as the Bishop’s guide and supporter in a D major common time da capo chorus, (8) Viva el prelado. In a choral aria in D 118 major and slow triple meter the ensemble (potentially led by Arequipa) urges that Cuzco not be given all the credit for the prelate’s nurturing just yet--(9) (No se apropie oy el

Cuzco). This short, slow chorale-like piece contains the richest harmonies and most elaborate polyphony of the opera and it gives Arequipa’s supporters their last chance to reinforce her case. It is also one of the few pieces that are not in da capo form. Acting as a moderator, the alto follows with the recitative (10) Si en noble competencia in D major and common time to reiterate that in such a close a competition of virtues, the outcome is not to be granted by Earth, but by Heaven. The next da capo aria, again for the alto and in the same key and meter as the last piece, begins with an extended instrumental section which is repeated with the second repetition of the A section, signaling interesting possibilities for integrating dance. The lyrics in (11) Si en tan reñida cuestión call for a resolution of this blinding and unsettling problem and the bestowal of the heavenly trophy. The alto continues, singing a minuet (in D major and in 3/4 time), (12) De tanta victoria, which asserts that Pérez Oblitas deserves the glory since his influence has brought endless joy, and that his position as Bishop will assure him the eternal crown.

This minuet is not in strict da capo operatic form, as its B section is entirely instrumental.

In a next joyful aria the alto and both sopranos sing (13) Viva, viva, pues triunfante in D major and cut time. The rousing piece would have served as an appropriate closing for the spectacle, but instead, there is a short, slow and somber final chorus for all voices, in the same key and in triple meter, (14) Y pues se celebra oy, extols Cuzco’s glories— adding this glory to her others. Although Cuzco was not technically declared the winner in this dispute, the composer’s partiality is evident in that he gives her two solos and a 119 recitative compared to Arequipa’s one and recitative, and he adds this final proclamation in her favor.158

In summary, this research engages with both practical and theoretical concerns regarding this opera and its inception, performance and preservation. The circumstances and conditions of the physical archive that houses Venid, venid deydades shed light on the work itself and how it and its genre fit into the Seminary world of its time. There has been relatively little investigation of this and the other works in the Seminary’s archive because access to these holdings has been restricted. The importance of the Seminary itself comes into relief when we consider that the bishop celebrated by the opera was its rector, and the Seminary served as the work’s performance space and later its repository.

Seminary performances appear to have been rather exclusive affairs, in which the official

Spanish and criollo elite culture engaged in self-celebration. Yet the mixture of cultural elements used for this purpose—Italian music, Spanish lyrics, and French dances— reflected Europe rather than the demographics of the Viceroyalty of Peru.

158 Claro, Antología, LXXXVI, 108-133. 120

CHAPTER THREE – THE OPERA’S DANCES THROUGH THE ARCHIVE

Contrary to Diana Taylor’s assertions, dance does possess an archive of informative, and sometimes formally instructive textual, pictorial and graphic matter.

Dance researchers turn to a variety of texts and other material culture to glean both formal and contextual information about dances, choreographies, movement norms and conventions, music, etc. Although this archive is relatively small and varied in terms of its precision and usefulness, it is immensely important to dance reconstructors. This chapter shows the types of information that can be useful in early dance reconstruction from sources compiled to investigate the dance in an understudied circumstance. It also complicates the use of such sources on theoretical grounds.

The Archive and Dance Reconstruction

As noted, to reestablish a technique of French Noble Style dancing, music and dance historians in the last half of the twentieth century relied heavily on the unusually rich and descriptive eighteenth-century European dance archive, which is discussed in more detail in the second half of this chapter. Their dependence on this archive was necessary because there was no instructive repertoire for this style or its dances, and fortunately, the archive proved to be extraordinarily detailed and didactic. At the time, these early reconstructors were simultaneously staking a claim for dance history and reconstruction in the academy. Dogged reliance on textual evidence likely assisted them in having their pursuit taken as historically informed research rather than shear creative imagination. Although, with the evolution of dance studies, some within the discipline question the preeminence of the archive in the reconstruction practice, I argue that it is a 121 necessary component and tool of the reconstruction process. The archive still today provides the basis for the dance technique, and also for the reconstruction of its cache of between three and four hundred notated dances.

That said, the use of this archive poses problems, as well. The style of dancing that this eighteenth-century dance archive represents was perhaps typical of a tiny segment of humankind in its time, yet we students, teachers and reconstruction practitioners often let it stand in for THE dance style indicative of the Baroque period.159

We tend to aggrandize the style’s presence and importance. As a practical matter, when reconstructing dances for performance, this inclination needs to be continually checked to ensure that the dance is appropriate for the occasion and performance context. As a conceptual matter, deeper engagement with dancing of the time and place would necessitates considering other groups and classes and their movement cultures. Chapter

Four demonstrates how potential alternative styles may be considered.

A second problem with dance reconstruction’s dependency on the archive is a tendency on the part of practitioners to construe information from dance treatises and manuals as “truths” because they sometimes constitute our only guides.160 We need to consider that the extant archival treatises likely represent the individual perspectives, theories, and tastes of their creators and thus may not be an indication of how something

159 The style, without a doubt, trickled down to people of other classes, and we know that public audiences had a thirst for learning versions of dances seen in the prior year’s operas—and thus, annual collections were published.

160 The idea that because something has been written down it is factual or true is commonly contested. Marlene Manoff points out that textual documents, themselves, are reconstructions produced with particular perspectives and motives. Marlene Manoff, “Theories of the Archive across Disciplines,” Portal: Libraries and the Academy 4 (Jan. 2004): 14. Taylor engages with this concept in the colonial condition in a subsection titled Fictions of Origin. Taylor, The Archive, 55-64. 122 was actually danced, but more likely, how a particular author preferred it. These texts are mostly prescriptive in proposing what the author thought should be done, rather than descriptive of what was actually being done. From both a practical and theoretical perspective, this is one reason that dance reconstruction does not equate to “authentic” portrayal of period dancing. It should also open the reconstructor to consider movement possibilities in a wider light.

Next, even the simplest verbal instruction (written or oral) about movement can be understood a variety of ways. As wonderfully explicit as some of these sources are, linguistics and usage issues can easily result in various interpretations even by fluent readers. Beyond language and its change over time, human movement is notoriously difficult to record in writing, owing to its complexity and infinite variety. Neither written instructions, nor dance notation can accommodate all possibilities. In practice, however, they can direct us by prescribing what the body is to do at certain points and by giving generalized conventions that a mover may apply in transitioning to and from such instances.

Colonial Politics of the Archive

Dance’s relatively small archive is subject to the same biases and limitations that affect archives generally. The current discourse of the archive has important considerations for those dealing with the archive of historical dance materials. From the point of view of a reconstructor, as mentioned, the dance archive explicitly describes a miniscule portion of the dance that has existed in the world, and where it is most detailed 123 historically, it tends to describe and instruct on elite dancing.161 As has been noted by theorists with regard to the archive of textual, “supposedly enduring materials,”162 it has largely been created, maintained and mediated by the groups with political and economic power. Taylor, Mary Louise Pratt, and Eric R. Wolf are among authors who address the heightened significance of the connection between power and the archive in the colonial circumstance, where hierarchies were sharpened when “lettered” traditions met with oral ones. Specifically with colonialism, Taylor notes an increase in the “degree of legitimization of writing over epistemic and mnemonic systems.”163 Using the written word, colonial authorities maintained and enhanced power with little input from marginalized groups without writing systems.164 While Pratt has shown how some indigenous residents responded by appropriating the authority’s writing system,165 the mediation of the archive remained firmly under the control of colonial powers. The system of textual production and archiving was itself productive of theories of separation and difference, often according to binaries or hierarchies of perceived relative qualities such as ability, ingenuity, worth and importance—as Wolf notes in his Europe and the

People without History.166 The creators and mediators of the dance-related primary and

161 Exceptions to this generally relate to popular or folk dances as observed and documented by literate others from outside a dance community.

162 Taylor, The Archive, 19.

163 Ibid., 18.

164 Ibid.

165 Pratt, Imperial Eyes, 7.

166 Eric R. Wolf, Europe and the People with History, (Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press, 2010). 124 secondary textual information used in this study for the most part reflect the Eurocentric nature of the archive.

Starting Places - Peruvian Texts

Generally speaking, direct formal information about dance is rare, but reconstructors also rely on textual information for important contextual data relating to a dance genre, convention or event. As in Europe, dance appears to have been typical in a wide variety of musical theatrical situations in colonial Peru during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.167 There are, however, few Peruvian traces that tell us what this dancing looked like. With Venid, venid deydades, the extant score and libretto are the basis for the formal musical qualities of the work. But what can we know about its dance? The archive contains neither notations for its choreography, nor descriptions of it.

Operas in the Viceroyalty did not become repeated traditions where their choreography would have been handed down from generation to generation of performers, and so it does not survive in the repertoire of kinesthetic knowledge that Cusco’s dancers or seminarians now possess. Although these gaps in both the archive and the repertoire, make it impossible to recover the exact original choreography, we can gain an idea of the dancing through an investigation of dance types like those included in the opera’s score in the less-than-complete information from both the archive and the repertoire.

I begin with the observation that in his opera Fray Ponce de León included pieces marked “minuet”--an unmistakable reference to the triple meter French dance that became extremely popular in European courts and theaters in the eighteenth century.

167 See Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático, 9-10; Baker, Imposing, 61-68. Additionally, Quezada, El legado, 123-138 explores a variety of popular and courtly dances that he proposes were known in Peru. 125

There exist references to the use of minuets in Peru, as well. Some other pieces in opera that also could have been danced are in duple meter, and there also exist possibilities in the French genre that might have been used for these.

Unlike the earlier strophic songs and traditional Spanish rhythms that characterized La púrpura de la rosa (1701) at the beginning of the eighteenth century,

Venid, venid deydades (1749), following pan-European fashion in opera, used an international style that incorporated Italianate conventions in vocal music and French dance rhythms and structures, and in this case, Spanish lyrics. The composer included duple and triple meter dance rhythms in pieces meant to be sung or partially sung. The duple meter pieces are not labeled by dance type as are two triple meter minuets, each of which Claro transcribed as “minuet”.168 To reconstruct a historically informed idea of the opera’s dancing I have selected the minuet aria, Bien lo pregona la voz del clarín and the duple meter aria with lengthy instrumental sections, Si en tan reñida cuestión to investigate and conceptualize for this project. Based on their meter, and those of the standard dances of the French style that had a presence in Peruvian and Spanish culture, the duple meter piece could have been danced as a bourée or contredanse. Bourées were typically couple dances and contredanses (or contradanzas, in Spanish) were group dances known in European and Peruvian courts, salons and public dances, and were referenced in theater pieces in the eighteenth century. There is evidence that duple meter bourées (called boréas or bureas, in Spanish sources) were also known in Peru, but this

168 I cannot confirm that this is the spelling used on Ponce’s original score, as the spelling could have been changed in the Chilean musicologist’s transcription. “Minuet” seems to be slightly more common in Peruvian sources than “minuete” or “minué,” though there are examples of all three spellings. 126 choreographic inquiry envisages the chosen duple meter piece as contradanza--a group dance, it provide a contrast to the couple minuet, which is also analyzed. A group dance, rather than a couple dance, also fits well with the narrative context of the piece, as we shall see.169

Understanding these dances formally, hinges on physically deciphering available verbal and graphic indications as to steps, execution, choreography, and music from primary sources, and tailoring these kinesthetic assumptions in accordance with their historical and social contexts. In this chapter I offer, first, an overview of dancing in the

Viceroyalty to situate the particular style of dancing that is the topic of this study within the larger panorama of dance performance in this time and place. This overview also discusses opposition to dancing in particular circumstances. The subsequent section addresses evidence of the French dances in question in Peruvian texts. These allusions to minuets and contradanzas do not provide formal descriptions or instructions, but do offer evidence of the types of occasions where these dances were found. The Peruvian archive

169 Of the standard French dances of the Baroque repertoire that are duple meter (allemandes, bourées, contredanses, gavottes, some gigues, and rigaudons), the Peruvian primary sources I have surveyed mention only bureas and contradanzas. (For prevalent French dance types and their meters, see Dorothy Olsson, “Dance” in A Performer’s Guide to Seventeenth-Century Music, ed. Stewart Carter (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2012), 397-432; Meredith Little and Natalie Jenne, Dance and the Music of J.S. Bach (Bloomington and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press, 2001); Wendy Hilton, Dance and Music of Court and Theater: Selected Writings of Wendy Hilton (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1997); and Meredith Ellis Little and Carol G. Marsh, La Danse Noble: An Inventory of Dances and Sources (Williamstown, MA: Broude Brothers Limited, 1992). Eighteenth-century Spanish dance treatises concentrate on presenting triple meter minuetes and passapies, and duple meter contradanzas, as will be discussed more thoroughly. Interestingly, the dances of the French repertoire believed to have evolved from Latin American dance types being filtered through Spain, the triple meter chaconne and sarabande, are not addressed in the eighteenth-century Spanish treatises. For more on the origins of these dances, see Louise K. Stein, “De chacona, zarabanda, y La púrpura de la rosa en la cultura del Perú colonial,” in Perú en su cultura, ed. Daniel Castillo Durante and Borka Sattler (Ottawa and Lima: PromPeru/University of Ottawa, 2001), 211-223. 127 reveals positive, negative and neutral attitudes about them. European sources were consulted for direct formal dance data about these dances, and this information comprises the last part of this chapter. The adopted French dances are considered through the archive--how and what written and graphic sources tell us about these dances. This material, in turn, informs Chapter Five, where dance information is synthesized into dance reconstruction examples.

An Overview of Dancing in the Viceroyalty in the Eighteenth Century

While a complete history of dancing in the Viceroyalty of Peru is beyond the limits of this study, some general points will assist with understanding the place of Venid, venid deydades’s dances in a wider context of dancing. From a practical standpoint, this allows us to contemplate similarities and differences in contexts and in formal conventions, and provides us with a broader conceptual idea of a society through its dancing. From early in the viceregal period religious and civic fiestas (festivals) marked important occasions for processions, where the dances of various social and ethnic groups were put on display for the society at large. Whether in celebration of a saint’s feast day or a viceroy’s return to the city, or a royal birth in Spain, dances of indigenous groups from different parishes, of black and mulatto confraternity groups, and liturgical and popular dances of Spanish and criollo groups were included in processions and festivities that surrounded, and sometimes entered the cathedrals of Peruvian cities.170 This policy of inclusion, which was doubtless meant to seem benevolent, had at its core the goals of the colonization and conversion projects. Adding native and black cultural aspects to

170 Liturgical dancing appears to have died out in Peru by the eighteenth century. Quezada, El legado. 128 these celebrations confirmed Spanish supremacy over the vanquished groups by proving embodied examples of subservience to the Catholicism and the Crown.

In these festivals, the official culture of church and state demonstrated its power through the performances of diverse groups subservient to it. Performances for religious or civil occasions appeared to manifest the groups’ unanimous allegiance to the imposed power structure. Within this agenda, the more different groups over which the

Viceroyalty could claim dominion, the better. By the same token, this inclusion in public performances allowed groups to keep some vestiges of their own cultures, even if sanctioned songs and dances were redirected from their original meanings to honor

Christian saints and Spanish royalty. The incorporation additionally allowed the prominent or elite members of each of these groups to perform their importance to their own groups as well as to others.171 Support for such diverse additions in the festivals change over time--its efficacy in creating loyal obedient subjects was questioned at times by the decision-makers of church and state. Additional misgivings grew from fears about the potential dangers of permitting groups of indigenous and black performers, sometimes masked and armed (if their costuming and dance type required it), to roam the streets.172

171 Baker, Imposing, 35-56 provides a thoughtful analysis of fiestas in Cusco, and primary sources cited subsequently are relaciones of such events. Additionally, Carolyn Dean addresses native Andean (especially noble Inca) performance and depiction in Inka Bodies and the Body of Christ: Corpus Christi in Colonial Cuzco, Peru, (Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 1999) and “The ambivalent triumph: Corpus Christi in colonial Cusco, Peru,” in Acting on the Past: Historical Performance Across the Disciplines, ed. Mark Franko and Annette Richards, (Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press, 2000) 159- 176.

172 An account of a Cusco Corpus Christi procession in 1700 describes a drunken melee stemming from a quarrel about or among the dancers. Esquivel y Navia, Noticias, vol. 2, 173. 129

Primary source relaciones (accounts) of fiestas reference public and private

(salon) dances or balls, banquets, bullfights, firework displays, and comedia and opera performances held for religious and civil events. Social and theatrical dancing was, thus, part of such festivities, but details about it are scarce. We know, too, that music, theater and dance could be found in seminaries, convents (male or female), and even more cloistered monasteries (male or female).173 It should be noted, that, predictably, the vast majority of extant accounts document the activities organized by the official structure of

Spanish and white criollo officials and were authored by members of the same social group. Although there is evidence of indigenous, black and casta participation in the music of religious institutions, we know very little about the social and theatrical dancing that may have been performed and consumed by majority indigenous and black audiences.

Notwithstanding, there does exist evidence of an intersection between black/mulatto and Spanish/white criollo dance culture. Several allusions in secondary literature and the popular belief that I encountered point to a prevalence of black and mulatto dancing masters throughout the viceregal period in the Lima region.174 A sizable percentage of the African slaves in Peru lived and worked in Peru’s coastal port cities,

173 See Esquivel y Navia Noticias vol. 2, 294; Samuel Claro and Gilbert Chase, “Música dramática”; Geoffrey Baker, “Music in the Convents and Monasteries of Colonial Cuzco.” Latin American music review/Revista de música Latinoamericana 24, no. 1 (2003): 1-41; and Imposing, 111-190; Quezada, El legado, 143-144; and Sas, La música, 44-45.

174 Estenssoro “Comportamiento,” 165-166; and Música y sociedad 67, 91; and also Estenssoro’s “La plebe illustrada: el pueblo en las fronteras de la razón,” in Entre la retórica y la insurgencia, ed. Charles Walker (Cuzco: Centro de Estudios Regionales Andinos “Bartolomé de las Casas,” 1996), 50-60.

130 and many were employed in the ports and in the domestic service of elite Spaniards and criollos.175 It was believed by my Peruvian contacts in this study that black and mulatto residents, slaves and free, might have served as conduits or “go-betweens” in transmitting dance culture. Privy to new trends as they arrived through ports of entry, and also witnesses to the refined, acceptable dancing they observed at the saraos (balls) in the homes of those they served, it is conceivable that those slaves or servants with a penchant and interest in dancing might have acquired a broad repertoire of popular and cultivated dances. While some popular dances performed by black and mulatto confraternities had been criticized as scandalous, it appears that the black and mulatto community also embodied and taught dances that were considered acceptable in the theater and the salon.176 Musicologist José Quezada remarked during our discussions that (although he had not researched this) his understanding was that black and mulatto household servants, upon learning the dances of the saraos, hired themselves out as dancing masters177

(manumissions and other polices sometimes allowed for independent enterprise among slaves).178 It is probable that the black and mulatto population was intrinsically

175 Although a number of black slaves were sent to work in inland mines, the majority of them remained concentrated along the coast. See Carlos Aguirre’s “La población de origen africano en el Perú: de la esclavitud a la libertad,” in Lo africano en la cultura criolla, ed.María Rostworowski, (Lima, Fondo Editorial del Congreso del Perú, 2000), 64-65. Aguirre mentions particularly high concentrations of African slaves in the regions of Piura, Lambayeque and in the cities, especially Lima, where he notes that in many cases the black population has remained concentrated.

176 Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 67, 91; and “La plebe illustrada,” 50-60; Sas, La música, 38.

177 José Quezada Macchiavello interviews September 17 and October 9, 2010.

178 Charles Walker, Shaky Colonialism: The 1746 Earthquake-Tsunami in Lima, Peru and its Long Aftermath (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008), 57-63. “Many slaves worked outside the house, handing over to their owner a large percentage of their wage. This arrangement granted the slave some independence and the opportunity to save in order to buy his or her freedom. […] This helps explain not 131 connected with the development of the official culture’s dancing body (especially if they taught Spaniards and criollos), or at the very least, appropriated aspects of it for their own use.

Controlling Dance

In considering dance history through historical writings, consulting literature critical of dance can be a methodologically fruitful step. Ironically, complaints about, or prohibitions of dance by religious or other authorities sometimes describe the nature or contexts deemed offensive, thus making them valuable fonts of dance information. From a theoretical standpoint, this information tells about dance in society, but also about relations between sectors of society. In viceregal Peru the ecclesiastical community and civil administration were the authorities to comment on and censure dancing. During the course of Peru’s colonial history, dancing was often a target of the negative rhetoric and scorn of religious authorities. Fears about lascivious or otherwise immoral or scandalous behavior led to the singling out of particular dances for censure. Dancing by particular groups of society was also seen as problematic. In some cases, the nature of the dancing seems less at issue than the perceived need to control specific segments of the population–such as nuns in convents, indigenous Andeans, and black and mulatto confraternity members. How the authorities saw and dealt with the dancing by particular groups fluctuated over time. There was also a troublesome grey area of constant debate caused by popular musical forms such as villancicos seeping into religious music and celebration. Very often the vernacular lyrics of these songs evoked religious topics and

only the significant free black population, but also the impression that slaves had a relatively high level of independence in Lima.” (58). 132 stories (such as the Christmas story). Such songs (and arguably their accompanying dances), while remaining extra-liturgical, were sometimes included at the end of masses or as part of matins services.179 Although liturgical dances had been part of the Spanish worship tradition, the intrusion of popular dance-songs was historically a source of concern.

Changes to political, economic and religious policies under Bourbon rule were instituted throughout the eighteenth century. These so-called Bourbon Reforms had a conservative ecclesiastical component whose efforts, aimed at social control, reached their zenith during the reign of Charles III from 1759-1788.180 In Peru the era just after

Venid, venid deydades through the end of the century witnessed the most of repressive official posturing with regard to dance, music and theater. During this period, official efforts at curtaining dancing by various groups and limiting where and when celebrations with music and dancing could occur grew stronger. Musicologist and historian Juan

Carlos Estenssoro points out that this intervention was focused on “strengthening the central power of the Church by shutting down, where possible, all spontaneous musical manifestations and limiting the use of festive elements to the strictly official festival.”181

179 Quezada El legado 120-132 provides a description of sub-categories of villancicos (including some that relate directly and indirectly to dance), and notes that they are infused with dance rhythms. Quezada is of the opinion that these may have been danced in churches. José Quezada Macchiavello interview September 17, 2010.

180 Stein, in Songs of Mortals, discusses Charles III’s distaste for comedias and zarzuelas, and the curbing of theater productions during his reign.

181 “…tendía básicamente a robustecer el poder central de la Iglesia ‘callando’ en lo possible toda manifestación musical espontánea y delimitando el uso de elementos festivos al ámbito de la fiesta estrictamente oficial.” Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 93. 133

As we shall see, some evidence of this rigid stance is apparent in primary sources in the second half of the century.

French Dances in Eighteenth-Century Peru

This section surveys diverse Peruvian viceregal-era sources that mention French dances like those probably employed in Venid, venid deydades—a practical step taken to learn about how widely the dances were likely known, what kinds of formal characteristics were associated with them, and in what contexts they were present. If these varied from what I knew to be the European conventions associated with the dances, I would have to have conceived of my dance reconstructions differently to more adequately reflect Peruvian standards, but I did not. While Peruvian sources do not directly inform as to the technique or aesthetics of the dances in Venid, venid deydades, the texts do provide some useful information about the use of French dances in other performance situations. As the texts show, the names of these dances were used in public discourse, leading us to the assumption that they were widely recognized. The textual material also offers indications that in situations where French dances were employed, singing and dancing, in some cases, occurred simultaneously, and that even the more social of these dances, the contradanza, was used on the theatrical stage. We learn, also, that, as in the theater, Italian vocal music and French dance music made their way into religious life, but not without ecclesiastical disapproval. Peru’s black residents, it seems, had a hand in teaching and promoting the minuet, but we cannot know what, if any, non-

European stylistic accents they may have contributed to it—this constitutes a weakness in relying on the archive. Here is a The Peruvian archive situates the French dances within 134 some social scenarios and within some performance situations, which inform us about them rather generally.

The shift from the Hapsburgs to French-based Bourbon rule in Spain in 1700 precipitated the spread of French style in Spain its viceroyalties. The aforementioned

Francophile viceroy, Castell dos Rius, during the first decade of Bourbon rule, promoted

French style, particularly among a growing class of educated criollo elites. Weekly salons at the Viceroy’s palace allowed a lettered assembly to discuss literature, philosophy and ideas about the arts from Europe beyond Spain. France, with its pantheon of Enlightenment philosophers and playwrights, was an enticing culture from which to draw.

Coincident with an evolving eighteenth-century pan-European preference for

French dance in opera and theater, the erudite criollo Pedro de Peralta Barnuevo interjected discussion of French dances into his play La Rodoguna (1727). This work is an adaptation of the French playwright, Corneille’s, earlier play, Rodogune (ca. 1645), and includes an entremés (interlude) with a dancing master character. 182 The script references several French dances, and also steps, turns, cabriolas (cabrioles--capers or beaten jumps) and dance measures (or meter, rhythm). These inclusions enhance the feel for the genre of dance associated with the dancing master, and some aesthetic characteristics. This information is presented within the play’s verse structure, and does not offer specific formal description or instruction.

182 This is reminiscent of the better-known Molière comédie-ballet, Le bourgeois gentilhomme (1670), but also of a similarly themed earlier Calderón de la Barca comedia, El maestro de danzar (ca. 1664). 135

The Maestro character, in love with his pupil, Chanita, tells her, “Chanita of my soul, although I am your dancing master, every affect is a turn (una vuelta), every sigh a dance measure (un compás). And now that to use it is needed, to put love into dance, I'll teach you without variations (mudanzas), (because you are singular) without contratiempos of jealousy, minuets (minuetes) of willingness.”183 With this flowery language, the Maestro appropriately characterizes a contratiempo (or contremps) as a step that pertains to the minuet, and further, that it does something discordant in the minuet.

As we will see in Chapter Four where steps are analyzed, the contratiempo is executed to work against the standard six beat rhythm of the minuet step. The Maestro, here, likens the divergence from the normal rhythm to jealousy.

Fortunately for him, Chanita returns his affections. She says, “Your disciple of love I will always be without equal, for seeing your gentility, you make me jump

(cabriolas) inside in desire; and to see your skillful dancing, you balance (balances) my aloofness by the steps you do.”184 Chanita names steps that are common in the French

Noble Style to describe actions. By using “cabriolas” she describes her giddy, jumping feelings. She also uses the word balances , another French step name, to describe the effect of the Maestro’s steps on her otherwise aloof or disinterested demeanor. The step,

183 “Chanita de mi alma, aunque/ soy tu maestro de danzar, /cada afecto es una vuelta, /cada suspiro un compás. /Y ahora que al uso es preciso/ poner en baile el amar,/ te enseñaré sin mudanzas,/ (porque seas singular)/ sin contratiempos de sscelos / minuetes de voluntad.” Pedro de Peralta Barnuevo, La Rodoguna [ca. 1727] in Teatro colonial siglo XVIII, vol 3, Antología general del teatro peruano. with an introduction by Ricardo Silva-Santisteban (Lima: Banco Continental/Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, 2000), 31 (Lines 76-85).

184 “Tu dicípula de amor/ seré siempre sin igual,/ pues al ver tu gentileza,/ adentro haciendome estás/ cabriolas en el deseo;/ y al verte diestro danzar,/ son a mi esquivez tus pasos/ balances que le haces dar.” Ibid., (Lines 86-93). 136 as performed, displays balancing on first one leg, then the other (balancés are analyzed in

Chapter Four). Her choice of words shows an understanding of these steps that is consistent with their actual execution.

A bit later, the Maestro notes Chanita’s influence on his dancing, and addresses her saying, “Air of my pasapiés, rhythm of my bureas, fit into this heart that divine bosom.”185 The pasapié (passepied)--effectively a quick and lilting form of minuet-- figures prominently, along with minuets, in French, and especially Spanish dance treatises of the eighteenth century, and the burea or boréa (bourrée)—a duple meter dance with a base step of the same name—is less common in the Spanish sources than in the French. The author has made an interesting choice to use the word “encaja,” to mean to fit or put inside something. He may be making a play on words with the dance step,

“encaje,” which is frequently used in the few extant Spanish seventeenth-century dance sources.186 In this step the legs become intertwined, the front leg and foot being brought behind to wrap around the back leg and foot. If this is a purposeful dance allusion, it is the only one to reference a Spanish, rather than a French step.

185 “Aire de mis pasapiés/, de mis bureas compás /encaja a este corazón/ ese pecho de deidad.” Ibid., 34 (Lines 152-155).

186 See Juan de Esquivel Navarro, Discursos sobre el arte del danzado. Seville, Ivan Gomez de Blas, 1642; Juan Antonio Jaque, Libro de danzar de don Baltasar de Rojas Pantoja. [ca. 1680]. Manuscript transcribed by Francisco Asenjo Barbieri, Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional de España, MS 18580/5 (MS/14059/15/Barbieri); and Pablo Minguet e Yrol, Breve tratado de los passos del danzar a la española (Madrid, Imprenta del Autor, 1764). Brooks, The Art of Dancing, 105-106. This step is similar to the French Noble Style emboîté (unlike a step by the same name in classical ballet). The word in each language conjures the idea of enclosing in a box or boxing-in (caja, in Spanish; boîte, in French). 137

Turning from love, the Maestro engages Chanita in the lesson, and tells her, “That foot must go on tiptoe and walk along the diagonal.”187 Without telling us much about the execution of the steps, the reference to rising onto the toe of foot, is perhaps, indicative of a general aesthetic that the author and audience associated with the dances of this genre.

In the first act of the play, proper, a character called Siscón, in describing the presence of singing and dancing in all sectors states, “The barbershops are hooked on pasacalles, the dance schools on cabriolas and dance measures.”188 Siscón thus brings another dance of the French Noble Style into consideration—at the barbershop, no less— the pasacalle (passacaille). This triple meter dance, whose music is comprised of chord progression variations, is another dance of the French repertory, and is thought to have originated in Spain.189

While the play’s references to minuetes (minutes), pasapiés (passepieds), bureas

(bourées), and pasacalles (passacailles) are evocative of a general style that a dancing master would have taught, when specific qualities are associated with them, or their steps, these do, with the exception of the one Spanish step, coincide with what is known today of French Noble Style dancing of the eighteenth century.

An additional dance is called for to close the entremés—the Babao—the only dance mentioned that is not of the French repertoire—important, as a demonstration that

187 “Ese pie ha de ir de puntilla,/y andar por la diagonal.” Peralta, La Rodoguna, 35 (Lines 173-174).

188 “Las barberías están colgadas de pasacalles, y las escuelas de danza de cabriolas y compases.” Ibid., 43 (Lines 61-70).

189 Olsson “Dance,” in A Performer’s Guide to Seventeenth-Century Music, ed. Stewart Carter (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2012), 397-432. 138 other dances figured along with the French. Stage directions call for music of the Babao to be played and for the assembly of characters (possibly, as many as nine) to “dance a ring, alternating gentlemen and ladies, and on another round each one takes his [lady] by the hand and they go off entering [likely, an imaginary dining room.]” A lone character dances in circles by himself and follows the others in.190 Although I have not found other references to the “Babao,” the word might have been a derivation of Bilbao, the name of a Spanish port city. Quezada believes that dances with city names sometimes suggest the ports of embarkation of emigrees to Peru,191 and might therefore be important to consider when investigating stylistic influences. Whatever its origin, the Babao is an example of a group social dance staged in an eighteenth-century Peruvian production—as is this study’s theorized contradanza. While we do not know if the French dances were danced or, perhaps, pantomimed in the entremés, we can suppose that Peralta used these dance references to evoke a particular aesthetic sense that his audience would have understood.

His productions were presented in the Viceroy’s palace, where they would have been seen by broad segments of Lima’s society.192 Thus, we might assume that some stylistic idea of the dances Peralta cited were widely recognizable among the Peruvian populace.

190 “…danzan todos una rueda, alternados galanes y damas, y a otra vuelta toma cada uno la suya de la mano y se van entrando;…” Peralta, La Rodoguna, 38 (Lines 215-218).

191 Quezada, El legado, 135.

192 Peralta’s role in the court of Viceroy Castell dos Ríus, his dramatic works, and the circumstances of their performance, are outlined in Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático, 359-384. Also see José Antonio Rodríguez Garrido, “El teatro cortesano en la Lima colonial: recepción y prácticas escénicas” Histórica. 32-1 (2008): 115-143; and his “Teatro y poder en el palacio virreinal de Lima 1672-1707” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 2003), wherein he addresses audiences (120).

139

In the account Elisio Peruano (1725), chronicler Gernónimo Fernández de Castro y Bocangel describes, and in some cases, provides prose for theatrical pieces presented in the Lima court on the festive occasion of the coronation of Spanish King Luis I.

Although he provides a great deal of detail about costumes, scenery and scene changes involved in some of the productions, his descriptions of dances are rather brief. In the first part of his work, Fernández de Castro provides rich descriptions of the costumes and accoutrements in processions and their various sections. He gives particular attention to

“Fiestas de los naturales” (festive processions of noble Incas and Indians—many of the individuals portraying historical Inca leaders and their courtly entourages). This type of inclusion seems typical of the relaciones of this type that I surveyed—generally they marvel at the performances of the naturales, and they praise the diversity of performances included in the fiestas. In one instance, Fernández de Castro characterizes a dance performed by the men of the noble court of the Chimo Capac as a “heroic contradanza.”193 He mentions several other native groups and their dances, but only characterizes this one with a term descriptive of a particular type of European dance.

Perhaps this “contradanza” contained formal qualities reminiscent of European contradanzas. They could have involved various figures and dancers changing places in

193 Gerónimo Fernández de Castro. Elisio Peruano: Solemnidades heroicas y festivas demonstraciones (Lima: Francisco Sobrino. 1725), 76-77. Describing the activities that passed before the Viceroy’s balcony overlooking the Plaza, the author notes that the sound of the “trumpets and box drums, that of the harps, lutes, flutes and other instruments of the of the dance that preceded the festive (illegible), heroic troupe” (“…clarines y caxas, y el de las Arpas, Laudes, Flautas, y otros instrumentos de la danza que antecedia festiva (illegible) ha heroyca tropa.”). (76) He later calls their dance a “heroic contradanza” (“heroyca contradanza.”) (77). Because all participants seem to have been wearing the same intricate costume, and because he then mentions a group of noble women separately, we might assume that the contradanza was performed by a group of men.

140 their sets or lines, although from the description given, we cannot know. The contradanza, in its European and parodic Peruvian folklor versions, are further discussed in the subsequent chapter. Fernández de Casto’s account of the “heroic” dance of indigenous nobles provides one reading of it, and we cannot know whether there might have been other ways to read such a performance, or whether it might have been hidden transcripts (perhaps parodic ones) about which the chronicler was unaware.194

The author makes an additional reference to a contradanza later in the work as he describes theater comedias performed as part of the festivities—these appear to be criollo and/or Spanish works, likely produced without the participation or indigenous performers. Within his accounts of short theater works (one of them, by the above- named Peralta) Fernández de Castro notes the clever use of a contradanza that brought the fin de fiesta to a close in a piece that he, himself, wrote.195 Although the dance is not described, it appears to have been used as a concluding device, and its presence here confirms that this social dance form was utilized on the stage, as it was in Europe, and, as

I theorize, it could have been in Venid, venid, deydades.196

194 The idea of “hidden transcripts” is forwarded in James C. Scott’s Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1990). While Scott theorizes hidden transcripts as subaltern messages of meaning conveyed away from the public realm, I submit that, particularly in non-verbal expressions, double ententres performed publicly may be designed to be understood differently by different segments of society.

195 “El Fin de Fiesta.le escribió quien, desseando conplacer, y server a su Dueño… inventò la idea en la Contradanza, con que remató cuyos lazos con novedad particular adquirieron la aprobacion aun de aquellos, que conservando las especies Theatrales de Europa, pueden tener menos bien contentadizo el gusto para lo que alli no se executa.” “The Fin de Fiesta was written by someone who, wishing to please and serve his Master…. invented the idea of the Contradanza, with which he concluded it, tying up loose ends, with particular novelty, it acquired the approval, even of those who, preserving the European theatrical types, can have tastes that are less easy-to-please about what they do not do there.” Fernández, Elisio, 101. This ambiguous final statement may imply that bringing a piece to a close with a final contradanza was not common in traditional European theatrical pieces.

141

For the next comedias that he addresses, Fernández de Castro describes an orchestral overture, which, after a slow, sweet segment, ended with a cheerful minuet air which served as a sign to raise the curtain for the show.197 If this minuet had been danced, it seems likely that the author would have mentioned it. He nevertheless identifies the music by dance type, likely assuming that his readers would have understood something of the dance’s quality.

Fernández de Castro also provides scripts for some of the theatrical works presented as part of these festivities, including his own Introducion al Sarao de los

Planetas (the term sarao is used here to denote a theatrical piece with music and dance, yet the term can also mean a social dance or ball). In this work, planets and mythological characters sing several arias, and also dance. Stage notes affirm that “with a verse that

Iris [the nymph] sang, Amor, and each one of the Planets did a turn forming a minuet figure, and finishing, they took their places, and the arc/rainbow with the Nymph began to rise and exit.”198 If taken literally, an important piece of information here, is that the dancing was being executed while there was singing going on. This Simultaneous singing and dancing, while there are extant examples of sung dances, seems not to have been entirely typical in the French theatrical-operatic tradition. The Spanish theatrical

196 See Clara Rico Osés “La Contradanza en España en el siglo XVIII: Ferriol y Boxeraus, Minguet e Yrol y los bailes públicos” Anuario Musical 64 (2009): 191-214.

197 “…despues de un dulcissimo grave, concluyó en un festive alegre ayre de Minuet, que sirvió de seña para levantarse la cortina.” Fernández, Elisio, 104. 198 “Con la Copla, que cantaba Iris; daban una vuelta formando una mudanza de minuet el Amor, y cada uno de los Planetas, y acavada, tomavan sus lugares, y el el arco con la Nimpha empeçò à irse elevando.” Ibid., 140. The term mudanza is variously interpreted. Louise K. Stein in Songs of Mortals defines it as a dance phrase. Period Spanish dance sources (which will be addressed shortly) lead us to believe that it is a figure or variation of perhaps several phrases. The arc with the Nymph is an allusion to a rainbow, which in Spanish is arco iris. 142 tradition, however, with its abundance of dance-songs in comedias and zarzuelas, was perhaps inclined to treat aria-minuets in a similar fashion, that is, as sung dances.199 The minuets included in Venid, venid deydades are sung and, as with the duple-meter piece that I theorize could have been danced as a contradanza, there is an alternating of vocal and instrumental phrases. Rather than assume that dancing would have occurred only in instrumental phrases where there was no singing, this reference opens the possibility for simultaneous singing and dancing.

Beginning within a decade of Venid, venid deydades, evidence of ecclesiastical criticism of the fashion in music and dance (and dance music, in particular) becomes apparent. As musicologist Juan Carlos Estenssoro points out, French dances made their way into religious music, and representatives of the ecclesiastical community commented disparagingly on this, as well as on the integration of Italian musical forms, which they saw as being too theatrical in nature.200 Lima’s Archbishop (from 1751-58) Pedro

Antonio Barroeta y Angel wrote stridently in favor of controlling music and behavior, especially as it related to maintaining the decorum of the mass. Some of Barroeta’s edicts are aimed at preserving the serious nature of church music, using plainchant, and eliminating elements of profane music from the church. He proposed,

….not to introduce new figures in the Chant of the Church beyond those that the Gregorian [style] permits, but what is more detestable, is that also in the solemn Masses, as well as before them, […] they play Sonatas, Arias and Minuets and other songs, in that instead of moving [one] to devotion and lifting downcast

199 Stein: Songs of Mortals, and La púrpura de la rosa; Quezada, El legado 137.

200 Estenssoro, Música y sociedad. 86-97 shows that from the beginning of the colonial project in Peru, the church took an active role in trying to control music, dance and theater, in some cases repeating the same complaints about them, and in others, focusing criticism on new and/or different types of music and dances, and most especially on the social groups that performed them. 143

Hearts from their earthly inclinations to noble affections, as the great Augustine says, it exalts them to the memory of Feasts, and other very sinful considerations.201

Barroeta continues, recommending excommunication for musicians who persist in playing this music.202

Barroeta foreshadows the writings of Spanish theologian Benito Jerónimo Feijóo y Montenegro by more than a decade, but the two are clearly of the same mind. Feijóo notes the use of “Menuetes, Recitados, Arietas, Alegros,…”203 in church music and argues that, rather than being led to religious contemplation by such music, “he who hears on the

Organ the same menuet that he heard at the sarao (ball), what will he do if not recall the lady with whom he danced the night before?”204

Years later, in 1790, the Spanish geographer, Pablo José Oricaín, visiting the

Cusco area, commented on Christmas Eve services in the southeastern doctrina de indios

(Indian town) of Andahuaylillas. He, like Barroeta and Feijóo, was preoccupied that worldly concerns would enter the religious sphere and he noted in his account that,

201 “… no introducir nuevas figuras en el Canto de la Iglesia, que las que permite el Gregoriano, sino lo que es más destestable, que assi en las Missas solemnes, como antes de ellas, […] so tocan Sonatas, Arias y Minuetes, y otras canciones, en que en lugar de mover a la devocion y levantar los Corazones abatidos de las inclinaciones terrenas a los afectos nobles, como dice el grande Agustino, los exalta a la memoria de los Festines, y otras consideraciones muy pecaminosas […] Mandamos […] Excomunion mayor, ipso facto incurrenda, a todos los Musicos , e Instrumentarios […].” Pedro Anotonio Barroeta y Angel, “Edictos,” (excerpt) in Constituciones synodales (Lima: Juan Joseph Morel, 1754), 22; quoted in Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 94.

202 Ibid.

203 Jerónimo Benito Feijóo Teatro crítico universal (Madrid: Imprenta Real Gazeta, 1765), 331; quoted in Estenssoro, Música y sociedad. 94-95.

204 “El que oye en el Organo el mismo menuet que oyó en el sarao, qué ha de hacer sino acordarse de la dama, con quien danzó la noche antecedente?” Ibid.

144

…those who play the instruments in the choir disturb the faithful at the moment of the mass, as they are not well versed in musical compositions suitable for divine worship. […] To vary, they introduce profane contradanzas, minuets, yaravís, and lascivious songs.205

Perhaps unintentionally, Oricaín gives us a taste of the musical life in an Indian town at this time, and it exhibits not only a hybridity of sacred and profane, but also of European dance music and Andean song (yaravís or yaravíes).206

Outside the church, too, the religious authorities attempted to control behavior that included dancing. In 1751 Archbishop Barroeta wrote an edict prohibiting parties, dancing, and music in private homes in celebration of festive holidays—an attempt to divorce the “festive” or carnivalesque from religious festivals.207

In specifically singling out the black and mulatto confraternities, Barroeta provides us with at least some information about their social activities. He complains that

…the so-called dance schools, [held] on the pretext of collecting alms for some [religious] image, every night and in different districts; in these dance more than the mulattoes and blacks […]. Some lads (as has been reported) are called fagots […]. The shoes they bring are like women’s, they put bands on their heads and in their mouths little rolls of tobacco, […]. They are heinous sodomites who often dress as women; and who in the celebrations in houses, play, sing and dance like the most soulless prostitutes.208

205 Victor Maurtua, Obispos y audiencia del Cuzco, vol. 2, Juicio de límites entre el Perú y Bolivia (Barcelona: Henrich y Companía, 1906), 338-339; quoted in Baker, Imposing, 191. Baker presents this quote in English.

206 Ibid.

207 Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 93.

208 “Las que llaman escuelas de danza, con el pretexto de recoger limosnas para alguna imagen, es de todas las noches y en distintos barrios; en estas bailan, a más de los mulatos y negros,[…]. Ciertos mozuelos (según se ha informado) que llaman maricas,[…] los zapatos los traen como los de las mujeres, se ponen vendas en la cabezas y en las bocas limpiones de Tabaco,… son nefandos sodomíticos; que muchas veces se visten de mujeres; y que en los festejos de las casas, tocan, cantan y bailan como las más desalmadas prostitutas ….” José Toribio Medina, La imprenta de Lima (1584-1824), vol 1 (Santiago de 145

Black and mulatto groups frequently organized what they called “academias de baile” before the fiestas of their patron saints. Estenssoro suggests that these were, in essence, dances with musicians and one or more dancing masters to show, teach and direct the dances.209 Confraternities used these opportunities to solicit donations for festive activities (to pay for religious paintings or statues and to build floats to bear them in processions, to pay for costumes for attendants and dancers, and to sponsor or underwrite music, plays or other facets of the fiestas).210

Such gatherings posed a multifold problem for Barroeta: they occurred outside the church, and were thus removed from its direct scrutiny; they attracted transvestites who threatened an established gender order and hierarchy that the church was intent on maintaining (whether there were transvestites, or whether Barroeta added this issue to strengthen his case, is unknown); they gave visibility to the confraternities, and allowed them to fundraise. This last point became particularly salient during the heightened era of Bourbon Reforms.211 Even though confraternities were organized around religious contexts, and their basic objectives were to contribute to the glorification of Catholicism, its saints and liturgical calendar, during the Bourbon Reform era, there was a move to control and weaken confraternities. They were seen as becoming dangerously independent, their lavish expressions of devotion came to be viewed as garish, and the

Chile: Casa del autor, 1904) 506. This quotation is also presented in Estenssoro, Música y sociedad. 96, and “La plebe,” 43.

209 Estenssoro, Música y sociedad. 96.

210 Estenssoro, “La plebe”, 43.

211 Ibid., 42-43. 146 ecclesiastical community aimed to curtail their activities by thwarting their ability to raise capital.212

Estenssoro has reconstructed, from fragments and transcriptions, an interesting case from Lima in 1790213 that provides evidence of transculturation of the minuet within some black and mulatto groups. It is also important in that it provides some visibility of how French dancing was being used by those outside elite Spanish and criollo circles. In the case, the theater director and civil leaders became concerned with the drop in attendance at Lima’s Coliseo de Comedias--theater, being valued as a didactic social tool by the authorities. They found that instead of attending the theater, “dancing masters of low class” had established “public dances like the French in the city with the objective of attracting both sexes.”214 Here, the concern no longer involved the confraternities, and there was no religious connection to case. The court, at the theater’s request, decreed that these dances not be repeated on days of comedia performances, under penalty of punishment. One piece of the official complaint revolved around a loss of revenue from the market of theater-goers who, instead, spent their time and (ostensibly) money at public dances, but a more subtle argument involved in the case had social and dance implications.

212 Ibid.

213 Much of this cache of material had been badly damaged by fire and water, and was unavailable to me at the Biblioteca Nacional del Perú during my stay in Lima.

214 “maestros de danzar de vaxa esfera” habían establecido unos “vailes públicos al huso francés dentro de la ciudad con cuyo objeto atrahen mucha gente de todo sexo.” Estenssoro, “La plebe,” 51, citing Biblioteca Nacional del Perú, Lima, pre-fire listing N. 0166 (9 folios transcribed by Rudolfo Barbacci, Notas, apuntes y documentos para la historia de la música y el baile en Lima, I:40-53. Also related fragments conserved with the archive file titled: “Expediente sobre disposición dictada para que al coliseo de bailes sólo asistan personas honestas. Lima, mayo 27 de 1790”) current listing C742:27-V-1790. 147

It was thought important that the lower classes be taught social lessons of behavior and morals, as was possible through the heroic comedies and tragedies of the theater. Incongruously, however, an additional piece of the official complaint expressed outrage that the mulattos were dressing up and behaving like elites.

They have advanced/come to the most intolerable extreme where the mulattos (in body/in the flesh), coiffed, and with military or official uniforms of their own their own regiment, and the mulattas, extraordinarily dressed up with plumes on their heads, powdered, adorned, and shod, and although they are low-born, they take titles of ladies and principal gentlemen of those whom, with the same physique, air and expression, they could bear a resemblance, being thus taken out to the dance by the dance leaders—a punishable abuse of the characters represented.215

As Estenssoro suggests, the blacks and mulattos had created a space that permitted them to assume the appearance of elites, substituting, even replacing them.216

To the authorities, then, the lower classes were to observe noble comportment on the stage--separated from it, as it were, by the fourth wall. This apparently seemed more fitting and less socially dangerous than for them to actually appropriate the behavior that they were supposed to revere.

The complaint named three dancing masters (Casimiro Esparza and Juan

Crisóstomo Baquíjano, identified as officers of the free black infantry, and José María

Arévalo, listed as a free black).217 The dancing masters’ response claimed that the

215 “han avansado hasta el extremo intolerable de que presentándose los mulatos en Cuerpo peinados, y con uniforme de milicianos u oficiales los que son del regimiento de ellos, y las mulatas extraordinariamente atabiadas con plumajes en las cavezas empolvadas con adorno y calsado, agenos de su baja ralea toman éstas, y ellos el tratamiento de las señoras y cavalleros principales con cuia corporatura, aire o fisonomía puedan tener alguna semejansa siendo así sacadas al vaile por los bastoneros con abuso punible de los personajes representados.” Estenssoro, “La plebe” 51-52 (citing BNL: C742:27-V-1790).

216 Estenssoro, “La plebe” 52.

148 official measure banning their dances infringed on the licit diversion of the citizen, and it further asked the Viceroy to declare “that the Minuet is permitted for all people without exception, as a free and honest diversion, the citizen possessing [the right] to execute it on festive days.”218 Their answer provides evidence of transculturation, as it seems that they had appropriated the dance and, seemingly, the comportment that went with it.

Their argument seeks to preserve their right to operate, but also to promote the minuet as a kind of social reform. In pointing out “the advantages that result from the introduction of the Minuet,”219 they state that “everyone knows that the dance, the minuet, and other subsequent pieces, require, by their very nature, a gravity and a composure in which impudence has no place.”220 Noble dancing, they posit, should encourage noble comportment even among the lower classes. They further argue that the people cannot and should not be deprived of imitating the higher classes,221 contending that this benefits society. This was in keeping with the idea that the noble class’ purpose was to serve as a model of behavior for the rest of society. To debate this point, the elites would have had to deny their own value. Even as Enlightenment-era ideas circulating among elites may have hinted at social change, 222 the notion of social mobility was certainly not one they

217 Ibid.

218 “que el bayle del Minuet es permitido a todos sin exepción de personas, como una deberción libre y honesta, siendo dueño el ciudadano de executarla en los días festivos.” Estenssoro, “La plebe”, 53 (citing BNL: C742:27-VI-1790).

219 Ibid. “las ventajas que resultan de la introducción del Minuet.”

220 “Todos saben que el bayle del Minuet, y demás piezas subsequentes exigen por su misma naturlaeza una graveded, y una compostura en que no tiene lugar la impudencia.” (Ibid., 55 (citing BNL: C742:27-VI- 1790).

221 “no priba, ni puede pribar al pueblo a que imite los usos y costumbres de la nobleza.” Ibid.

149 embraced. Both the elites of the official culture and the lower classes were subject to their own internal hierarchies. Dance has historically been used as a subtle vehicle to navigate, and even ascend the social rungs. Perhaps the elites thought that dancing masters were advancing a strategy that would weaken rigid class barriers—and perhaps the dancing masters were.

The dancing masters present their work as if it were part of a true reform project to instill civility and education through virtuous dancing, and by so doing, keeping the susceptible public from profane and scandalous dances and behaviors. Estenssoro’s evidence suggests that in a subsequent decree of the Viceroy, the public dances were shut down, but that the Viceroy agreed that the public could not be compelled to attend the theater, and should be free to enjoy honest and wholesome diversions.223 The archival evidence of the black and mulatto role in teaching minuets does not extend to suggest that these dancing masters imparted any particular stylistic stamp on the dance that was different from the refined upright posture of the noble dances known in Europe. We see complaints about black and mulatto people putting on upper-class airs, and about lost commercial revenue from the theater because of organized dances, but no complaints about how the minuets were danced or taught by these people, which might have provided some formal description useful to the reconstruction process. Also, the dancing masters, in their responses to complaints, argue that the dance’s style was universally

222 Estenssoro “La plebe” 55.

223 Ibid., 57. 150 recognized as noble and decent. How what they did might have differed from a European court style is not apparent.

As a point of social and historical context, coincidentally, just ten days after the

Viceroy’s decree, Don Vicente Bertarini, an Italian dancing master and choreographer

(known for French-style dancing) presented an unusual entertainment in the form of a ballet (un baile pantomimo) in Lima at the Coliseo.224 Little data remains about the production of El convivado de piedra (the Stone Guest), the story of Don Juan through dance.225 This event was consistent with the development of ballet in Europe at the end of the eighteenth century—an experimental performance medium that did not rely on the lyrics of operas or plays to convey the narrative. This new performative genre stretched dance performance beyond virtuosic versions of court dancing that merely reflected a verbal plot, to a more expressive and pantomimic style that carried and advanced dramatic action on its own.226 As with the development of pantomime ballets in Europe, we might assume an evolution away from the popularity of the French Noble Style dancing more broadly.

Unlike the black dancing masters, the official culture supported Bertarini’s efforts. In addition to his work in the theater, Bertarini opened a new academy of dance in 1791. This move by the so-called “profesor de bayle francés”227 was heralded by a

224 Ibid, 58; Sixto, “Operas y ballets”.

225 This theme had previously been taken up in the experimental early ballet, Don Juan (1761), by choreographer Gasparo Agniolini and composer Christoph Willibald von Gluck in Vienna.

226 The more expressive and variable movement of ballet did not lend itself to being captured in existing dance notation, as the court-based style had.

151 fellow Italian, the journalist and theatrical functionary, José de Rossi y Rubí, who served as editor for the new periodical, Mercurio Peruano. Rossi inferred that one could measure Lima residents’ taste for dance by noting that the black dancing masters (the only dance teachers in the city prior to Bertarini, according to Rossi) had a great number of students.228 The black dancing masters, however, did not receive parallel treatment in terms of press endorsements.

Discussions ensued in the Mercurio Peruano among its educated (mostly) criollo contributors about the relative value of contemporary dances. The Mercurio Peruano

(published only between 1791 and 1795) provides something of a snapshot of a few perspectives as to the relative esteem of dances in the last decade of the eighteenth century. The French dances (such as those taught by the Italian, Bertarini) appear to have been valued, and at the same time criollo dances, the Don Mateo and El Punto, are mentioned and praised.229 Although little is known about the formal characteristics of these dances in the eighteenth century, by the nineteenth century, they figured among the popular danzas de pañuelo (handkerchief dances—male-female couple dances of mixed origin that seem to have been danced both in salons, and at popular gatherings).

Significantly, by the 1790s, these dances are treated on par with the French court dances by the criollo writers. Interestingly too, by this time, criollos had appropriated and

227 Mercurio Peruano: II: 1791: 67. Available through Biblioteca Virtual Miguel de Cervantes at http://www.cervantesvirtual.com/obra-visor/mercurio-peruano--12/html/027f4e38-82b2-11df-acc7- 002185ce6064_86.html. Also cited in Estenssoro, “La plebe,” 58.

228 Ibid.

229 Estenssoro, “La plebe,” 59. A relevant discussion is found in Mercurio Peruano III, 1791: 285. Available through Biblioteca Virtual Miguel de Cervantes at http://www.cervantesvirtual.com/obra- visor/mercurio-peruano--13/html/027f55e0-82b2-11df-acc7-002185ce6064_303.html. 152 claimed the indigenous Andean poetic dance-song form, the yaraví, as their own.

Mercurio Peruano writers extoll the virtues of its frequently plaintive lyrics and emotionally wrought musical lines (contributors fail to address any associated movement aesthetics).230 By the end of the century domestically-developed forms such as the yaraví and the huayno had taken on considerable importance in publications like these, although the French dances continued to be mentioned. A probable rationale for this is that imperial styles and behaviors lost their luster as Peru approached independence.

Through these sources we gain indications as to where these dances were used and by whom, and how the dances were valued by the different writers. Virtually none of the descriptions provide data that allows us to formulate a mental image of a danced minuet or contradanza, much less the ability to approximate them physically. For instructional information about the two dance types, I turn to European dance sources of the period in the following section.

The French Dances and the European Archive

To date, no explicit viceregal-era dance sources describing or instructing on

French Noble Style dancing have not been found in Peru even though, as we have seen, textual sources including the opera score itself, attest to its presence during the viceroyalty. For this reason, the present section explores European sources that provide direct instructional information about the types of dances in question. Period dance treatises and instruction manuals provide direct formal and aesthetic indications about the dances and their execution, and are essential for understanding and reconstructing dances

230 Ibid., Mercurio Peruano. 153 of this style—a directly practical use, in this investigation. On a more conceptual level, however, when considered within their contexts, these works offer information about

(mostly) the same dances, but in different ways and for different purposes—with different audiences in mind, allowing for the possibility that these dances transcended singular meanings or associations. Several of these works I rely on heavily in Chapter

Four to illustrate how the archive informs the physical execution of steps and dances, and the process of building reconstructions. Here, I describe the critical texts for this purpose and show of the type of historical contextual data they offer a reader, even without the benefit of embodying their prescribed instructions (a component that the next chapter explores).

The dances of the French Noble Style or “la belle danse” included the allemande, bourrée, canarie, chaconne, contredanse, courante, entrée grave, forlane, gavotte, gigue, loure, menuet, passacaille, passepied, rigaudon, and sarabande, among others.231 These types are defined by different musical meters, structures and choreographic characteristics, were fervently developed during King Louis XIV’s reign and resulted in part from his establishment (in 1661) of the Académie Royale de Danse. Most of these dances originally were used in court as danses à deux—dances for two performed in the ballroom one couple at a time. However, the same types of dances were embellished in the theater where they sometimes involve different numbers of dancers. Contredanses, however, evolved differently. These were group dances appropriated from English

231 Meredith Ellis Little and Carol G. Marsh. La Danse Noble: An Inventory of Dances and Sources (Williamstown, MA and New York, NY: Broude Brothers Limited, 1992), 158. 154 country dances by French dancing masters who refined them according to French style.

Contredanses also eventually made their way to court ballrooms, the theater and public balls.232

Louis XIV’s dancing master, Pierre Beauchamp, developed a highly efficient dance notation system that was refined, explained and published by Raoul Auger Feuillet in Chorégraphie, ou l'art de décrire la danse (1700). The Beauchamp-Feuillet notation system was one of a handful of notation systems that were devised in this period, and evidence suggests that it enjoyed the most use233--it provided a comparatively clear and efficient indication of steps, ornaments, timing, floor patterns and music for individual choreographies. Some notation systems were used more specifically for contredanses, where, unlike in the danses à deux, a main step tended to be repeated throughout a dance.

For this reason there was no need to notate individual steps. Main steps, and any occasional additions, could be designated in prose that accompanied graphic figures delineating dancers’ facings and pathways. Many of these systems utilize basic elements and symbols found in Beauchamp-Feuillet notation. Dance theorist Pierre Rameau published Le Maître à danser (1725), and Abbregé de la Nouvelle Methode (ca. 1725), explicit treatises on the French Noble Style, offering precise descriptions about step

232 Elizabeth Aldrich, From the Ballroom to Hell: Grace and Folly in Nineteenth-Century Dance (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1991), 13; Frances Rust, Dance in Society (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969), 61; J.F.R. Strainer, “La Contredanse,” The Musical Times and Singing Class Circular 42, 696 (Feb. 1901): 97-99.

233 More than 330 dances are extant in Beauchamp-Feuillet notation, or similar systems derived from it. Dances for one known Versailles entertainment exists in a distinct system devised by Jean Favier. A few different notation systems record some of the surviving eighteenth-century contredanses (these include systems are utilized by André Lorin, Sr. de La Cuisse, and others), although most notations of contredanses employ facets of the Beauchamp-Feuillet system. 155 execution, timing and style. Publications by Feuillet, Rameau and others proved an effective means through which French dance style was exported to the rest of Europe and beyond. These texts (or portions of them) were translated and published in several other countries,234 and aided in the dissemination of French choreographies and style by making dances and technique repeatable abroad. Access to the fashionable new dances allowed dancing masters in other locales to teach French style dances and also to preserve their own works according to this system and in so doing, to emulate the conventions of

French choreographies. Sources in which notated choreographies are found include instruction manuals, annually published recüeils (or collections) of ball and theatrical dances, other collections of dances by type (such as collections of minuets or contredanses), and loose copies of individual dances. More than 330 choreographies in the French style that are extant originated in what are now France, England, Germany,

Italy, Spain and Portugal during the course of the eighteenth century.235

Minuet: History and Aesthetics

In the context of the court ballroom, the minuet, passepied, and the other dances of the French noble style were employed to convey aristocratic values, which the influential Baroque dance historian Wendy Hilton describes this way:

The dances created to express these ideals were not expressive of the passions. Each created a particular atmosphere ranging through serenity, majestic grandeur, tenderness, and gaiety; the grandeur never becoming pomposity, the tenderness a yearning sentimentality, nor the gaiety, inelegance.236

234 Hilton, Dance and Music, 49-50; Little and Marsh, La Danse Noble, 91-139.

235 Little and Marsh, La Danse Noble, 87. I am aware of a handful of sources (some of them Italian), that have been found since the printing of the Little-Marsh inventory.

236 Hilton, Dance and Music, 3. 156

In order to articulate these ideals the minuet’s character was stately and elegant, and the choreography allowed the dancers to demonstrate proper etiquette and comportment as they moved through space gracefully with specified steps in preordained figures and patterns.

The minuet (menuet, in the French sources, and minuete, minué, or minuet in

Spanish and Peruvian texts) is considered to be among the dances of mature Baroque style because it reached its zenith in terms of use, popularity and choreographic ingenuity in the eighteenth century. Musically, minuets are in triple meter--normally composed in

3/4 time--and are generally of moderate tempo. The music is often binary in form

(having A and B sections), but phrases are not of a standard length.237 Two different sorts of minuets developed from the mid-seventeenth century.238 The basic menuet ordinaire was a dance for two (danse à deux)—a ballroom couple dance for a lady and gentleman, performed one couple at a time. Such dances traditionally began and ended with bows to the “presence,” or the highest ranking noble in the room, who would have sat at the head of the square or rectangular hall. Although dancers dance with each other, the frontal presentation of the dance is oriented toward the “presence.” The dance is generally made up of a repeated compound step performed in five prescribed figures or patterns (whose order was likely improvised somewhat by the dancers), and is easily adapted to various minuet music. The menuet ordinaire featured interaction between

237 See Meredith Ellis Little “Minuet,” in The New Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians, vol. 12, ed. Stanley Sadie (London: MacMillan Publishers Limited, 1980), 353, 355.

238 Ibid., 353; Olsson, “Dance,” 397-432. 157 partners as they performed bows to one another, after honors to the “presence,” (the gentleman maneuvering his hat), and during the dance, as they gave, first one hand to each other for the duration of a prescribed figure, then the other hand for another figure, and both hands for yet another. These occasions were interspersed with other figures where the dancers followed pathways in Z or S formations to approach and pass one another.239

In contrast to the menuet ordinaire, which was danced in the same general pattern using a repeated step, figured minuets, or menuets figurées, were uniquely composed by choreographers for the ballroom or stage, and each featured a diversity of patterns that typically used a variety of steps. Each such dance was choreographed to particular music for a specific number of dancers, with the gender of each dancer designated. Duets for a lady and a gentleman are most common in extant notation.240 While Venid, venid deydades would surely have incorporated menuet figurées, the ordinaire was important in that it was widely interpreted in the Spanish and other European treatises and manuals, and with it, the basic minuet step was explained. Additionally, the step repetition in the menuet ordinaire sets up the idea of repeating the same compound step throughout a

239 Wendy Hilton devotes a chapter of Dance and Music to the minuet as discerned through the texts of Rameau, and eighteenth-century English authors Kellom Thomlinson and John Essex who based their work on Feuillet and Rameau. (See Hilton, Dance and Music, 291-308). Hilton further elucidates her understandings of these dances by including examples notated in modern (twentieth-century) Labanotation based on her embodied reconstruction (Ibid., 311-325).

240 Extant notated dances of the noble style were cataloged and published in the following inventories: Meredith Ellis Little and Carol G. Marsh, La Danse Noble: An Inventory of Dances and Sources, and Francine Lancelot, La belle dance: catalogue raisonne fait en l'an 1995 in Librairie de la danse (Paris: Van Dieren, 1996). Both inventories list dances in a variety of ways including by number and gender of dancers for whom dances are intended. Extant notated minuets range from solos to one minuet for twelve women. 158 dance while performing a variety of turns, patterns and partner interactions—similar qualities to those found in contredanses/ contradanzas discussed later in this chapter.

Minuets for the stage—which were normally figured—conveyed an overall sentiment of nobility and stateliness in the service of the plot of an opera or play (though probably without the ritualized bowing and hat handling, and with greater variety in steps and arm movements than the ordinaire). The dances in stage works of this time tended not to advance the narrative per se but rather to enhance or reiterate the mood of the moment.241 The presentational conventions of the ballroom being oriented toward a

“presence” translated easily to the frontal direction of the audience from the stage.

Contradanza: History and Aesthetics

Contradanza is Spanish for the French term, contredanse—a name thought to be a corruption of the English “country dance.”242 The form is, indeed, rooted in the English countryside. By the late seventeenth century French dancing masters working in England had begun to document and notate the group dances of the rural peasantry that the

English gentry had assimilated into its ballrooms.243 Bringing the mostly duple meter tunes244 and choreographies to France, dancing masters often inserted French steps, and

241 Musicologist Rebecca Harris-Warrick investigates the role of dances in early operas by studying such facets as their placement within the works, musical characteristics, related libretti and performance spaces. See, for example, Rebecca Harris-Warrick, “Contexts of Choreographies: Notated dances set to the Music of Jean-Baptiste Lully,” in Jean-Baptiste Lully, (1632-1687) Actes du Colloque Kongressbericht, Saint-Germaine-en-Laye (Heidelberg, 1987), ed. Jerome de La Gorce and Herbert Schneider (Laaber:Laaber-Verlag, 1990), 233-255. Also see Turocy, “Beyond la Danse Noble.”

242 Freda Burford “Contredanse” in The New Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians, vol. 3, ed. Stanley Sadie (London: Macmillan, 1980), 703.

243 Among these dancing masters figured Raoul-Auger Feuillet (publisher of the Beauchamp-Feuillet notation system), and André Lorin, (who also developed a dance notation system).

159 in the eighteenth century published them in collections along with dances in the same style that they had choreographed themselves.245 Dancing masters in England, France and later in Spain created records of these dances that we follow in order to reconstruct them today.

The entrance of contredanses into court ballrooms marks an interesting transition in social focus within the court. These dances were quite distinct from the French ballroom danses à deux which, despite having turns and directional shifts, maintained a presentational front (that acknowledged the noble presence in a court ballroom, or the audience from a stage). Contredanses, in contrast, were danced in groups, and except for beginning and ending the dance with bows to the “presence” at a ball, the dance’s focus is on the dancers relating to each other. The audience is not as much performed to, as it is admitted to observe. It should be noted that while both danses à deux and contredanses were included in eighteenth-century balls in Versailles, Paris, and other cities, the contredanse’s popularity increased as the century wore on and effectively overtook that of the danse à deux in public balls later in the century.246 247 Theorist and treatise author Pierre Rameau did not consider the contredanse among the noble dances,

244 Dances of type this tend to be in 2/2, 2/4, 4/4, 6/4 or 6/8 time.

245 See Elizabeth Aldrich, From the Ballroom; Rust, Dance in Society and Strainer, “La Contredanse.”

246 Richard Semmens, The Bals Publics at the Paris Opéra in the Eighteenth Century (Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon Press, 2004) provides lists of dances danced at these occasions.

247 Details of Spanish court balls are lacking, but because French music directors and dancing masters were engaged in the Spanish court from early in the eighteenth century, it is likely that French conventions were followed. According to dance historian Clara Rico Osés, several fragments attest to the dancing “masters’ obligation to teach minuets and contredanses.” (See Clara Rico Osés, “French Dance in Eighteenth- Century Spain,” transl. Régine Astier Dance Chronicle 35, 2 (2012): 138. 160 stating that “several country dances that have lately made their way to France […] are not to the taste of those who love ‘la belle danse.”248 His opinion is not surprising, since the contredanse arose from a low, popular form. English country dances, French contredanses and Spanish contradanzas, which in the eighteenth century were largely copied from the French sources, have a somewhat less formal and a decidedly more social feel than the danses à deux, even while preserving the rigidly upright torso and slight turnout of the legs and feet of the formal ballroom.

Two general types of contredanses or contradanzas were notated and published.

The first, more directly typical of English country dancing, consisted of “long-ways” dances, danced in a two-row formation—the ladies, in one row, face their gentlemen partners in an opposite row. This style was referred to in French sources as the contredanse anglais or en longueur, and in Spanish sources as contradanza inglesa or larga. The dance is for as many couples as the dancing space will allow. These dances are based on choreographed patterns of movements and steps (performed alone, in interaction with virtually all of the other participants). The step patterns generally provide for each couple to finish figures of the dance in a changed relationship to the others dancing. The dancers are said to “progress” along the double row of dancers by repeating the step pattern again and again, which positions them to dance with ever different couples throughout the dance.

248 Rameau is quoted in Clara Rico Osés, “French Dance,” 146: “de plusieurs contredanses que l’on a introduites en France depuis quelque temps, & qui ne sont pas du goût de tous ceux qui aiment la belle danse.” Pierre Rameau, Maître à danser (Paris, Chez Jeam Villette, 1725), 107. 161

The second type of contredanse involves several choreographed patterns and steps for a closed set of dancers in couples—often for square or circular sets of two or four couples (four or eight dancers). In set dances, a kaleidoscopic effect is created by dancers moving in and out of symmetrical forms with their partners and with the other dancers in the set. The entire set-style dance could be repeated with different combinations of dancers, but its music and its choreographic structure were not conceived of in the continuous, progressive, format that characterized long-ways dances.

While both types of contredanse are represented in French and Spanish dance manuals, the set format received increasing attention as the eighteenth century progressed.

Contredanses were inherently social, and their presence in court ballrooms and later in public balls is well-established. They were also used in theatrical works. As early as the 1660s, music for contredanses was included in the French operas of Lully, and in the eighteenth century, in works by Campra, Marais, and Jean Philippe Rameau.249

Dance historian María José Ruiz Mayordomo points out that contradanzas were frequently used in eighteenth-century Spanish theater.250 John Gay’s The Beggar’s

Opera (1728), calls for “a Dance a la ronde in the French Manner,”251 providing an

249 Such works by Lully include Xerxes, Armide; by Campra: Tancrède; by Marais: Alcyone; and by Rameau: Les Indes Galantes, Pygmalion, and Les Boreades. Through my research I have become aware of an additional sub-genre of contredanse that is not discussed in the literature, but is obvious when one surveys extant notation. There exist Beauchamp-Feuillet notations for a handful of danses à deux- contredanses—couple dances that follow the conventions of the noble style. Some of these dances were used in revivals of the mentioned operas.

250 Ruiz Mayordomo, “De la Edad Media al siglo XVIII,” 304.

251 Burford “Contredanse,” 703-705. 162 indication that the French embellishments to country dances were known and utilized in

England too.

Spanish Sources on French Dancing

Because Spanish cultural hegemony largely dictated Peruvian style, especially as it related to the official institutions of church and state,252 and because no Latin American period texts instruct on, or notate dances of the French style, to investigate how these dances might have been interpreted in Peru, I turn to Spanish sources. Spanish dance treatises proffered their authors’ interpretations of French dancing, and prescriptions as to its execution. In some cases, they include discussion of Spanish steps and dances, and thus provide some indication as to how the French dances fit into the context of already- established dance traditions in the metropole.

Most of the producers of the extant eighteenth-century Spanish dance treatises and manuals promote the French style. Only one manuscript, produced in 1701 as a memory aid for a nobleman (Potau) in Catalonia, does not address French dances—it contains notes for a variety of, presumably, Catalan dances, a few of which appear in earlier Spanish sources. Two authors, Pablo Minguet e Yrol, Bartolomé Ferriol y

Boxeraus, provide instruction and theory as well as French choreographies. A manuscript by Joseph Ratier offers his observations (or opinions) on the dancing of different regions of the world, and theory as to the execution of French dance. A

252 As has been noted, production of formal music and theater in Peru took their cues from Spain. Architecture and painting, too, were stylistically based on Spanish (and Flemish) design and technique. In the visual arts, however, Andean elements are often apparent in examples of viceregal religious architecture, sculpture and in the paintings of the escuela cusqueña. We have no comparable artifacts to inform us similarly with regard to the dance of the time. 163 publication by Felix Kinski provides only music and notated choreographies in

Beauchamp-Feuillet notation for French dances. At the end of the century Felipe Roxo de Flores added a dance history treatise without instructional or choreographic content.

Six additional books by other individuals which are dedicated solely to discussion and choreographies of contradanzas round out the known eighteenth-century Spanish sources.

Two eighteenth-century producers of dance manuals, Pablo Minguet e Yrol (Irol) and Bartolomé Ferriol y Boxeraus, disseminated the precepts of French dancing in Spain by utilizing Rameau’s explanations, in some cases, directly translating portions of his original instructions, and in others, providing their own interpretations. They additionally explained and presented portions of French dance notation systems, sometimes including simplified notation presentations, and sometimes adding their own diagrammatic explanations.253

These publications add to the archive interestingly. They do not represent a drive to promote the French monarchy through style, but rather represent individual commercial activity to promote the style and their teaching methods as a tool of self- fashioning. Between the 1730s and 1760s Minguet produced several dancing instruction books that address French and Spanish dances. Minguet, who was not a dancing master,

253 The Spanish graphics, however, are not always easily understood. For example, each author provides pictorial footprint diagrams to explain the basic minuet step. See Pablo Minguet e Yrol, Arte de danzar a la francesa (Madrid: Pablo Minguet e Yrol, 1758), 11; and Bartolomé Ferriol y Boxeraus, Reglas útiles para los aficionados a danzar (Málaga, Spain: Joseph Testore, 1745), 83. These illustrations are similar but are numbered differently. The numbering in each case corresponds to the number (and order) of steps, but does not treat the steps moving in different directions in parallel fashion. Neither numbering system indicates the steps’ timing (as in, to music), and as such they are less illustrative than instructions and graphic explanations from Feuillet’s Choregraphie (1700) and Rameau’s Le Maître de danser (1725). 164 but an engraver, printer and publisher, compiled and published dance information to allow his readers the opportunity to learn without need of a dancing master.254 Minguet published several how-to booklets on subjects ranging from how to play the guitar to how to execute sleight-of-hand and card tricks. We might assume that his publications emanated more from a desire to offer do-it-yourself guides to a commercial audience, than from a will to share his own carefully honed artistic expertise. Nevertheless, we can surmise that he had (or thought he had) a market of those eager to purchase references of this type.

Minguet’s publications include Arte de danzar a la francesa in 1737—the first section of two-part publication—that contains excerpts from Rameau’s Le Maître de danser (1725) as well as his own additions. This first segment instructs on French foot positions, bows and hat handling, steps and choreographies for minuetes and passapies

(and was published again with minor revisions in 1758 as Arte de danzar a la francesa).

The second part of the publication, titled Explicación del danzar a la española, addresses steps and instructions for dances in the Spanish repertoire, many of which are also found in seventeenth-century sources (the step vocabulary section of Explicación was published again with minor revisions in 1764 as Breve tratado de los passos del danzar a la española).

In El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española (ca. 1762), Minguet offers explanations and notated choreographies for several set and long-ways contradanzas (a

254 Minguet, Arte de danzar a la francesa (Madrid: Pablo Minguet é Irol, 1737), “Al Lector” on the 4th and 5th pages (original is unumbered); Minguet, Arte de danzar a la francesa (Madrid: Pablo Minguet e Yrol, 1758), “Prologo al Lector” on the 5th page (original is unumbered); Minguet, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española (Madrid: Pablo Minguet. ca.1762), 19. 165

“set” is an arrangement in which (normally) four couples of dancers perform grouped in square or circular formations; “long-ways” indicates and arrangement where any number of couples form two long parallel columns which they negotiate throughout the dance).

For all of the contradanzas Minguet uses notation and prose. One of the notation systems he employs is a simplified form of the Beauchamp-Feuillet system, were, instead of using the system’s symbols for steps, Minguet uses a letter initial for each step on the graphic pathways that dancers are to follow. Another notation system that Minguet uses appears in French recueils titled Le repertoire des bals, published in 1762 and 1765 by French choreographer Sieur De la Cuisse, the assumed creator of this system. Minguet’s version appears with slight variations. As Minguet’s publishing date is uncertain, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española may have been published in 1762 or later. In this work Minguet also includes a review of common steps and Beauchamp-Feuillet notation symbols for them, and Beauchamp-Feuillet choreographic notation and music for a handful of minuetes and passapies, and another handful of well-known multipartite danses à deux from the French repertoire.255 In his short “curious notebook,” or

Quadernillo curioso, Minguet offers a brief presentation about 20 styles or formations of contradanzas, and diferencias (variations). The undated notebook mentions some of the author’s earlier publications, and is thus thought to be 1758 or later.

A contemporary of Minguet, Bartolomé Ferriol y Boxeraus, produced Reglas

útiles para los aficionados a danzar in 1745, claiming that it was the first explanation of

French steps and dances of the Noble Style in the Spanish language (although some of

255 These dances are by Feuillet and fellow French choreographer Louis Pécour, according to French sources, although Minguet does not credit them. 166

Minguet’s published works on French dancing predate Ferriol’s Reglas útiles). Both writers use some of the exact or very similar verbiage in sections of their works, and it is unclear who the originator of the language may have been.

Ferriol, who mentions that he has studied dance intensively and has consulted with dancing masters in different countries, does not directly claim to be a dancing master.256 Nevertheless, his treatise is aimed at promulgating the French style of dancing and French court manners of which the Spanish reader might have been ignorant.

Liberally quoting and paraphrasing Rameau, Ferriol discusses French-style comportment, foot positions, bows, hat handling, steps, corresponding brazéo, (arm movements or ports de bras). He also provides explanations, notated choreographies and music for minuetes, passapies and a small number of well-known multipartite couple dances from the French repertoire, as well as contradanzas.

Although Ferriol’s premise was to promote the French style and technique, some of the steps in his text do not appear in the French sources. Some seem to be based on older Spanish and/or Italian steps or dances, such as the campanella, cabriola, and the passo de canario (although his descriptions are not necessarily consistent with previous versions). Still others, such as the passo indiano, passo nuevo, passo de máscara, buelta armoniosa, and passo triplicado appear to be unique to his text. His inclusion of the passo indiano is especially interesting to consider, as its name reflects Spain’s colonial culture. The term indiano was used to denote a Spaniard who had been to the Americas, and returned to Spain having made his fortune in the New World.257 Certainly the

256 Ferriol, Reglas útiles, 3.

167 conquest of the Americas and the exotic colonial American subjects were prevalent themes in operas and plays in many parts of Europe, however the concept of an indiano seems particularly Spanish even though Ferriol claims that the step is French. Perhaps he had witnessed the Spanish/Italian steps performed within the context of French (probably theatrical) dancing. It is also possible that he observed them in that context and found them to be interesting enough to comment on, where the French documentors may have considered them minor “character” steps that did not merit their attention.

Minguet, like Ferriol, clearly aims to provide instruction in the fashionable French dances, yet he additionally opts to address Spanish dances which, as we know from earlier treatises, were in circulation in the previous century. His inclusion of these dances leads us to assume that, despite their age, the Spanish dances he presents were in currency and/or demand at the time of his writing—the Pabana, Gallarda, Españoleta,

Villano, Los Impossibles and La Hermosa.258 Minguet further suggests that there are

French dances in which it is permissible to use Spanish steps and Spanish dances in which French steps may be used, although he is not specific in his assertions.259

Minguet’s presentation of Spanish dance along with French, and his insinuation that aspects of both may be combined might erroneously suggest that the French and the

257 El tesoro de la lengua castellana o española, s.v. “india,” by Sebastian de Covarrubias Orozco (Madrid: Sánchez, 1610) 76 (original pagination). Available at Internet Archive at https://archive.org/details/tesorodelalengua00covauoft. Under the entry for india exists “indiano, el que a ido a las Indias que de ordinario estos buelve ricos.”

258 Some of dances that Minguet addresses are also found in Juan Antonio Jaque’s Libro de danzar de don Baltasar de Rojas Pantoja (ca. 1680), and several of the Spanish step descriptions he provides (some verbatim and some edited) come from Juan de Esquivel Navarro’s Discursos sobre el arte del danzado (1642).

259 Minguet, Arte de danzar a la francesa (1737), “Al Lector” section 1st page (not paginated). 168 earlier Spanish styles were very similar. The Spanish repertoire, however, contains different dance types and utilized a different dance technique from the French (i.e., different steps and step theory, foot positions, etc.).260

Our present-day understanding of pre-Bourbon Spanish Baroque dance comes mainly from two seventeenth-century sources (in addition to Minguet, who, though writing later, elaborated on some of the older dances and steps). The first of these texts is

Juan de Esquivel Navarro’s Discursos sobre el arte del danzado (1642). Esquivel’s work is a pedagogical treatise that prescribes how dancing academies should function, and gives pronouncements on behavior in polite society and how it ought to be reflected in dance style. He offers explanations (with varying degrees of clarity and detail) for a variety of steps, and theoretical step categories, many of which appear in other manuscripts and publications, including Minguet’s works. Although Esquivel mentions several dances, he provides brief descriptions for only a few—the pavana, gallarda and villano—and does not provide choreographies or music.

A second extant seventeenth-century source is important precisely because it offers choreographies, of sorts. Dancing master Juan Antonio Jaque’s manuscript Libro de danzar de don Baltasar de Rojas Pantoja (ca. 1680), likely produced for his Jaque’s patron, offers step sequences and some figure instructions for dances common in the

Spanish repertoire of this earlier period—the Pabana, Gallarda, Jácara, Folias, Billano and Las Paradetas.261 The author specifies, but does not describe steps in the dances,

260 Lynn Matluck Brooks provides a useful analysis of seventeenth-century Spanish technique in The Art of Dancing.

169 many of which are explained in Esquivel and later in Minguet. It appears that the source was meant as a memory aid, and thus omits information that Jaque perhaps deemed unnecessary for his intended reader, such as the numbers and genders of dancers, their facings, pathways, floor patterns, and other formal features. Information of this kind would have greatly assisted (today’s) readers who lack what was probably tacit knowledge for Jaque’s pupil, Don Baltasar. Nevertheless, Esquivel and Jaque together provide us a basis for understanding aspects of the Spanish style. Minguet later expands on some of their descriptions, and in some cases, offers a slightly different take on steps or dances, perhaps owing to changes in dance style and execution during the course of the century that separates him from Esquivel.

Combining facets of the two styles likely produced, to some degree, a different aesthetic than that which was originally revered in Louis XIV’s court. As I am looking particularly at French style dances that relate to Venid, venid deydades, part of my exploration includes considering how the Spanish style might have influenced the French dances’ aesthetics as performed in Spain or a Spanish viceroyalty.

From his score, we can discern that opera composer, Ponce de León, employed dances of the French style. We can gain a very good indication about this style from

French dance notation and treatises where steps and dances are documented thoroughly enough so as to make them repeatable by today’s dance reconstructors. Further, from

Spanish sources we can determine that the French style was considered important enough

261 At least two versions of the Jaque’s Libro de danzar exist, but neither is original: one is a manuscript transcription by Barbieri, the other is a printed, published version by Subirá which inaccurately transcribes the Barbieri version. 170 that Spaniards at mid-century should want to concern themselves with learning it. As I look for a snapshot of the dancing in the elite Peruvian institutional world at mid- eighteenth century, I must consider that this segment of time was influenced by past styles that were apparently still popular among Spaniards even as the French style became fashionable. Because of a lack of Peruvian formal evidence, we unfortunately cannot be sure if the mixture of ethnicities present in the Viceroyalty shaped these dances’ aesthetics. I rely heavily on Minguet and Ferriol, and in the next chapter, I consider the steps and choreographies of minuets and contradanzas in their sources, and by physically dancing these I observe, both on and through the body, their characteristics and nature.

171

CHAPTER FOUR - EMBODYING THE ARCHIVE AND THE REPERTOIRE

Taylor and others discuss the privileging of the archive and the devaluing of the repertoire in modernity, especially in the colonial circumstance. This dynamic, though, was not because those in authority did not also rely on embodied practices,262 but because they more tightly controlled the archive. Patricia Seed, in Ceremonies of Possession in

Europe’s Conquest of the New World: 1492-1640, points out the importance of the written word in a Spanish possession ritual, the reading of a formal ultimatum (the

Requirement), from the earliest Spanish conquests in the Americas.263 The ritual, however, was an embodied, performed event, as were many of the other European customs of possession that Seed addresses.264 Certainly viceregal civil and religious ceremonies and other performances were elaborate embodied acts in which bodies repeated and reiterated meanings over time. How bodies learn to enact culturally meaningful behaviors is at issue in early dance reconstruction, and in it the archive and the repertoire have roles to play.

In his treatise, Observacion I. sobre el arte de la danza (ca. 1759), Spanish dancing master Joseph Ratier advises that to learn dance movements to perfection it is indispensable to have a good model to imitate. With this, and with practice, he says, one will achieve that which dissertations are not capable of teaching.265 Ratier suggests—

262 Taylor, The Archive, 18.

263 Patricia Seed, Ceremonies of Possession in Europe’s Conquest of the New World: 1492-1640 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 69-99.

264 Ibid.

172 to use Taylor’s terms—that the archive does not capture dance well, but that the repertoire of embodied practice preserves, transmits, and renders it repeatable. Ironically, dance researchers have found enough explicit information in texts from Ratier’s own time to be able to piece together a period dance technique—to rebuild a repertoire. This chapter looks at the nature of the repertoire, the kinds of dance information it preserves and transmits, and how it functions on its own and in relationship to the archive to inform early dance reconstruction. I use ethnographic experiences with Peruvian folkloric dancing to illustrate how formal elements reenact historical understandings associated with Peru’s diverse geography and how these movements are passed on. Experiences with Spanish Baroque dance exemplify the use of an array of archival dance texts to understand formal features of the dance and the relationship between bodily execution and cultural convention. Next, I look at the reconstructed repertoire of the French Noble

Style, noting how its formal elements, especially those consistent with the dance types reconstructed for Venid, venid deydades, are experienced through the body. The intricacies of reconstructing the choreographies in this style from Spanish treatises are described in Chapter Five.

The Repertoire in Dance Reconstruction

Dance is not essentially a textual endeavor, and it tends to be passed physically from teacher to student via multifaceted means. The process of teaching through modeling and correction, and learning through observation and imitation necessitates

265 Ratier, Observacion I. sobre el arte de la danza (Madrid (BNE) MSS. 14059-16, ca. 1759) 34: “para conseguir la perfección de estos movimientos, es indispensable propiamente un buen modelo, que con este y la práctica, logrorálo que todas las dissertaciones no son capaces de enseñarle.”

173 visual, verbal, kinesthetic, spatial, proprioceptive, and often auditory engagement.266

Despite the multiple levels on which dance conveyance and reception operate, embodied transmission is unstable, and thus can pose some problems for dance reconstruction.

Even dance practices, such as folkloric or “traditional” dancing, that purposefully attempt to repeat and recreate dances of the past are subject to influences that transform them. As human perception differs from person-to-person, so does memory, such that different practitioners invariably remember facets of a dance slightly differently and they thus pass their own versions.267 Dances also tend to incorporate cultural changes and values over time.268 Anthropologists Raúl Romero and Gisela Cánepa Koch each show that not only is the past visible in Peruvian traditional performance, but several pasts can be seen, as practitioners unproblematically conflate histories, giving performance

266 This process is variously named—sometimes with the not-wholly descriptive term “oral” transmission. Within dance studies several terms are used. Elise Ivancich Dunin prefers “body movement transmission,” in “Romani Dance Event in Skopje, Macedonia: Research Strategies, Cultural Identities, and Technologies,” in Dancing from Past to Present, Nation, Culture, Identities, ed. Theresa Jill Buckland (Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), 193. The edited text in which her article appears uses more generally, the term “kinetic transmission.” See Theresa Jill Buckland, ed., Dancing from Past to Present, Nation, Culture, Identities (Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press, 2006), 245. Both proposals focus on motion, though stillness is also conveyed through dance.

267 See, for example, Thomas Csordas, ed., Embodiment and Experience: The Existential Ground of Culture and Self (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

268 For more on change in folk dance over time, see Zoila S. Mendoza, Shaping Society through Dance: Mestizo Ritual Performance in the Peruvian Andes (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2000) and José Carlos Vilcapoma, El retorno de los Incas: de Manoco Cápac a Pachacútec (Lima: Instituto de Investigaciones y Desarrollo Andino and Universidad Nacional Agraria la Molina, 2002) illustrate that the twentieth-century era of indigenous recognition prompted an increase in performances of invented pre-conquest dances. Additionally, in my conversations with dance company director José Luque, he noted costume changes—short mini-skirts and high heels for the women in some dances, as an example- -had resulted from popular trends in the contemporary world. Other formal features he noted as changeable in the dances were floor patterns and spatial organizations. Dances originally performed outdoors might have been viewed in the round, yet setting them for proscenium stage situations prompted his use diagonal and horizontal line configurations of dancers that the dances may not have always had. José Luque interview November 9, 2010. 174 potentially ever richer meanings.269 In these cases, a sense of linear history tends to be lost as dances change formally by incorporating additional cultural values. From this perspective, using the repertoire to understand dance synchronically is fraught, as dissecting the dance to isolate particular points in history can be difficult or impossible.

This is both a methodological and theoretical problem in looking at dance history. The repertoire does not preserve dances of the distant past as if time had stopped, but folds in new ideas over time. To make room for the new, however, what is lost? While neither

Romero nor Cánepa deal particularly with elements lost from performances over time, this investigation necessarily engages with movement loss from the repertoire, for it is that which dance reconstruction attempts to rebuild.

The Repertoire: Peruvian Dances

When I began this investigation into dancing in colonial Peru, I was eager to investigate the dancing of this important place and period of contact between cultures. I sought to understand where the dances of native Andeans, colonial Spaniards, and enslaved Africans (and their collective offspring) might have come together, where they likely did not, and what their formal features might have been. I was curious about how vestiges of the dance practices of these various groups were reflected in contemporary folkloric dancing. I worked with a folkloric dance company in Cusco, Peru in October and November, 2010, and later with another in Ellensburg, Washington in June, 2012 to

269 Romero, Debating the Past; Gisela Cánepa Koch, Identidades representadas: performance, experiencia y memoria en los Andes (Lima: Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, Fondo Editorial, 2001).

. 175 gain a sense of the movement norms in dancing deemed “traditional” and rooted in Peru’s past.

Folkloric dances passed down through generations by embodied means, tend to consciously conserve and reproduce formal dance traits over time. Such conservation is rarely absolute, as changes in execution and choreography occur for conscious and unconscious reasons.270 Nevertheless, folkloric dances are understood to represent aspects of a sometimes undefined past. In Peru, the multiple pasts that are performed through folk dances seem intrinsically linked to places. This section discusses some of the formal qualities found in today’s Peruvian folkloric dances and how this study’s

Peruvian informants associate aspects of these dances with a primarily geographic and ethnic legacy. It also illustrates how dances are taught and learned, in some ways, distinctly from in Euro-derived dance forms. While here the repertoire did not provide direct reconstruction data for the case at hand, it provided useful comparative material.

While I focus here on the dances’ connections to a European Baroque style, their other rich cultural influences cannot be ignored.

Eventually, as my investigation narrowed and became focused on an opera of the official culture of the mid-eighteenth century, I wondered whether contemporary

Peruvian folkloric dancing would also show traces of the French style similar to those favored in the official colonial culture. In fact, I found few identifiable characteristics of colonial-era court-style European dancing in the folkloric repertory, even in so-called

270 For more on change in folk dance over time, see Zoila S. Mendoza, Shaping Society through Dance: Mestizo Ritual Performance in the Peruvian Andes (Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2000). 176

“mestizo” or “colonial” dances. Overall, the designation of mestizo or colonial dance tends to describe dances where upright postures and closed shoes (rather than sandals or bare feet) are used. I eventually came to realize that these labels were used to denote a general past heritage and dances that resulted from the contact of the various groups and their dance cultures—not necessarily to indicate that versions of the dances originated in the colonial period. Peru became independent in 1821, and some of the dances referred to as mestizo or colonial are more clearly associated with nineteenth-century European dances. Additionally, some of the dances in the folk repertoire might have been influenced by European popular dances throughout and since the colonial period, rather than those of the court, which were better documented.271 We must also consider the probability that over time dancers have innovated aspects of dances, perhaps changing or inventing formal features.

Traditional dances are very highly regarded in Peru, both by the public and by formal institutions. Nowadays, folkloric dances are performed in Peru by school groups, dance companies and, mostly in more rural areas, by comparsas (ritual dance associations). Some believe that the popularity of this dancing has prompted an unsavory commercialization of these dances. During this investigation I encountered folkloric dancing being performed in urban night clubs, tourist-centered venues, theaters, political events, parades, churches, and city and town plazas, as well as in many highly organized competitions. Traditionalists and innovators alike debate the rationales for preserving

271 We know that Europe was also influenced by popular dances from the Americas. It is believed that chaconas (chaconnes) and zarabandas (sarabandes) likely made their way from Peru and/or Mexico to Europe via people of lower classes. There, although initially criticized and prohibited, they were wrought into a form that was considered refined enough to enter European court ballrooms. 177 these dances—which Peruvians deem national patrimony— and the relative value of authenticity versus creative change. The twentieth century saw a nativist movement that involved efforts to reconstruct, preserve and celebrate authentic forms of (predominantly) indigenous expressive practices—a phenomenon that anthropologist Zoila S. Mendoza calls a process of “folklorization”272 that had a lasting effect on the popularity of folklor

(a term used in Peru and elsewhere to denote cultural expressions such as dance and music). Generally speaking, there is an attempt within the broad umbrella of Peruvian folkloric dancing, even in the more innovational realm of competitive dancing, to present movement that is somehow “traditional”—recognizable as a dance repeated from the past, somehow linked to a place or culture.

There are hundreds of dances within Peru’s traditional folklor. Virtually all of these have been passed down through the embodied repertoire. Many of the dances are widely acknowledged to have resulted from the meeting and mixing of Andean,

European and African cultures during the viceregal period; yet, as mentioned above, the dances bear little resemblance to known European courtly dances of that period.

Furthermore, despite general allusions to mestizo or colonial dances, Peruvian dance specialists typically associated dances and dance characteristics more strongly with regions, than with ethnic origins or time periods. The following paragraphs describe

272 Mendoza, Shaping Society, 48-83. Additionally, Vilcapoma, El retorno deals with the phenomenon in depth. The last chapters of his.La danza a través del tiempo en el mundo y en los Andes (Lima: Asamblea Nacional de Rectores and Universidad Nacional Agraria la Molina, 2008) 436-468, consider modern presentations of folkloric dances and some of the general formal alterations that have been made to dances that are decontextualized from original function to entertainment and competition venues. He also addresses the mid and late twentieth-century renewed interest in Incan studies/indigenismo and the production of mythical and imagined spectacles with pseudo-historical dances. 178 regional dance traditions, with my observations regarding their connection (or lack thereof) to historical elements or aesthetics of the viceregal period, the focus of my later research.

Some of the important meanings that dances of the folkloric repertoire reiterate and pass down are related to Peru’s geography. Three main geographic zones define

Peru and its cultures: the coast, the highlands, and the jungle (costa, sierra and selva).

Dance company director José Luque used vertical waves of the hand to indicate these three parallel regions running the length of the country. Those regional designations describe not only geographic topography but also distinct cultural practices largely determined by climate, available resources, and inhabitants’ livelihoods. These factors also explain some of the formal features that have historically shaped Peruvian dances.

The experts I worked with pointed out that the dances from each of Peru’s three main topographical regions shared features that set them apart from those of the other zones within the Peruvian folklor repertoire, even as each zone was host to a diversity of cultural and linguistic groups,273 each with its own particular dance heritage.

The following attributes associated with three specific regions were understood to have historical links, connecting present practitioners to an unspecified past heritage. Of these geographic regions, the coast is the one whose dances were most influenced by cultures from beyond the Andes. The Peruvian coastline on the western edge of the country was home to several indigenous groups; it also hosted large populations of

273 Quechua, Aymara, their derivatives, and other aboriginal languages are still spoken in Peru. Many more recognized languages have become extinct. For more on Peruvian languages see Margarethe Sparing- Chávez, People of Peru (Lima: Summer Institute of Linguistics, 1999). 179

Spaniards who settled and established their capital there, along with African slaves and other black residents who worked in the ports, in the homes of wealthy residents, and as street vendors in the urban capital. Thus, the traditional dances from this region are diverse in terms of formal characteristics and style. The most widely recognized of these dances reflect the Afro-Peruvian and European legacies, and some of the most well- known of these reflect influences from the post-colonial period.

Among the dances representative of the Peruvian coast are many male-female couple dances—a form that my informants associated with European dancing in a general, rather casual way, and one that is rarely found in the dances of the highlands or jungle. The posture used in coastal dances tends to be erect, with a straight torso and open chest. Heterosexual couple dances and upright postures in dances of the coast were attributed to Europeans by the dance contacts with whom I worked.274 Other characteristics of these dances include vertical hip gesticulations, and plenty of zapateo, or percussive footwork. The legs are often lifted higher off the ground in these dances compared to the zapateos of the highlands, and they also tend to feature more leg crossing and brushing gestures. According to my contacts, Afro-Peruvians had influenced these dances’ zapateos and hip use.275 Mr. Luque reminded me that coastal dances were influenced not only by the mix of residents but also by the flow of visitors and commerce through ports during and since the colonial era. Some of the popular

274 These specialists include José Luque, in Cusco, director of the dance company PERUDANZA and Fabiola Serra, in Ellensburg, Washington in the United States, director of the dance company Tusuy Peru.

275 Ibid. 180 folkloric coastal dances exhibit predominantly Afro-Peruvian characteristics, such as the festejo and tondero. Others display more nineteenth-century European characteristics, like el vals, which developed from the European waltz, and versions of the national dance, the marinera, which is traced to mixed Afro-Peruvian, European and arguably

Andean origins. Except for the upright stances and heteronormative coupling of dancers,

I observed little resemblance in these dances to the earlier court-derived European dance style that would later become the focus of my research.

By far, the majority of Peruvian dances have their origins in the highlands; these occupy the central swath of the country, including the Andes Mountains running longitudinally. Diverse Andean groups have historically populated various parts of this zone, but the imposed colonial apparatus of church and state ensured the presence of

Spaniards and Africans in inland urban centers (and Africans, in mining areas). Despite the presence and authority of non-Andeans, the majority of dances that are popular today from this region are were acknowledged by my informants (and the general public, as far as I could tell) to have indigenous or hybrid roots.

Dances from the highlands are normally group dances. Some are single-sex dances, but when men and women dance together (sometimes paired in couples) they often have gender-specific choreography.276 By and large, dances from the highlands require the use of a low center of gravity and a crouched stance is characteristic. The feet are a crucial focal point, as the zapateos in these dances are complex. The zapateos are

276 Dance director, José Luque voiced the belief that in many older dances that are performed in today’s shows and competitions of various sorts, dancers are paired in couples (he inferred that today’s audiences might find this charming) where they originally might not have been. Luque interview November 8, 2010. 181 thought to mimic agricultural activities in a stylized way, and they were sometimes originally performed with the feet somewhat apart, so as to avoid stepping on an imaginary row being dug, sown, or tended.277 The feet are not lifted very high off the ground as their patterns require quick stamping and rapid and variable shifts of weight.

Watching performances of these dances led me to certain assumptions about their patterns and coordination of movement that were contradicted when I tried them myself.

The description that follows illustrates the vital role practice plays in the dancer’s and reconstructor’s work. In attempting some zapateos with the PERUDANZA company, I was particularly challenged by patterns that involved both multiple foot stamps with the same foot without changing weight, and stamps in which the weight was transferred immediately from one foot to the other.278 Although my teacher-consultant on these dances felt that the feet were really the focus of many of these dances, my own observation and embodied learning, caused me also to note the frequent lateral twisting of the hips by women. The hips very often repeatedly twist right and left (or left and right) on the body’s axis, in opposition to the top of the torso. I was unable to master this movement while working with PERUDANZA, and was able to do so only after analyzing, in the videos I had taken, what the different body parts were doing simultaneously as the hips twisted. I worked with this movement again in classes with

Fabiola Serra, the teacher and director of Tusuy Peru dance company, and succeeded in

277 Ibid.

278 My personal experiences learning some of these were recorded in field notes and video October 27 and November 6 and 13, 2010. 182 being able to coordinate the motion of the hips, the direction in stepping and bending the of the legs and feet, and the countering of the upper body and arms. Although I had thought I understood these movements as I watched them in performance, I was clearly mistaken. True understanding came from physically repeating what I saw modeled and correcting myself again and again, until I was able to replicate the movements’ requisite coordination.

Salq’aqocha and qhaswa, are two popular folklor dances from the highlands.

They are thought to be essentially indigenous, along with various versions of dances such as the carnaval and diablada, which are found in many parts of Peru and danced with particular local character.279 While some aspects of the latter dances have native Andean components, they are structured around Roman Catholic notions of pre-Lenten merriment

(in carnavales dances), or, as in the diabladas, present danced battles between devils and angels, often to celebrate the feast days of particular iterations of the Virgin Mary.

Having both Andean and Roman Catholic components marks these dances as mestizo or colonial. In addition to the thematic content, these mestizo dances often exhibit erect postures, and in some places, closed shoes. This is in contrast to the more stooped postures considered to be indicative of indigenous Andean dance traditions.280 Both the mestizo and indigenous dances from the highlands seem quite distinct from European court-style dances of the viceregal era. In the cases of some of these, it is evident that the appropriation of European dance ideas occurred at later moments in history.

279 The aforementioned marinera is also danced in various regions with local characteristics.

280 José Luque interview November 8, 2010. This conception is echoed by anthropologist Zoila S. Mendoza. Mendoza, Shaping Society, 78-80. 183

Relatively few folkloric dances represent the jungle region that occupies the eastern expanse of Peru. This is especially true of the northern part of the region. The dances from these areas are thought to have originated with indigenous peoples of areas that, in general, came under less colonial or even post-colonial governmental control than other zones. The jungle areas are the last to be integrated commercially and socially into greater Peru; there are still uncontacted groups in the Peruvian rainforest.

The dances of the jungle region are largely group dances, like those from the highlands, either for dancers of one sex or for both sexes with gender-specific choreography. These dances are not purported to be of mixed origin, but rather of isolated cultural groups. Here postures and center of gravity used vary greatly from dance to dance, and even within the same dances, especially for men--these are exuberant dances that contain a great deal of high jumping, running, crouching, and sometimes, spear or stick waving by men, and basket carrying by women. Choreographies also incorporate steps that represent animals such as monkeys and jaguars, which sometimes entail stylistic crawling. Body paint, grass or animal skin skirts, feathers are commonly used in these dances. Unlike the dances of the other two zones, dances of the jungle region are not distinguished by zapateos. Hip use by women often involves one hip at a time where a hip and corresponding thigh are engaged on a forward low diagonal in a repeated pumping rotation. Two examples of dances from the jungle region are cholones de Rupa

Rupa and movido típico.281 The dancers I worked with approached these dances as fun

281 The first of these dances is named for members of the Cholón ethnic and linguistic group of the Rupa Rupa district in the central eastern jungle swath of Peru; the second is a now-standard dance based on collective characteristics from Amazonas and Iquitos in the northern jungle territory.

184 opportunities to move with more abandon and less decorum than that required by some of the other dances they performed. This freer feel seems to parallel the idea that many jungle areas escaped colonial oversight, and some, even later republican refinement.

Indigenous identity is expressed through these dances in a different way than it is in highlands dances. In these dances, unlike those of the other geographic regions or those of the reconstructed Spanish or French styles, there is more active involvement of the entire body.

European court dancing seems absent from folklor.282 Other than the understanding that erect bodily carriage, staid couple dancing, and closed footwear were

European facets of some of the folkloric dances, Currently there is a great deal of research activity in Lima and in other coastal locations in the development of Afro-

Peruvian dance and music, and this interest and resulting scholarship is increasing.

Dances of indigenous origins have enjoyed intense interest over a longer period, especially in the highlands and most especially in Cusco, a city fanatical about dance.283

At the time of my investigation, I found very few traces of European dance techniques being taught or performed there. This realization prompted me to consider the issue of cultural identity in present-day Cusco, and as it pertained to those with whom I was dancing.

282 Although outside the limits of this investigation, aspects of Spanish popular dancing might be represented in these folkloric dances.

283 See Mendoza, Shaping Society; Vilcapoma, El retorno; Marisol de la Cadena, Indigenous Mestizos: The Politics of Race and Culture in Cuzco, Peru, 1919-1991 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2000). 185

In Cusco, it was clear to me that all of my Peruvian dancer-informants were mestizos, literally, being both of indigenous Andean and European heritage, and also urban and literate.284 In their dancing, and in the ambiance of their city, their indigenous heritage seemed far more present and salient than their European ancestry, which seemed a mere fact of the distant past. They did speak Spanish to one another, and they gathered for dance practice and rehearsals at the Alianza Francesa every day, but there is no visible, live European presence in Cuzco, whereas native Andeans are present in all corners of the city. As such, it is understandable that cultural practices, particularly rarified ones of a small echelon, would be forgotten or changed over time.

Somewhat ironically, my understanding of the Peruvian repertoire deepened when

I taught two dances dating European dances to this contemporary dance troupe. During my research, in exchange for observing, interviewing and participating in rehearsals with

PERUDANZA, the director, seeing the opportunity for his dancers to engage with some their European dance heritage, asked me to teach some classes. We chose the minuet, as an example of a colonial dance, and the waltz, because its descendent, el vals or vals criollo, exists in their folklor repertoire. It was both fascinating and challenging to teach dancers who were highly skilled movers but who did not operate with a concept of the fundamental technical elements and positions that we so-called Western dancers rely on heavily. Some of the basics of European dance, such as numbered positions of the feet and the idea of standard, named body positions of flexion or extension--established and promoted internationally during the eighteenth century and used since in a wide variety

284 This development in ethnic/racial and class identity is thoroughly discussed in de la Cadena, Indigenous Mestizos, 131-176. 186 of dance practices and techniques--had no place in the movement vocabularies of these dancers. This suggests that either these technical aspects either never gained currency, or that they fell into disuse because they were not helpful or applicable to the repertoire that did develop. Interestingly too, in the process of learning, teaching and performing dances of their repertoire, the folklor dancers did not rely on named, standardized steps, as we do in European-derived dance traditions, but replicated movement passages of largely unnamed components.285 Again, here, verbally naming steps or step combinations was apparently unnecessary to these dancers’ process—which stands in stark contrast to the heavy reliance on step names in learning and describing many

European dance styles.286

My intervention in the life of one dance company in one city was miniscule, and it bears acknowledging that Peruvian dancers, without instruction in or exposure to

European dance technique, have long performed European-ness through the dances considered to be mestizo or colonial.287 While the “European” formal content of some folkloric dances may have been lost, changed, or even invented over time, to the performers and their public, these dances still represent the performance of European-

285 An exception that I noticed, were named animal steps in dances from the jungle region, such as the paso de mono (monkey step).

286 The standardized naming of steps assists in the process of committing dance to text, however, in many dance styles that are conveyed through the repertoire (such as ballet, tap, flamenco, and even aerobics), using standard names has benefitted the process. Some of these listed styles are derived from or share common facets with styles earlier described in the archive. Additional research might further probe the use of language in conveyance of dance through the repertoire.

287 While there were none in Cusco during my investigation, in Lima there were dance schools that offered ballet and flamenco. However, their techniques were not considered to relate to folklor. Subsequent to my research, Magdalena Villarán, a Peruvian colleague who resides in Mexico, began a small Baroque dance troupe in Lima in response to a growing early music scene there. The company’s dancers predominantly come from folklor. 187 ness—even as they are performed by bodies that have not been colonized by European dance. Whether dances or their elements are European is less important, in the folklor context, than the fact that they represent Europeans to the dancers and their audience. If not for this experience, I would not have realized how little present-day folkloric dancing is recognizable as European courtly movement.

The Archive and the Reconstructed Repertoire

Although the repertoire may be difficult to decipher to make claims about how it represents the distant past, it can inform dance reconstruction in conjunction with the archive. While for Taylor, “the challenge is not to ‘translate’ from an embodied expression into a linguistic one or vice versa but to recognize the strengths and limitations of each system,”288 for the dance reconstructor the challenge, where a dance archive exists, is precisely to translate linguistic (and/or graphic) information into embodied expression. To do this necessitates assessing the strengths and limitations of both types of information.

The archive and the repertoire tend not to function as two equal sources of information feeding a complete picture, although they can. More often, the archive provides verbal or graphic indications that the body follows. How the body is able to do this has been an essential problem in early dance reconstruction since the time of its twentieth-century pioneers, because the applicable dance techniques for these early styles had become obsolete. What does it mean for example, if a period dance manual tells us to lift the right leg and bend the knee? In what direction is the right leg to be lifted, and

288 Taylor, The Archive, 32. 188 how high? Is it the right knee that should bend, or the other? What goes on with the rest of the body as this happens? Dance reconstructors, by combing texts of a particular period rather broadly—dance texts, but also those on fencing, art, etiquette, and comportment, for example--have made assumptions about appropriate historical dance movement. In this way they have been able to recreate repeatable, physical dance techniques of steps, movement vocabularies, theories and conventions that are passed down from teacher to student in dance classes and workshops. With the body educated according to a reconstructed historical style, archives, where they exist, can then further inform the dancer as to particular choreographies. The ethnographic examples that follow depict my experiences in working with Spanish Baroque dance and the French

Noble Style. The earlier Spanish style is informed by fewer, and less explicit extant archival sources than the French, but both sections demonstrate how the body utilizes textual information.

The Archive and the Reconstructed Repertoire: Spanish Baroque Dances

To gain experience with Spanish dancing that undoubtedly influenced Spain’s colonies, I also attended two one-week workshops on Spanish Baroque dance which were based on the Spanish dance sources of the aforementioned Esquivel and Jaque, authors of extant seventeenth-century Spanish dance texts.289 Spain, as a colonial power, asserted its cultural influence in the Viceroyalty, introducing European conventions in music, dance and theater. Evidence of Spanish dancing masters migrating to Peru begins perhaps as early as 1541.290 Other purveyors of dances to and from Peru and Spain

289 See Chapter Three.

189 throughout the colonial period would have included theater directors and performers, educated Spaniards, who were commonly trained in dance, and lower class Spaniards who undoubtedly carried their social dances between continents.

My research revealed that with the eighteenth-century Bourbon administration,

Italian music and French dance were embraced in official and elite Peruvian circles, as they were in Spain. The French dance style most likely came by way of Spain.291

Spanish dance treatises provide evidence that, while French style in dance was being reproduced, Spanish dancing had not been totally eclipsed. There is no reason to think that it would have disappeared completely in Peru either. What was Spanish dancing like before the apparent change in mode and preference to French style, and might it have been indicative of the Spanish dancing that survived into the eighteenth century? What aspects of Spanish dancing might have accented the eighteenth-century French dances as performed by Spaniards or Peruvian criollos? With these questions in mind I investigated the fragmentary history of seventeenth-century Spanish dancing both through texts and physically.

Unlike the Peruvian folkloric dancing described above, which does not have a descriptive written archive on which to rely, Spanish and French dance treatises do provide explanatory dance data. Based on those sources, historically informed

290 James Lockhart, Spanish Peru 1532-1560: A Social History (Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 1994) 124. Additionally, Lohmann Villena, El arte dramático mentions dancing as part of civil celebrations, but especially in comedias beginning in the mid-sixteenth century. He provides evidence throughout this book, of performers being contracted to dance and teach dance, as well as to act, sing, and/or play instruments.

291 We have also have seen evidence of an Italian dancing master promoting the French style in Lima (see Chapter Three). 190 repertoires of modern interpretations of this dancing have been established. To explore

Spanish dancing during the colonial period, and to inform my dance reconstructions with elements of those styles, both conceptually and formally, I participated in two week-long workshops in July 2010 and August 2011 with Spanish Baroque dance specialist Ana

Yepes in Mexico City. The workshops afforded me the opportunity to experience the technique and movement vocabulary as Yepes interprets them, mainly from seventeenth- century sources by Esquivel and Jaque, whose texts are addressed in the last chapter, and to investigate Spanish Baroque conventions in dance and music, which clearly influenced performance culture in the Americas. Extant musical compositions include dance types of this genre such as jácaras, paradetas, billanos, and folías.292 Such Spanish dances were consistent with earlier lyric works in Peru like La púrpura de la rosa in 1701. As the Bourbon century wore on, the French style, with its minuetes and contradanzas, gained currency.

Ms. Yepes, who is from Spain, taught the technique she had reconstructed by embodying the archive of Spanish dance treatises, testing her assumptions physically.

She is herself trained in a variety of dance techniques. The basis for this style, then, was not the repertoire, but the archive. As a foundation Yepes used Juan de Esquivel

Navarro’s Discursos sobre el arte del dançado, y sus excelencias y primer origen, reprobando las acciones deshonestas (1642) for step theory and descriptions, along with

292 See, for example, the Lucas Ruiz de Ribayaz compilation, Luz y norte musical [1677] (Geneva: Minkoff, 1976), which was published in Spain upon the composer’s return from Peru. Several anonymous pieces in the San Antonio Abad archive name jácaras (xácaras) in their titles. See also Quezada, El legado, 222, 253-258. For evidence attesting to the use of these dance types in the Americas, see the compendium edited by Craig H. Russell, Santiago de Murcia’s ‘Códice Saldívar No. 4’: A treasury of Secular Guitar Music from Baroque Mexico (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1995).

191

Juan Antonio Jaque’s manuscript Libro de danzar de don Baltasar de Rojas Pantoja (ca.

1680) for step combinations in choreographies of identified dances.293

As Esquivel reveals, the technique is constructed on a system of five types of movement, categorized according to how the body and/or gesture leg move in space.

Steps can move or gesture forward (accidentales), backward (estraños), laterally or crossing (transervales), upward (violentos) or downward (naturales). Two main open foot positions characterize the style—planta natural, where one foot is placed forward of the other, with weight on either foot or equally over both, depending upon the step, or planta cuadrada/quadrada, where feet are open, placed laterally, side-by-side. Esquivel describes several named steps—some with springs, turns, or both—in varying degrees of detail. In some cases, Pablo Minguet e Yrol’s Explicación del danzar a la española

(1737) and Breve tratado de los passos del danzar a la española (1764) add helpfully to these step descriptions, even though they date over a century later. In some cases

Minguet uses Esquivel’s words verbatim (though without attribution), and in some cases

Minguet offers an enhanced or slightly different understanding as to how steps should be performed.294 These slight discrepancies proved a useful reminder that when working with texts we need to consider that step execution might have changed over time; also,

293 Juan de Esquivel Navarro, Discursos sobre el arte del dançado, y sus excelencias y primer origen, reprobando las acciones deshonestas (Sevilla: Juan Gomez de Blas, 1642). Facsimile by Editorial Paris Valencia, 1998 is available at http://www.pbm.com/~lindahl/navarro/facsimile/. Also see, Juan Antonio Jaque Libro de danzar de Don Baltasar de Rojas Pantoja (ca.1680) transcribed by Francisco Barbieri (1881). Biblioteca Nacional de España, ms 14059-15.This facsimile is available at http://www.europeana.eu/portal/record/9200376/BibliographicResource_3000100233184.html.

294 Pablo Minguet e Yrol, Explicación del danzar a la española (published together with Arte de danzar a la francesa) (Madrid, Minguet e Yrol, 1737); and Breve tratado de lospassos del danzar a la española, que oy se estilan en las seguidillas, fandango y otros tañidos, second printing (Madrid, Minget e Yrol, 1764). 192 that one or both authors might have been specifying personal preferences for a step’s execution--and in this, the authors might disagree. In fact, perhaps neither text demonstrates how the majority of dancers executed the steps, as both authors provide prescriptive rather than documentary data.

Influenced by the ideas of Esquivel and Minguet, Yepes presented the steps of these dances with great attention to maintaining a vertical torso—a hallmark of refined and noble deportment in Europe, at least since the earliest extant dance treatises of the fifteenth century. The upward training of the body was a pervasive idea that at once differentiated the aristocratic body from that of the common laborer and bespoke supposed uprightness of character.295 Notions of honesty seemed salient in this style.

When executing step combinations during our workshop, Yepes continually reminded us of Esquivel’s cautions about cheating or fudging steps, by, for example, bending a knee when lifting a leg to the back, or dropping the upper body while landing a jump, which

Esquivel would have considered “deshonesto.” Trying not to be “dishonest” became a group joke as we continued, for to do the steps correctly, or “honestly” was more difficult. Because stepwork is one of the defining characteristics of a dance style, often distinguishing dances of one period from those of another, the next section presents details of stepwork for the Spanish Baroque style that Yepes taught.

295 The following texts comment on vertical posture in European historical concepts: Baldassarre Castiglioni, Book of the Courtier, reprint/translation (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1959); Georges Vigarello, “The Upward Training of the Body from the Age of Chivalry to Courtly Love,” in Fragments for a History of the Human Body, 2, ed. Michele Feher, Ramona Naddoff and Nadia Tazi (New York: Zone Books, 1989), 148-199; Jennifer Nevile The Eloquent Body: Dance and Humanist Culture in Fifteenth- Century Italy (Bloomington, IL: Indiana University Press, 2004). 193

Steps

Common steps in a given movement vocabulary inform our sense of aesthetics about a style, allowing us to compare one style to another and thus reconstructors analyze steps closely when studying a dance. To offer an idea of the formal aesthetics of this style, I provide descriptions of some common steps from this repertoire through my embodied experience of executing them. They are described in Esquivel and later in

Minguet, and are called for in several of the dances that Jaque presents. Understanding their characteristic details is essential to the process of reconstruction.

Several steps in this style involve raising or kicking a leg, dropping a leg to a specified position, and/or shifting the weight from one foot to the other, or to both. Not uncommonly, steps contain movements where one foot and leg under cuts the other to assume weight. Cargados, for example, involve “loading” or “charging” the body’s weight from one leg to the other, which first is raised forward quickly, and then lowered quickly, cutting in to replace the other. The original standing leg (having now been replaced) is freed and moves backward, but one must be careful not to bend that knee or to drop the torso forward--in practice, without this admonition, it would be easy to do either or both.296 In two of the three choreographies with which we worked, cargados

296 The cargado step is explained in Esquivel, Discursos, 18v. Minguet explains the step in Breve tratado, 12-13, and uses Esquivel’s verbiage, but precedes it with a short theoretical analysis dividing the step into parts—one, the replacing of one foot with the other, and the other, the raising of the replaced foot to the back. Lynn Matluck Brooks discusses the step extensively in The Art of Dancing. This step is called for in several choreographies in Jaque’s Libro de danzar.

194 appeared in pairs—that is, they were done first on one foot and then immediately on the other.297

To execute a sacudido or “shaken” step, the non-weight-bearing gesture foot is pulled in with a straight leg to the front of the other foot, which hops--perhaps to the ball of the foot—while the gesture foot is shaken with a loose ankle (toward the laces of the hopping foot, as the sources advise).298 The shaken foot can then step and take weight, enabling the dancer to repeat the process on the other side. In practice, hopping on one foot while shaking the other foot at the hopping one is somewhat awkward, as the hopping seems to take less time than the shaking (especially because this is supposed to be accomplished with a straight gesturing leg). As per Yepes’ interpretation, by hopping to a stance on the ball of the standing foot, the shaking with the gesture leg may continue long enough to make it visible. This execution made the step not only functional, but also attractive within choreographies. In a dearth of other contradictory information, we used this interpretation because it made the step possible to execute and feasible within the timing requirements of choreographies—possibly consistent with original execution.

Although neither Esquivel nor Minguet offers specific instruction as to the arm movements that should accompany steps, Yepes did model arms with them. Generally speaking, the arms were rounded, and from a low position at the sides, one hand was

297 These were the folías (from the Jaque Libro de danzar manuscript) and the españoleta (from Minguet’s Explicación del danzar a la española).

298 The sacudido step is explained in Esquivel, Discursos, 14-15, 20. Minguet’s Breve tratado, 13, uses almost identical wording to Esquivel’s to describe the sacudido but he adds a postscript dividing the step into parts—one (a natural) where the foot is raised and crossed before the other, and the other (a violento), the step hop. The step is also discussed extensively in Brooks, The Art of Dancing. Again, this step is called for in several dances in their choreographic contexts in Jaque’s Libro de danzar.

195 raised in front of the body to chest-level in opposition to whichever leg was forward, its wrist turning the palm toward the body. Meanwhile, the other arm stayed low and rounded, its wrist turning the palm downward. This arm carriage did have a familiar

Spanish aesthetic reminiscent of bolero or flamenco dancing, but at the same time, it worked with the opposition typical in French Baroque dance. This movement worked nicely when we attempted some of the dances using castanets. Yepes’ research suggested that castanets were used at this time, especially in outdoor situations.299

Italian Connections

Ms. Yepes made clear by demonstrating steps and step combinations that there was a very close association between the steps in the Spanish sources and the earlier

Italian Renaissance steps found in sources by Fabritio Caroso and Cesare Negri at the turn of the seventeenth century. This is not surprising, since Spain controlled Naples and other southern Italian territories into the eighteenth century. Importantly too, Negri’s dance treatise, Le Gratie d’Amore (1602) was translated into Spanish (as Arte para aprender a dançar) and published in Madrid in 1630. It is thus likely that the Spaniards were familiar with Italian style. Extant Italian treatises from the sixteenth and early seventeenth century offer more complete dance data for step execution and choreographies than do the extant Spanish sources.300 Dance historian and reconstructor

299 Esquivel does not comment on this, but Minguet later specifies that when using castanets, rounded arms together, are brought in front of the body, hands placed toward the chest, and then open outward together— another movement we worked to integrate with the choreography. ; Minguet Explicación del danzar a la española, 62.

300 These sources include Fabritio Caroso, Il Ballarino (1581) reprint: (New York: Broude Bros., 1967), facsimile available at http://www.pbm.com/~lindahl/caroso/facsimile/; and his Nobiltà di dame (1600) reprint edited and notes by Julia Sutton: (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1986), facsimile available at http://www.pbm.com/~lindahl/caroso2/facsimile/; and Cesare Negri, Le gratied’amore (1602), 196

Lynn Matluck Brooks, in her book about Esquivel and his Discursos, succinctly notes that “vertical posture, precision and stretched legs, a moderate spatial range, and little arm use” characterize the dances as prescribed by the Italians, Caroso and Negri, and also by Esquivel.301 These common features suggest that reconstructors might look to the

Italian sources to fill in missing choreographic data from the seventeenth-century Spanish sources. Brooks notes some important differences as well—whereas the Italians discourage the turnout, or outward rotation of the legs, Esquivel recommends it; and whereas the Italians endorse shading (a slight turning or inclining) of the torso in certain occasions, Esquivel proposes only that the upright torso be maintained.302 Thus, although the connection between the older Italian and the seventeen-century Spanish styles is clearly established in the literature, we must acknowledge the differences, too, when using the more robustly descriptive Italian style to inform reconstructions of the Spanish.

Rebuilding Choreographies

In many cases, the execution of individual Spanish steps becomes clearer when they are combined into choreographies. The motor requirements of weight shifting, balancing, timing and flow of limb movement, turning and jumping--the physics of the steps’ execution—are realized with steps in combination and within a designation of musical timing and use of space. Arriving at such choreographies, however, is not a straight path. The following is a description of how Ms. Yepes used the historical

reprint: (Bologna: Forni Editore Bologna, 1969), facsimile available at http://www.pbm.com/~lindahl/negri/facsimile/. Also see Brooks, The Art of Dancing, 76-78.

301 Brooks, The Art of Dancing, 78.

302 Ibid. While explaining individual steps, Esquivel reminds that the toes of the feet should be pointed outward (“las puntas de los pies afuera” or “puntas afuera”). Esquivel Discursos, 10v, 13, 20. 197 archive and embodied practice to systematically test hypotheses and develop credible and danceable choreographies for three different dances.

Because Esquivel offers no choreographies, Ms. Yepes turned to the Jaque manuscript, Libro de danzar de don Baltasar de Rojas Pantoja (ca. 1680). Jaque provides choreographies by noting the progression of steps executed in each of the dances he covers: the pabana, gallarda, jácara, folías, billano, and las paradetas. This text is thought to be a memory aid for a patron who was probably somewhat familiar with the dances. Jaque offers no step descriptions and does not indicate how many people dance or what their genders are. He does not describe the dances’ floor patterns or the dancers’ facings or pathways, and he also offers no musical examples.

In reconstructing portions of Jaque’s folías and pabana, and an españoleta found in Minguet, Yepes used a number of techniques to work around the gaps in descriptive information.303 First, she used recorded independent musical examples of the same dance types as those we were reconstructing. These had appropriate meters and phrasing for the dances’ choreographies (historical musical examples that correspond to the pabana are in duple meter, and those of folías and españoletas are in triple). Next, Ms. Yepes applied

Esquivel’s and Minguet’s step descriptions to Jaque’s choreographies and standard music. As all of the dance instructions call for the same step vocabulary, whether in duple or triple meter, she analyzed the timing of step execution within the choreography and music. Convinced of the close relationship between these choreographies and those in the earlier Italian treatises, Yepes created patterns and spatial interactions for the folías

303 The pabana and folías are found in Jaque, Libro de danzar, 7-18 and 29-46 respectively, and the españoleta is found in Minguet, Explicaciones, 61-64. 198 and españoletas choreographies like those of some of the balli and balletti in the Italian texts of Caroso and Negri. These involved sets of two, three or four couples, and required dancers to engage with their partners and with dancers from other couples in the set, moving individually and with a partner. In these formations, dancers move within and outside the set, cross through it, and move around its circumference on straight and curved pathways.

These dances, in this set format, had a kaleidoscopic quality—a quality that I had never particularly noticed when dancing Italian balli. This symmetrical undulation of the set now reminded me of set-style contredanses or contradanzas (which are described in detail later in this chapter), and I had not before made a connection between these and the balli of the Italian Renaissance. The pabana and the related Italian pavagnilia are generally dances for couples; they are known to have a linear (advancing and retreating) and processional format. We worked with Jaque’s pabana in a mostly rectilinear format, allowing the steps to take us forward and backward, experimenting with executing half turns within steps where it was possible and reversing the body’s direction, but in some cases continuing to move in the same direction along the same pathway. As I participated in these workshops, I realized that the dances being reconstructed were, in fact, informed by a much wider variety of sources than I had anticipated--the music and dance information necessary for the reconstructions were not contained in a single text, but emerged from several.

A crucial piece of reconstructing dances, is understanding how the dance is actually made up of its steps—how steps were used in combination and how these 199 combinations were strung together to structure choreographies. Using provided step sequences in a variety of patterns produced interesting and beautiful visual effects that are not apparent from merely reading Jaque’s progression of step names. Some aspects of the dances’ structures, however, are apparent in the texts. For the three dances we used, the step sequences for an entrada (an opening figure) and several mudanzas

(variations or figures) were provided. Within the mudanzas, we often found that individual steps or longer choreographic phrases were specified for, first one foot, and then the other. This repetition in the choreography allowed for creative decisions to be made as to whether to treat each iteration the same way, or differently, but the steps themselves and the side or foot on which they were to be executed was, for the most part, stipulated in writing. Observations like these allow reconstructors to draw conclusions about some of the conventions inherent in particular dance types or even broader styles.

Embodying dances from the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Spanish sources introduced me to the Spanish genre’s step theory and vocabulary, requisite posture, and some of its choreographic conventions. The experience also allowed me to work with reconstruction problems, the solutions to which involved both physical experimentation and consulting additional textual sources. As a result of this experience, I was able to execute reasonably interpreted steps from the style’s step vocabulary while adhering to its aesthetics and conventions—embodied data that would inform my reconstructions for this study. Working with a variety of relevant sources to inform both the choreographic concept and individual formal aspects of the dances was a technique I would integrate in 200 my own reconstruction process, and would recommend to others to help ensure a responsible historically informed choreographic reconstruction.

The Archive and the Reconstructed Repertoire: The French Noble Style

As previously noted, the repertoire of French Noble dance was reconstructed in the twentieth century because its technique and practice had been lost—few vestiges of the court-based style were recognizable in its descendants, classical ballet and bolero dancing. Some traces from the written archive allow us to understand a rather rapid shift away from the courtly style. Several factors contributed to the French Noble Style’s descent into obsolescence and evolution into other, technically and aesthetically different forms. One of these was a change in theatrical dance coincident with the advent of an increasingly professional, virtuosic and expressive, but harder-to-document style, which without words, could convey the plots of late eighteenth-century and nineteenth-century ballets. Jean-Georges Noverre in the last half of the eighteenth century famously argued for dance reforms that cultivated individual expressivity and style in his Letres sur la dance (between 1758 and 1760). Noverre further recommended changes to traditional dance costume and shoes to allow more for more natural and realistic expression.304 At the same time, the practice of court dancing deteriorated with the monarchies in which they had developed. Along with the rejection of the bewigged idle class of the Ancien

Régime, came a rejection of many of its practices.305 Nevertheless, some of the Noble

304 See Jean-George Noverre, Letters on Dancing and Ballet, transl. Cyril Beaumont (Alton, UK: Dance Books, 2004). Noverre follows England’s John Weaver in experimenting with expressive gesture in the service of a plot. Also see Richard Ralph’s The Life and Works of John Weaver: An Account of his Life, Writings, and Theatrical Productions (London: Dance Books, 2008).

305 The demise of the Noble Style and rise of classical ballet is discussed in Jennifer Homan’s Apollo’s Angels: A History of Ballet, (New York: The Random House Publishing Company, 2010) 50-51; and in 201

Style’s rudiments and vocabulary (though frequently with different meanings) evolved, through theater dancing, into classical ballet in France and much of the rest of Europe. In

Spain, some of the principles of the French Noble Style influenced the escuela bolera late in the eighteenth century, and early in the nineteenth.306

As was noted in the last chapter, the archive has formed the basis for the reconstruction of French Noble Style dance technique. A pervasive problem in researching the dances from the distant past through the archive is that writers typically included information that they deemed essential for readers of their own time—a readership that shared the writer’s bodily habitus and tacit understandings about movement and music. Much of this unwritten tacit information may be unknown to researchers of different places and periods. By physically following (as best we can) written and/or notated instructions, we immediately note that there are myriad ways the same instruction could be followed. The reconstruction of historical dance techniques has come through combining this type of kinesthetic study with other historical (written, iconographic, and kinesthetic) information. Together, this guidance narrows the universe of physical possibilities according to historical conventions of dance, social etiquette, costume, and music, for example. Thus, careful physical study of the dance technique

Judith Chazin-Bennahum’s Dance in the Shadow of the Guillotine (Carbondale, IL: Southern Illinois University Press, 1988) and The Lure of Perfection: Fashion and Ballet, 1780-1830 (New York: Routledge, New Ed edition, 2004) 35; and in Ivor Guest’s The Ballet of the Enlightenment Ballet (London: Dance Books, 1996) an expansive history of the ballet d’action from 1770-1793.

306 See Marina Grut, The Bolero School: An Illustrated History of the Bolero, the Seguidillas, and the Escuela Bolera Syllabus and Dances (London: Dance Books, 2002) 5; and Jane Gingell, “Spanish Dance in the Golden Age: The Dance Text of Juan Antonio Jaque,” in Proceedings of the Society of Dance History Scholars Fourteenth Annual Conference, New World School of the Arts Miami, FL, 1997 (Society of Dance History Scholars, 1991), 167. 202 informs us as to the bodily requirements involved in executing steps and choreographies—it teaches us how the body must move, be held, be coordinated in time and space. By embodying the dance in an informed way, we develop some of the tacit sense about bodily carriage, step execution and musical phrasing that may not be detailed in prose or notation.307 Trial-and-error experimentation is instructive in acquiring a sense of such qualitative components of dancing, and also of the limitations of individual period descriptions and notations themselves. This research thus carries a caveat—from working with a text, a reconstructor will not be aware of every detail regarding a prescribed step or movement, and so, in order to ensure responsible, accurate reconstructions of early dances, possibilities must be tested physically for their feasibility. Movements must fit with, not only the formal dance context (including music), but also the broader social context of seemly deportment.

Reconstructors, using prose explanations and/or notation, sometimes encounter situations that seem particularly awkward or even physically impossible. First we entertain the possibility that because of their bodily habitus and training, original dancers might not have found this as awkward as we might today, and that they might have been just plain better at this style than we are. Sometimes, however, descriptions and notations do contain inaccuracies—they may be incomplete, or they may have erroneous, or reversed markings. Also, sometimes copies of original matter have picked up unintended marks over time which change the meanings of symbols, and sometimes secondary

307 Helen Thomas points out that this recognition comes to the dancer sometimes in terms of what seems wrong once the body is trained and alert to the desired movement norms. Helen Thomas, “Reproducing the Dance: In Search of the Aura?,” in Preservation Politics: Dances Revived, Reconstructed, Remade, ed. Stephanie Jordan (London: Dance Books, 2000) 127. 203 transcriptions (even period ones) contain incorrect explanations and add or omit phrases or parts of symbols that substantially affect the choreography’s direction, timing or aesthetics. Without physically executing the choreography, a researcher would likely not realize the problems, but also would not realize potential solutions. Realizations might include things such as these: a particular phrase should repeat on the other side, in order to end on the music and in position for the next notated section; dancers must turn or travel more/less than the dance data indicates to end in the correct position to start the next figure; a mark on a notated symbol must be unintentional, as the step it indicates would be impossible, and unlike the other steps of the same kind in the dance.308 With experience in the style, one can sometimes fall back on knowledge of how a step is performed in different dances and/or contexts to assist in understanding how it might work in a questionable situation at hand. Experience also affords a sense as to what was done and not done, based on descriptions and admonitions from a variety of sources that have become part of the embodied technique. Importantly too, different treatise writers and practitioners advise somewhat different executions of steps. By trying steps and phrases of choreography in different ways, the reconstructor realizes the possible

308 These are examples of conclusions I have drawn while reconstructing dances from notation and/or description. Specific examples include reconstructions from Minguet done at the 2013 Amherst Early Music Festival Winter Weekend workshop in January, 2013 at Rutgers University, Camden, NJ. In the contradanza “Los muchachos hermosos” (Minguet’s El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española, 11- 12, figures thirteen and fourteen, neither the symbolic notation nor the prose description provides a solution for a positional problem. By following the symbol notation precisely, the dancers would finish figure eight in a reversed relationship to their partners than that shown in the beginning of figure fourteen. The dancers must do an additional turn with their partners to put them in the correct position to start fourteen. The reconstructor must decide how this should happen--and in the fastest, most efficient way possible, because this occurs at the very fastest part of the dance. Without actually trying to dance it, neither the problem, nor the solution would be apparent.

204 aesthetic affects that performing steps one way or another might have on the look and feel of the dance.

Described dancing or notated choreography often renders visual surprises when performed that are not appreciated through reading. While reconstructing the Minguet contradanza “Los muchachos hermosos” at the Amherst Early Music Winter Weekend workshop in January, 2013, I noted just such a surprise.309 (See the notation for “Los muchachos hermosos” in Chapter Five.) The four couples specified for the dance were in their square set and following the prose description for figures one through four, which states, “The first and third pairs lift their arms to pass over the others; they form two crosses, making an arch in the middle; [then] they repeat [this].”310 In the notation (an aerial view), we see the eight dancers in a square with directional arrows pointing couples one and three toward couples two and four respectively; in the next figure when their arms pass over the side couples (two and four), the indication of arms in the notation appears flat—like a cross. The notation could not approximate the lovely effect of the arches formed by the raising of arms, or the cohesive quality that is given by the inner- most people who are, while moving with their partners (the gentlemen from couples one and three), take hands with one another in the middle of the square. This last facet is not mentioned in the prose but is apparent in the notation. Continuing with figures three and four, though this is not clear in the prose, the other couples arch over those who have just finished, along different sides of the set. Here, neither the description nor the notation

309 Minguet, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española, 11-12, and reconstructed for Amherst Early Music Festival Winter Weekend workshop, January, 2013, Rutgers University, Camden, NJ.

310 Ibid., Minguet, 11. 205 indicates how the figures appear in reality—the figures are partially described, and are notated from a different perspective than the one from which a dance is normally viewed.

By reconstructing dance we have the opportunity to make visible the words and glyphs from the page, and we can, from that product, appreciate and analyze its formal qualities, and what the body looks like while executing those. A fundamental factor in both observing and executing dances of the Noble Style is the clothing that the body bears while performing these choreographies. Costume is a prime factor that directly affects the style’s aesthetics, both by determining what the dancers may do and by determining what the audiences may see.

Costume’s Influence on the French Noble Style

To understand the aesthetics of the French Noble Style in terms of the body’s shape, posture and movement, it is imperative to consider the body in its clothing. While costume plays a crucial role in the development of most dance techniques and also in how dancing is apprehended by viewers, the French noble style provides an unusually illustrative example of this. On a bodily level, costume dictates the dancer’s movement possibilities, permitting some sorts of movement and preventing others. Ballroom attire shaped French noble style dancing, preventing much movement of the torso, and allowing the feet, lower legs, and lower arms to be the primary areas of activity and interest for the dancer and the viewer. Seventeenth- and eighteenth-century court and theatrical sketches and engravings, including some of those contained in dance manuals themselves, provide evidence that courtly ballroom dress was often used onstage and hence influenced the movement vocabulary of the theatrical, as well as ballroom style, on 206 which it was based. As a practitioner of this style, I offer the following observations about the effect of period costume on the body dancing in it—its effect on posture, range of motion and timing, among other factors. Hence, reconstructors must take these effects into account for accuracy in choreography and performance.

Turning first to footwear, courtly ballroom attire included shoes with a low or medium heel for both men and women. When working in similar heels, I note that when standing or moving in French Noble Style dancing, body weight is pitched somewhat toward the front of the feet. Further, the height of a rise onto the ball of the foot and foot gesturing in the air are limited, as the foot can be stretched only as far as the shoe will permit. This precludes classical ballet-like pointing of the foot where the hyperextension of the foot’s arch is accentuated.

Ladies’ garments were corseted ankle- or low calf-length gowns, which were widened at the hips by panniers or bum rolls worn underneath. When attired this way, I note that corsets preclude bending or twisting the torso and also assist in maintaining a straight, upright spine. While longer skirts constituted appropriate Baroque ballroom attire, theatrical iconography commonly depicts shorter skirts, which I find permit the execution of more intricate footwork and allow steps to be seen. The padding of the hips adds some weight and volume to the body and causes a drag and recoil in the skirt fabric as the body moves and turns, which sometimes influences timing in movement.

Meanwhile, gentlemen in courtly costume often wore several layers of fabric on the torso including shirts, vests, and frock coats; their legs were less encumbered in knee-length breeches and stockings. When clad as a gentleman, I note that the movement of the torso 207 is almost as contained as it is for the ladies. For both ladies and gentlemen, the tightly tailored shoulders and upper sleeves of their garments, along with gentlemen’s sometimes wide, heavy cuffs, prevented free movement of the arms and permitted a limited and relatively low range of motion. Wigs and sometimes hats crowned the garb—in practice, these deny the possibility of any extensive head or neck movement. All of these elements of the period’s clothing influence the way dancers move and determine the aesthetics and style.

The dance technique, wrought in court ballrooms and theaters, was standardized and codified to the degree that slight changes in stage costumes likely did not affect the dance style. Although theatrical dance costumes were often reminiscent of ballroom attire, additional possibilities for the stage included outfits that evoked Greek or Roman mythological characters and included bodices suggestive of armor breastplates worn by performers of both genders; for gentlemen, tonnelets (stylized short underskirts of Roman soldiers’ costumes); and for ladies, somewhat longer skirts. These elements did not differ enough from the constraints of ballroom wear to require marked change in dance technique.311

Reconstructors working in a specific period and place should consider probable original costuming as an added check to be sure that the dance style and type they have selected is appropriate to the work. While we have no record of the costumes utilized for

311 For images of eighteenth-century French fashion, see Harold Koda, Andrew Bolton and Mimi Heller’s Dangerous Liaisons: Fashion and Furniture in the Eighteenth Century (New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2006). For a multifaceted exploration of ballroom and theater dance (including its clothing) in Baroque France and in those regions that emulated French culture, see Sarah R. Cohen’s Art, Dance and the Body in French culture of the Ancien Régime (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2000).

208 the performance of Venid, venid deydades, it is likely that costumes for this and similar musical theatrical works came from a stock of costumes that individual seminaries, convents and schools would have kept for such productions. Theater director and art historian James Middleton speculates that costumes used for mythological figures or other personages from antiquity, as in Europe, might have resembled the way such characters were depicted in paintings. He is correct in his observation that the costumes of allegorical figures in paintings of the period were often quite unlike contemporary attire and featured looser more forgiving skirts and tunics without corsets, panniers, and precise tailoring.312 These costumes would have influenced the overall aesthetic of the production, but it is improbable that they would have had a bearing on the execution of the dance technique, since postures and step vocabulary would have already been learned with their established conventions and affectations.

Costume, then, played a fundamental role in the development of the French Noble

Style, affecting the body’s posture and the range of motion of the core and extremities.

The dance technique evolved within the confines of costume to highlight steps, turns, jumps and balances of varying speed or duration. Interestingly, although ladies and gentlemen wore different attire, it both restricted and permitted their movement similarly.

It is essential to note that dancers of both genders performed the same steps, and when dancing together there were no “leaders” or “followers.” Male and female dancers had to flex and extend ankles, knees and hips, all the while maintaining a rigidly upright

312 As examples, Middleton points to Mexican portrayals of the “sybils” and Peruvian depictions of saints from the end of the seventeenth century. (James Middleton, “Abundant America, Compatriot of Gold,” (unpublished, undated ms.). 209 spine.313 With an idea of how the dancing body looked and an understanding of its movement possibilities, we take a next step in the next section to explore, though descriptions and dance notations in the archive, how this body actually dances—how it executes standard steps and negotiates prescribed choreographies.

Formal Qualities of Minuets

Today we cannot revive the original choreography for Venid, venid deydades.

Our only choreographic indications are that minuets are labeled as such, and structurally

(musically) coincide with the named dance type of the French Noble Style, and other music in the score is consistent with dances of the style as well. Aside from the score, we lack textual and iconographic clues about the dance contained in the opera. However, explanations and notation in French and Spanish dance treatises from the same period can assist us in understanding the aesthetics of the French style that appear to have been adopted here. The written archive, thus provides clues, and we may also draw on the repertoire—an equally vital resource for dance reconstruction.

A thorough understanding of the selected dance types is crucial to the reconstruction process, to ensure a reasonable, historically informed product. As such, to illustrate this process of knowledge construction, I present an analysis of the dance type that was included in Venid, venid deydades (the minuet) and another that I theorize could have been used (the contradanza). The analyses are based both on the written record

(dance treatises) and my embodied experience practicing, performing and reconstructing

313 During an early music and dance workshop, teacher Ken Pierce poignantly reminded those of us dancing that our job, and that of the choreography, was to show off our clothing in a beautiful and interesting way. International Baroque Academy at Longy, Longy School of Music, Cambridge MA. July, 2008. 210 minuets and contradanzas. Through these analyses, I hope to bring the complex and dynamic dance reconstruction process into relief. I discuss the character of the choreography from an external perspective and then from a bodily vantage point. For both dance types I use Laban Movement Analysis to articulate each dance’s vital qualities--these include considering the body itself, in body part articulation and relationships, and its presence in movement initiation; space, in spatial pulls in movement direction and use of personal kinesphere; effort, in the attitude or approach to the flow of movement, along with weight and time utilization; and shape, in basic forms that are generally apparent and are made in the approach to movement flow. Next, I provide descriptions of a sampling of common steps, required knowledge for the reconstruction process, along with the nature and timing of each dance. This information sets the stage for Chapter Five, where I provide discussions of the reconstruction process for a minuet and a contradanza for Venid, venid deydades, showing the necessary interaction between the work’s score and libretto, and the choreographies used from

Spanish sources.

Background for the Reader

French step theory and some of its terminology play significant roles in the reconstruction of period dances. Some basic concepts from the French style’s step theory and some of its terminology are used here to describe the choreography and the physical demands of executing choreography of minuets and contradanzas. Even today, the intricacies of steps, positions, and movements are most efficiently explained through a common vocabulary that includes the five basic positions of the feet for the French 211 technique, which were explained, diagrammed and published in the eighteenth century. I use these fundamental positions in the current reconstructions, as opposed to the basic positions and related theory of the seventeenth-century Spanish style.314 Eighteenth- century Spanish sources explain the French positions, and Minguet’s publications that address Spanish dance continue to utilize the Spanish schema. The five French positions of the feet assume that the dancer is standing on the flat of both feet, though in heeled shoes, with the legs straight, the body’s weight even placed over both feet, and the legs and feet turned out, each at a 45-degree angle from his or her central axis. References to these positions may be made when a dancer gestures, steps, or otherwise moves to or through these positions.

First position: the heels are together and toes open, the feet form a 90-degree angle. Second position: like first position, but the feet are apart from one another laterally, no more than the space of a foot-length, and the legs are open. Third position: one foot is forward, its heel placed at the middle of the other foot, where its arch is. Either foot may be placed forward, as a step or choreography prescribes. Fourth position: one foot is placed forward of the other, the two heels are on the body’s sagittal line.315 The feet and legs are apart, one forward and one backward. Again, either foot may be placed forward, as prescribed. Fifth position: a closed, crossed position, where the heel of the front foot is placed at the toe of the back foot. Here the heels of each foot are on a sagittal line with the toes of the other. Again, this position either foot may be placed forward, as the dance indicates.

An additional basic premise of the French style is that many steps, positions and transitions require stepping, springing or rising to the ball of one, or both feet, a condition

314 See Esquivel, Discursos; and Brooks, The Art of Dancing.

315 In the later conception of classical ballet, this position is considered an “open” fourth position, as the legs are not crossed so that the heel of the front foot is on a sagittal line with the toe of the back foot. 212 known as elevé.316 Steps, positions and transitions also frequently require one, or both weight-bearing legs to bend, entailing flexion of the involved hip, knee and ankle joints, a condition known as plié.

The technique’s fundamental position, the “position of equilibrium,” is balanced and aligned on the ball of one (either) foot in elevé. Both legs are stretched vertically with the heels together, and the non-weight-bearing foot raised in a relaxed first position in the air, its sole parallel to the floor. This is considered a home position through which the feet and legs should travel in the execution of steps. Similarly, to prepare for, or land from steps or jumps, this position, but in plié, is sought; here both hips, knees and ankles are bent, the heels are together, and the weight is on one foot and the sole of the other foot is held off the ground. These guidelines speak to the contained nature of this style.317 Background and analyses of these dances follow, beginning with the minuet.

Whether watching or dancing a couple menuet figurée, one notes that the movement employed is generally locomotor—that is, dancers’ bodies move from place to place with most steps. The steps are normally performed in unison, although dancers may be facing each other and moving in opposite directions, mirroring each other, or in a group with one half of the group mirroring the other half. A reconstructor sometimes finds that the steps notated on the page do not, in practice, always place the dancer where

316 The height of the position on the ball of the foot is assumed to be less extreme than in later classical ballet. This style is more concerned with the display of casual elegance than extreme extensions. Heeled shoes do not permit the foot as much flexibility as later ballet shoes did.

317 The reader familiar with dance will recognize that these basic positions and movements are found in classical ballet and other later styles. They were codified in this earlier period and elaborated differently in subsequent techniques.

213 the notation claims it will. She must then find a convincing solution within the Baroque aesthetic—with its emphasis on symmetry and balance—and within the conventions of the technique.

The eighteenth-century Spanish sources treat minuetes and passapies similarly, as they are both triple meter dances and share the same step vocabulary and choreographic features. Passapies are far more prominent in the Spanish texts, than passepieds are in the French. Although we find notated examples of French passepieds in collections, we do not find the careful, specific instruction about them that they receive in the Spanish sources.318 Passepieds, or passapies are essentially lively minuets. The music for these dances, however, is often syncopated, and it sometimes contains hemiolas—shifts in rhythmic emphasis between triple and duple meter—a common characteristic in Spanish music. Perhaps this quality made the passapie particularly well-liked by and accessible to the Bourbon Spanish population. In many cases, where there is no syncopation, there is no discernable difference between dances labeled minuete (or alternatively, minué or minuet) and those labeled passapie, either in terms of musical meter or choreographic characteristics.

Floor Patterns

Floor patterns in these dances mimic the complex symmetrical and curlicued motifs present in Baroque visual arts including garden design. In dance, as in seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century visual arts and architecture, elaborate, busy

318 Minguet, Arte de danzar a la francesa, 26-36 is a section devoted to the passapie. Also see Ferriol, Reglas útiles, and Rico, “French Dance.” 214 flourishes are constrained and controlled by the order that symmetry provides.319 For notated couple dances, floor patterns (the dancers’ pathways) are specified and are both curved and straight. As a rule, dances begin in the center rear of the dance space—in a theatrical conception, upstage center—facing downstage. Commonly the dancers move forward, side-by-side, progressing downstage, and then separate from one another in mirrored symmetry. This is best appreciated from a frontal view. The dancers then engage in a variety of geometric patterns or figures around one another, changing places and changing back in different ways. In so doing, they alternate between using mirror and axial symmetry--mirror, where each dancer moves as a reflection of the other and axial, where each dancer moves equally in relationship to a point or axis.

In couple dances of the French noble style other than minuets and passepieds, the symmetry extends to which foot each dancer uses. In mirrored form the dancers use opposite feet.320 In minuets and passepieds, however, because of the prevalent use of one sort or another of pas de menuet, which virtually all begin on the right foot for both dancers, the mirrored conception in these dances does not extend to the feet. Here both dancers working on the same feet still follow mirrored and axially symmetrical pathways which predominate in the dances.

319 For additional information concerning this design phenomenon, see Cohen, Art, Dance and the Body, 6- 8, 31, and her chapter (3) entitled “Aristocratic Traceries,” 89-133.

320 Typically, to change from one type of symmetry to the other, step devices at the ends of phrases are used to put the dancers on the same or opposite feet. For example, if dancers begin on opposite feet, a final step of a phrase may designate that one dancer do a pas de bourée en fleuret (a step involving three changes of weight from one foot to the other) or a temps de courante (involving one weight change) while the other does a coupé (a step of two weight changes). These steps are done simultaneously; they take up the same amount of time and music, and ensure that the dancers will have their weight on the same foot to continue. 215

In minuets and passepieds, a common type of figure consists of patterns where one dancer leads the other, sometimes by the hand, in a large circle of minuet steps. This figure itself is not symmetrical, but it is immediately followed by a figure in which the other dancer then leads the couple back, reversing the circle with the same minuet steps, thereby manifesting a conception of symmetry that is temporal. Performing a variety of figures, the dancers work their way upstage again and the dance ends where it began, with the dancers facing downstage, directly toward the audience.

Repetition

Some choreographies feature the repetition of figures using different directional facings, and some repeat portions of choreography by reversing the previous figure, as with the circles of minuet steps mentioned above. Unlike the menuet ordinaire, which generally relies on repeating a standard compound step throughout the dance, the menuet figurée typically uses a wider variety of steps, whose sequences may also be repeated during the dance. Some steps commonly used in minuets are described subsequently, and add to the reader’s aesthetic understanding of this dance’s formal elements, which influence any reconstruction.

Dancer Interactions

During a notated menuet figurée for a couple, the dancers take and drop (usually) adjacent hands as indicated. With or without joined hands, there are opportunities during the dance where they are side by side (facing either the same or opposite directions); others where they face one another, or are back to back; and occasionally where they dance front to back (where one dancer is behind the other, both facing in the same 216 direction). The dancers’ proximity to one another during the many changing patterns of the dance is determined by the amount of space necessary to accomplish given steps and to end in the designated positions to begin the next phrase. In this respect the spatial reality of performing the choreography sometimes differs from the notation’s visual aspect.

The Body through LMA

Laban Movement Analysis provides a ready vocabulary that I use to both identify and describe qualities of movement; such qualities are important to consider and incorporate in dance reconstructions. The system prompts analysis of the connectivity or coordination of the body’s parts—especially those relationships that are kinesthetically imperative and/or visually obvious. As visual observations can be deceiving, I use practice as the ultimate authority in this regard and rely heavily on my own embodied experience here. In terms of the general coordination of the body, in performing a minuet, the bodily posture and carriage is upright. The head-tail relationship is vertical and extended, and remains so throughout the dance. The legs and feet are turned out and the body’s center of gravity is medium-high owing to its erect stance, heeled shoes, and also to the requirements of the dance technique.

As was noted in the discussion of costume, there are particular body parts or areas of activity that are not only visible but emphasized in this style, owing to the constraint of some body parts and the relative freedom of others. Obvious levels of movement apparent in minuets and other dances of the French Noble Style include the feet and lower legs, between the floor and about knee-height, and their articulations, as well as the 217 lower arms, which are carried and moved at torso level to the sides and in front of the body. Emphasis tends to be on stepping, usually to a rise on the ball of the foot (a position known as elevé), or on rising from a flat foot to elevé, and on sinking (plié) by bending the ankle, knee and hip of a supporting weighted leg. Particular interest is created by working with or against the musical rhythm through holding sustained balances, varying speed and quality of sinking between steps and executing falling

(tombé) and springing steps.

Although arm movements are seldom notated in eighteenth-century dances, conventions of arm use or ports de bras are described in prose in French treatises and the

Spanish works based on them. In their basic position, the arms are held at the sides in a low, forward diagonal from the body with elbows and wrists slightly dropped, with the hands at about hip height, the palms facing downward. The standard position of the arms follows the silhouette of the waist and the outward flair of the skirt or the frock coat at the hips and thighs. A strong cross-lateral relationship between arms and legs is normally emphasized in this style. The front leg (whether it is supporting or gesturing) determines that the opposite arm may be raised in a rounded position in front of the body while the other arm remains in place, only the palm of its hand turning upward.321 Movement in this style occurs in the arms and legs and is initiated by the distal extremities, with rare exceptions.

321 Because arm notations are rare in these dances, the technique’s reconstructors, while interpreting the mechanics of the common ports de bras very similarly, have differed on the extent or prevalence of their use—some advocate the arm changes on virtually every step, and others, significantly less often. Because this point is not precisely articulated in the archive, it has been interpreted and reconstructed variously. 218

Space through LMA

In LMA, the term space refers to size of the individual kinesphere that the dancer uses, and how he or she tends to move within it, as well as the dance’s more external use of space in directions and floor patterns. In characterizing the kinesphere that dancers use in the noble style, I take into account the presence of the torso, and use of arms and legs. We have noted that the torso remains long and extended throughout these dances.

Typically the arms never extend fully out to the sides, upward or behind (although onstage, especially in character pieces, a greater range of motion of the arms was likely).

The legs execute repeated rises onto the balls of the feet, and there is some full extension of the legs here and in gesturing (although they are normally lifted no higher than knee or hip height). Feet are sometimes stretched, as well. Dancers move with an erect ease, where neither full extension nor flexion are sought. Thus, they normally utilize a medium-sized kinesphere.

The spatial pulls of characteristic movement are also tied to the use of space— these are generally sagittal or horizontal (lateral), with the rising and sinking of steps adding a vertical element. Movement is rarely diagonal in terms of the body’s facing, but sagittal or horizontal movement can take the dancer on diagonal pathways (as in the Z figures of the menuet ordinaire).

Effort through LMA

LMA prompts analysis of the dancer’s attitude toward energy investment in a movement or a dance. In minuets, the dynamic quality that the dancer invests with regard to the flow or continuity of movement is careful and controlled—in LMA terms, 219

“bound.” Depending upon the choreography, a dancer might use either a light and buoyant or a strong and powerful attitude toward weight, the light and buoyant quality being most common. Because both the music and the steps are prescribed, a dancer’s approach to time is largely predetermined, though he or she may choose to accentuate slightly the sustained and/or sudden qualities of the choreography. The play of dynamic difference can create particular artistry in the dance. This artistry is not prescribed in the texts, but is observed and felt in the performance of the dancing—a quality of the ether that normally goes unexplained. In a couple dance of this genre, it is imperative that both partners exhibit the same quality and timing. The prescribed pathways and directions assist in making the dancers’ attitude toward the use of space direct and focused.

Shape through LMA

While shapes and patterns are central to these dances’ choreographic designs, individual dancing bodies are also concerned with shape qualities. Although the dancers’ bodies appear more voluminous to the observer because of their costumes, dancers, themselves might think of their bodies as forming a pin-like shape. Their arms and legs move away from the body with most steps, making for intermittently wider silhouettes, but they repeatedly return to the linear, elongated (pin-like) position of equilibrium. The body’s form changes with the flow of dance movement, and as a dancer steps or glides outward from a point of centered weight, the change can take on a growing quality. Dancers use an outward directional attitude in changing shapes as they move, which is mostly arc-like. This mode of personal shape change is befitting of the rounded arm shapes and curvaceous patterns that characterize the style. Shape qualities inherent 220 here include rising, sinking, advancing and retreating (and rising while advancing or retreating, and sinking usually in place).

Steps

The basic building block step in this style is the demi-coupé, or in the Spanish sources, demicupé. This consists of a preparatory plié on one foot, and a step—forward, sideward or backward—planting the ball of the foot of the working leg on the floor, the body rising to the ball of the stepping foot through an undercurve-like movement. The legs and heels are brought together in elevé on the stepping foot (the second foot remains raised), and the body is collected and aligned on that rise in the position of equilibrium.322

The basic minuet step (pas de menuet in French, or in Spanish sources, passo de minuete or passo de minué)323 is a compound step (or step unit) consisting of four steps, all of which are done moving in the same direction--forward, backward, or sideways, to the right or to the left. These four steps use six beats, or two measures of typical minuet music to complete. The step begins with two demi-coupés: a bend on the left foot precedes the first step to the rise on the right foot, which arrives on beat one; a bend on that foot to begin the next step is on beat two; the step to the rise on the left, the second

322 This step to the elevé is not to be confused with the piqué of the later classical style, which is a step with an immediate shift of weight from one foot to the ball or full pointe of the other foot, whose leg must maintain a straight knee. This earlier style does not specify the positional absolutes that later developed in ballet. Here, some steps are performed heel first, as in walking, and the position of equilibrium, itself, whether on rise or in plié, features a relaxed position of flexion of the non-weight bearing foot. This is unlike the aesthetic created in classical ballet, where feet are pointed, arches stretched, when not on the ground, and knees, when not purposefully bent, are stretched to their extreme.

323 Both Minguet and Ferriol refer to the dance itself as the minuete, and Ferriol calls the step the passo de minuete; Minguet, while referring to the dance as minuete, frequently calls the step the passo de minué in El noble arte. In his earlier, Arte de danzar a la francesa and its Explicaciones, he refers to the step as the passo de minuete.

221 demi-coupé, is on three; the two steps on the rise (on elevé, with no pliés), on right and left, each passing through the position of equilibrium, are on beats four and five; and a bend on the left, to prepare for the next minuet step unit, is on six.

In this compound step, the two pliés, each followed by elevés to the position of equilibrium, determine that this step is a pas de menuet à deux mouvements or passo de minuete/minué de dos movimientos—the bends (pliés) followed by rises (elevés) are considered “movements.” As Olsson states, “While the music is accented at the beginning of each measure, the basic minuet step emphasizes beats one and three of its six-beat pattern [as the dancers step to the rise of the two demi-coupés], creating a wonderful cross-rhythm with the music.”324 Countering the dancers’ accents on beats one and three, the music effectively accents beats one and four of their step pattern.

A variety of other minuet steps were also described and notated in period treatises and collections, all using six beats of music and virtually all beginning with a bend on the left foot and a step to elevé on the right foot to do a demi-coupé. While the Spanish treatise writers note the existence of various other minuet steps, and in some cases provide notation and brief descriptions for them, they do not describe them in detail, as they do the passo de minuete de dos movimientos.325 It is clear from looking at a variety of primary sources that internationally, the preferred minuet step was that of two movements.326

324 Olsson, “Dance,” 357; Hilton, Music and Dance, 294; Meredith Little and Natalie Jenne, Dance and the Music of J.S. Bach (Bloomington and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press, 2001), 239-241. This quality is apparent through physically performing the dance it to music.

325 See Minguet, Arte de danzar a la francesa,12; El noble arte de danzar a la francesas, y española, 22; and Ferriol, Reglas útiles, 78-85.

222

Figured minuets include not only the steps above but also other compound steps, important because they offer more diverse formal and dynamic qualities. Such compound steps include jumps, turns, sustained balances or showy footwork, and are important to consider for reconstructions. These additional compound steps are frequently found in figured minuets, and are also described in the Spanish sources. The following are merely two examples of a universe of much wider possibilities. The balancé, like the minuet step, uses six beats of music. Depending upon the speed of the music and treatment by the dancers, this step can have a playful, sustained or forceful quality. It consists of two demi-coupés, the first performed forward or to the side and the other in the opposite direction (either to the back or to the other side) with a bend in between.327 From a position of equilibrium in plié, there is a step forward (toward a fourth position) to an elevé, or sideways, to second position (on beat one). The other leg and foot immediately extend out to an approximate 45-degree angle in the opposite direction of the step, with the knee and the foot stretched. This balanced position is held through beat two, a bend occurs on beat three, with the raised leg also bending, its heel coming in to meet the other, but its foot held off the floor. Next there is a step to the rise backward (if the other step was forward) or to the opposite side (if the first was a

326 Judith Cobau, “The Preferred Pas de Menuet,” Dance Research Journal 16, 2 (1984): 13-17.

327 In notated dances and in the French treatises, the pas balancé is more commonly performed side-to-side, but the Spanish sources present them first, front-to-back, and mention, and provide Beauchamp-Feuillet notation for the step done side-to-side (only) Minguet, in Arte de danzar (Explicaciones) presents the step as only moving forward and backward, and with beaten ornaments (25); but in Noble arte de danzar, he shows the step as moving side-to-side in Beauchamp-Feuillet notation (23). In this book, several of the contradanzas (for which individual steps are not notated), he prescribes balancés in accompanying prose. Experimenting with both sorts of balancés in these choreographies reveals that either type is feasible in these dances. Ferriol, in Reglas útiles, describes balancés front-to-back, then side-to-side, and offers ideas for ornaments (90-91). 223 sideways step) onto the formerly raised leg and foot on beat four. Simultaneously, the other leg and foot extend and are held off the floor in the opposite direction of the step, and the balance is held for beat five. The standing leg and foot plié and the gesture leg also bends, that heel meeting the other with the foot held off the floor, parallel to it, on beat six.

This step is used in many different types of dances, and its rhythm can vary. Both

Spanish authors suggest that dancers, especially gentlemen, might choose to execute the first balancé normally and thereafter to add beats of the calves328 or other ornaments such as a campanela (a circular gesture with the leg, or rond de jamb) or tortillé (a turning in and out gesture of the working leg and foot).329 Such suggestions in the texts reveal an enthusiasm for diversity and virtuosity in performance, rather than an expectation of strict adherence to one prescribed option.

The contretemps de menuet, or contratiempo de minuete/passapie, is a jumping step unit which, as the name suggests, works counter to the established rhythm. This spirited step is normally performed moving forward, but can also be done to the back. It can appear forceful or light, and because its relationship to the music is distinct from that of the minuet step, or pas balancé, it can feel free and soaring to the dancer—liberated from the confines of the regular rhythm. This contretemps step, like the regular minuet step, uses six musical beats. This, though, has a hop (a spring from one foot that lands on the same foot) on beat one; a step on the other foot, often gliding and bending as it takes

328 Minguet, Arte de danzar, 25.

329 Ferriol, Reglas útiles, 91-92. 224 the weight on beats two and three; another hop (now on the other foot) on beat four; beat five is taken up with the landing of that hop and the bending and taking off for a leap

(changing weight to the other foot), which lands bending on beat six. The step’s rhythm is distinct from the passo de minuete, as the accents here are on beats one, four and six as opposed to one and three.

This step is used only in minuets and passepieds, and the French sources consistently name this step contretemps de menuet, but providing further evidence of the close link between these two dances and the higher profile of the latter in the Spanish sources, Ferriol interestingly calls the step a contratiempo del passapie in his dance treatise. Minguet refers to it as both the contratiempo de minuete and contratiempo de passapie, interchangeably.330 Minguet suggests that the step can be ornamented with beats of the calves.331 He offers several options, and also indicates that they can be done to the taste of the dancer.332 Some of Ferriol’s suggestions are difficult to execute because he does not explain the timing he envisions to keep this compound step within a specified six-beat musical meter. Nevertheless, it is possible to add beats to any or all of the individual steps of the contratiempo, and his suggestions spur the desire to experiment. The reconstructor looks for clues like the relative occurrences of particular dance types or how steps are named in sources region-to-region and period-to-period to gain a feeling for the prevalence and popularity of each in their context. Further,

330 Minguet, Arte de danzar, 23.

331 Ferriol, Reglas útiles, 86-89.

332 Ibid., 87. 225 suggestions for step ornaments may be indicative of their preferred execution in time and place.333

Formal Qualities of Contradanzas

Contredanses and contradanzas used in stage works had the potential to reinforce or reiterate group social interaction. The dances’ generally cheerful music almost ensures that such interaction would be a harmonious gathering, whether literal or symbolic.

Additionally, the dancers’ interweaving and frequent positional changes could result in unexpected and comedic pairings, positioning, or other comic confusion. Because the set-style dances call for a specific number of dancers who contain the dance in a clearly designated space, they may be more apt for stage productions than the long-ways dances in most instances.

Much of the movement in these dances is locomotor, although some steps, as designated, are also done in place. Additionally, it is not uncommon for some dancers to move across space while others remain still or dance in place in various parts of a dance.

Much of the movement is in unison but with dancers facing different directions. Very often choreographic phrases prescribe that individuals or specified couples perform a step or step combination, for example, a certain step or element may be prescribed for one or more dancers, and upon their completion of it, prescribed others repeat it. This pattern can constitute an abbreviated canon.

333 As noted previously, however, such suggestions might represent the personal preferences or singular understandings of their authors. 226

Floor Patterns

Floor patterns for set-style contredanses and contradanzas contain curved and straight pathways, and the shape of the set itself continuously changes as dancers’ steps and pathways form a variety of generally symmetrical geometric patterns. Within these, axial symmetry is called for more frequently than mirror symmetry. Most often, the choreography at the end of each figure returns dancers to a circle or square formation, from which they begin the next figure.

Repetition

In contredanses repeated compound steps may be executed either continuously or intermittently, depending upon the other requirements of the dance.334 A commonly used step for this purpose is the pas de bourrée en fleuret, which is also the basic step of the duple meter danse à deux, the bourrée. This step is described below. In rarer triple meter contredanses, the same step may be used, performed in a different meter, or another step such as the pas de menuet may be used. Symbols for these steps are generally not included in notated dances; employing them is generally a matter of documented convention. Like the menuet ordinaire, contredanses perhaps owe their popularity to the repetition of well-known steps. Once a dancer knew the main step, the dance necessitated only remembering how and in what direction it was to be done, although this could prove difficult depending upon the complexity of the choreography.

334 Raul-Auger Feuillet, Recueil de contredanses mises en chorégraphie, (Paris: Chez l’auteur, 1706), 20 (preface unpaginated). “Les pas les plus ordinaires aux contedanses, excepté celles qui sont sur des airs de menuet, sont pas de gavotte, chassés de côté, pas de bourrée, et de certains petits sauts.” (The steps most common to contredanses, except those that are minuet airs, are gavotte step, chassés sideways, bourrée steps and certain little jumps.). Also see John Essex, For the Further Improvement of Dancing: A Treasis of Chorography or ye Art of Country Dances after a New Character (London: Sold by L. Walsh & P. Randall, I. Hare, I. Cullen, the author, 1710), 15; Burford, “Contredanse,” 703; “ 227

In terms of the phrases of choreography, we commonly find steps or pathways specified, first for particular couples, and then (usually immediately) for the others.

Similarly, a movement sequence may be done first by the ladies, and then by the gentlemen. In this way, choreographic phrases are repeated, but by other dancers.

In set-style dances it was common to precede the actual choreography with a preliminary circling of the dancers, hands joined, and in a ring, first in one direction and then “undoing” their circle in the opposite direction, either walking or perhaps using a repeated dance step.335 The group would then perform the dance, which generally contained between eight and fifteen figures, and then dance another short section containing partner turns, bows and perhaps a change of partners, if the dance was to be repeated. The dance could resume again with a repeat of the designated figures, now without the preliminary circling. It is unclear to what extent the conventions demonstrating social honors were used or repeated in stage productions, as the duration of the dance would have been fixed.

Dancer Interactions

As they are essentially social dances, in contredanses and contradanzas the dancers interact with one another throughout. The most frequent interactions in terms of physical contact occur between partners, but interaction occurs with the other dancers in the set as well. As examples, dancers may execute a variety of turns where the hands or

335 In the Spanish treatises this is presented as “rueda a todos, y deshacerla” (everyone circle, and undo it) Ferriol, Reglas útiles, 256. This action is described this way: “es darse todos las manos, y caminar alrededor hasta que el par de el restero llegue à los pies de la sala, y despues retroceder hasta su sitio.” (all taking hands, walk around until the last pair arrives at the foot of the hall and then go the other way back to place). 228 arms of partners or corners (dancers in the adjacent perpendicular position to one in the set) are taken and held in different configurations. They may engage with others in particular formal elements such as a turning cross or a chaining figure, sometimes done with the other dancers of the same gender--taking hands, and/or turning or weaving.

The Body through LMA

From the perspective of the dancer’s body, the posture and carriage in the contradanza is the same as the upright deportment that characterizes the minuet and other dances of the noble style. As with the minuet, the head-tail relationship is extended, vertical and unchanging. Here too, dancers use a medium-high center of gravity, as they are performing essentially the same types of steps as those previously described.

As with the noble dances, the feet and lower legs and their bending and rising are obvious levels of movement. Because of a greater degree of tactile interaction between dancers, their hands and arms take on increased functional importance. Arm gestures are sometimes a visual focal point as well, with most of this interest occurring at torso-level and sometimes higher—at shoulder level or even overhead—so costumes must allow for this. Movement initiation seems to come, as before, from the distal extremities. The different requirements for the use of arms and hands in this style thwarts their movement according to the general convention of opposition—that is, countering whichever foot is forward by bringing the opposite arm in front of the body. Here the dancers’ arms and hands are often engaged in reaching for or holding the hands of other dancers during changing configurations without the intent to counter their foot position. 229

Space through LMA

A medium-sized kinesphere is generally used with contredanses and contradanzas, as the body is never fully extended, nor flexed. The spatial pulls of movement in these dances is sagittal, horizontal and diagonal as dancers negotiate their independent positioning. These planes come into play as dancers interact with partners, who are often positioned laterally to them, with their corners, who are frequently positioned diagonally to them, and others in the set who may be positioned variously.

Here, as in the minuet, there is a vertical pull evident in the rising and sinking of the steps that the dancers continuously employ.

The basic form of these dances is commonly square or circular, with the dancers facing inward. As the dance proceeds, dancers move around the space’s periphery while performing a variety of formations and turns. They also move into and across the center of this space, periodically returning to the original design. Moving in and out, they face different directions during the dance but generally begin and end in their square or circle facing inward, or end facing their partners.

Effort through LMA

The dynamic quality of movement flow in contredanses and contradanzas is fairly controlled or bound, although it tends to be less so than in the minuet. While dancers must execute the dance so that they are in indicated places at indicated times, the feel of most of these dances is a bit less controlled than in many minuets. Dancers use a light, buoyant attitude toward weight; they must frequently change direction and having their weight lifted and contained facilitates this. 230

The dancers’ approach to time is direct. Very often these dances are too fast to allow dancers to play much with the rhythmic dynamics of the music and sustained and sudden qualities of movements, as they might in a minuet. Here, the dancers tend to move more squarely on the beat of the music, keeping in mind that they should be synchronized with the other dancing bodies in the set. The drama of dynamic difference is not generally a goal here.

The dancers’ attitude toward the use of space is also direct and focused. It is paramount that they maintain awareness of the geometry they inhabit even as that geometry changes along with their relationship and proximity to the other dancers. While dancing contredanses and contradanzas I find it is always necessary to be thinking ahead to the next formation, step, or turn in order to execute it well and in concert with the other dancers.

Shape through LMA

The objective of these dances is to demonstrate lovely, sometimes surprising and ever-changing designs and undulating shapes created by multiple bodies following the cleverly engineered patterns pleasantly and gracefully. In terms of the aesthetics of the set, shapes constantly shift and can appear to open and close, expand and shrink, and also to break apart and reunite in a variety of generally symmetrical configurations.

Whereas in the minuet there is at least some opportunity to notice individual bodies changing shape—their quality becoming more or less expansive—this is not generally true in contredanses and contradanzas. Here, the quality of the set itself is the primary focus. Individual bodies do rise and sink, advance and retreat on their own 231 pathways, but they do not exhibit a quality of growing or contracting—instead they maintain a somewhat pin-like appearance during the entire dance. Dancers tend to move in even rhythm. Generally their bends and rises are neither particularly sustained nor sudden, as they carve through space with mostly arc-like movements. They do this in coordination to create a discernable geometry as a group.

Steps and Elements

A pas de bourée en fleuret is a basic step unit of the bourée, a 4/4-time dance of the French repertoire, and can be used as a base step for contredanses and contradanzas.

It is a compound step made up of a demi-coupé and two immediate steps on the rise, and here, as in the bourée, it is performed in duple--actually, quadruple--meter. The demi- coupé, preceded by a bend, may step onto the rise of either foot on beat one, and the two subsequent steps continue on beats two and three, each with weight changes and without any pliés, and then a bend occurs on the last foot that stepped, on beat four, in preparation to begin the next pas de bourée en fleuret step with a demi-coupé on the next beat one.336

Unlike the minuet step, the individual steps of the pas de bourée en fleuret may be executed in different directions and may be ornamented in a variety of ways. This entire step may be repeated throughout the dance in different directions and on different pathways according to the choreographic design of the dance, or it may be interspersed with other steps as prescribed.

336 This compound step is, in fact, the aforementioned pas de menuet à deux mouvements, without its first demi-coupé, yet the pas de bourée en fleuret may be executed on either foot and with more variety.

232

Although modern practitioners refer to this step as simply a pas de bourée, there were several different, named pas de bourée steps in the French repertoire—the one termed “en fleuret” seems to have been the most commonly used type. Ferriol describes the various types of passos de burea, calling this one the floréo.337 Minguet provides the

Beauchamp-Feuillet notation for the step labeling it “boréa o floréo,” as though he considers it a step with two interchangeable names.338 He also indicates that the “boréa o floréo” can be inserted in a number of different dances that he presents. Importantly, the floréo step associated with the passo de burea/boréa is distinct from a different Spanish step known as a floréo, described in seventeenth-century as well as eighteenth-century sources.339

Chasséz (chassés) in contredanses or contradansas are generally sideways steps that enable dancers to move quickly laterally on a straight or curved pathway, and they may also be performed forward or backward. Chassés are often used when dancers who are side-by-side, holding hands or with arms linked, need to move sideways to a different position. Although both Spanish writers mention the chassé as part of contradanza choreographies, and Minguet provides an example of it in Beauchamp-Feuillet notation,340 neither he nor Ferriol explains it. The interpretation for it is thus derived from the notation, which coincides with the Noble Style’s reconstructed technique. In this

337 Ferriol, Reglas útiles, 94.

338 Minguet, El noble arte de danzar, 23.

339 For descriptions of the Spanish floréo step, see Esquivel, Discursos, f.18 (reproduced and also translated in Brooks, The Art of Dancing, 106, 280. Also see Minguet, Breve tratado de los passos del danzar a la española, 8.

340 Minguet, El noble arte de danzar, 23. 233 gliding and springing step with two weight changes, one foot “chases” the other toward a desired destination or direction. In a sideways-traveling conception, the foot furthest from the desired travel destination approaches the other weight-bearing foot laterally; the weight-bearing foot springs into the air, both legs come together in the air and the leg that came in laterally lands and begins to bend, having “chased” the other sideways, sliding toward the destination. As it slides it takes the weight again and leaves the landing foot available to be lifted to repeat the step. The step is often done rapidly and is usually executed in multiples.

In addition to the steps employed to move dancers according to the choreography’s design, other elements or figures necessitate interaction between dancers as they move. A few common elements found in many contredanses/contradanzas are the chaine, in French sources, or cadena, in Spanish sources, and they are known today as the “hey” in English country dancing; and a moulinet, in French sources, cruz, in

Spanish sources, or “star” in current English country dancing. The basic concept of a chaine, or cadena, is a chain-like weaving of dancers who are traveling in opposite directions. In a line, every other dancer faces up the line, while the others face down, or in a circle, alternate dancers face clockwise and the others in a counterclockwise direction. As they move forward, they pass the dancers coming from the other direction by the right and left sides alternately and thus, individually, follow a somewhat serpentine pathway. As noted above, taking hands with the passing dancers may be specified. Such chains may involve some or all of the dancers in a set, and frequently, 234 whether done in a line or a circle, they bring dancers back to their original starting positions.341

In my experience of dancing and reconstructing contredanses and contradanzas, chaines, cadenas or heys has proven difficult for dancers unaccustomed to them. While reconstructing the contradanza “Los muchachos hermosos” from Minguet’s El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española in a workshop,342 I realized that executing the cadena in a line where the dancers had to accomplish the chain and return their original positions, as opposed to a circle, was particularly challenging.343 Although it is not apparent in the graphic notation or in the prose descriptions that accompany the dance, when dancers reached the end of their lines and there were no remaining dancers to pass, they had to make a 180-degree loop, imagining that there was a dancer to pass as they went, in order to take up sufficient time and space before the next real person approached for passing.

A colleague attending the workshop who is experienced in English country dance suggested, “I think the best way to teach heys [cadenas] to people who have never seen them is to freeze at each pass [to let dancers recognize where they are in relation to the others] and ask, ‘What happens next?’”344 Cadenas done in a circle are quite a bit less confusing, as there are no ends to negotiate.

341 Minguet explains the different types of cadenas in Quadernillo curioso, 4-5; Ferriol does so, using most of Minguet’s language from Quadernillo verbatim, in Reglas útiles, 254.

342 Amherst Early Music Festival Winter Weekend Workshop, January, 2013, Rutgers University, Camden, NJ.

343 This occasion constituted ethnographic research for this study.

344 Personal email communication, Ronfrid Snader, January 31, 2013. 235

The moulinet or cruz is a rotating formation, usually made with four dancers standing evenly spaced in a circle, all facing in either a clockwise or counter-clockwise direction as indicated. They extend a designated hand--right, for clockwise; left, for counter-clockwise--into the center of the circle, joining hands with other dancers doing the same. Each person takes the hand of the person opposite him or her. The extended, relatively straight arms that join in the center of the configuration, are normally slightly below shoulder level. The group then moves as a unit rotating in a given direction, each dancer generally maintaining her or his distance from the others as they move, but everyone stepping forward. They make as many circular rotations or portions thereof as indicated by the choreography.

In contredanses and contradanzas, sub-sets of dancers are commonly called upon to form such moulinets or cruces. For example, the ladies may form a cruz and turn it a designated distance, while the gentlemen execute a different step. Then the gentlemen may form a cruz and rotate it, while the ladies execute a different step. Such cruces may also be embellished into additional figures such as the cruz de Malta, where the designated dancers—ladies, for example—make a cruz, and their partners take their hands on the outside of the formation. Each outside dancer—each of the gentlemen, in this example—must maintain a straight line with his partner as well as those opposite her and maintain his distance from those in front and back, to make a larger rotating cross shape.345

345 Minguet offers directions for executing cruces, and the cruz de Malta in particular in Quadernillo curioso, 6-7, and Ferriol (again using Minget’s wording), in Reglas útiles, 256-258. 236

Peruvian Contradanzas

With an idea of the dances and their aesthetics as conveyed from archive to repertoire, there was a Peruvian repertoire source to consider as I contemplated reconstructing these dances. Unlike the minuet, for which there is no related local repertoire, there are folk versions of contradanzas in Peru and in many regions in Latin

America. Peru’s contradanzas are parodic and are a common dance type of the present folkor repertory in Peru. Although the folkloric companies I worked with did not include contradanzas in their repertories, I have seen them danced by various groups in Peru.

There are also video versions of the dance from various Latin American countries posted on the internet. Today, as discussed in Fernández Castro’s account in Chapter Three, the contradanza is danced by men or boys, or by women or girls in masculine dress. Dancers sometimes wear masks with goatee beards and/or pencil-thin moustaches to represent

Europeans (as visible facial hair is rare in those of Andean descent), closed shoes, stockings and knee-length breeches, tunics with baldrics or chivalric sashes worn diagonally across the body from one shoulder to the opposite hip, large, plumed or cockaded musketeer-type hats turned up in the front, and they carry swords. The dancers enter the dance space, often dancing in single or double file, to duple meter music, as if tentatively exploring new surroundings. In the next section they wield swords above their heads back and forth on a horizontal axis, their swords and shoulders working in opposition their hips and legs. Several distinct musical sections follow where dancers, using a variety of steps, proceed to form several geometric formations. Most often dancers form two columns, one facing the other, so that each dancer has a partner with 237 whom to dance, and at certain intervals, engage in sword play. During the course of the dance, the dancers change places several times but do not “progress” as they do in

English long-ways country dances. A signature gesture of the dance is the quick tipping or tilting of the head from side to side—a comic element of the dance. This head gesture accompanies repeated non-locomotor bounces in plié in a turned out second position, and also a walking step. With each plié or forward step, the dancers tilt their heads from side to side twice.

In present-day versions of the dance, it is clear that this contradanza is meant to poke fun at colonial-era Spaniards. What, I wonder, might the dance as it is performed today retain of the Spanish dances observed during the colonial period? The costumes that dancers wear, and masks, when used, are an obvious attempt to approximate

European style, as is the practice of sparring with swords, and the long-ways formation of the dance is consistent with many European contradanzas. Other facets of the present parody contradanzas, however, are quite distinct from the European contradanza tradition—which was, above all else, a social dance tradition. The folklor versions are danced by men or dancers dressed as men, and instead of the social interaction and kaleidoscopic changing of patterns that are the focus of the European contradanzas, the parodic versions highlight sword play, perhaps of soldiers or gentlemen practicing martial skills. There is no evidence to suggest that European-style contradanzas included sword play, although certainly other European dances did. In the dance movements of the folkloric versions, an upright torso is not rigidly maintained, as mimed sword fighting has dancers wielding swords on different levels. 238

While it is possible that the folkloric dance retains some mannerisms that were observed in elite contradanzas by the local populace during the colonial period they are not readily identifiable. It is more probable that comic and other movement qualities were copied from or invented in retrospect to represent the people being mimicked. We do not know when the current choreographies were devised or even whether they attempted to capture European contradanzas, per se, or merely the comical Europeans.

Formal facets of the folkloric contradanza were not incorporated into the present opera reconstructions because it is unlikely that any of its elements would have been found in a contradanza in a seminary opera production. Humorous hops and head gestures, making the “European” dancers appear rather silly are the folkloric contradanza’s comedic hallmark. The contemporary folklor form is likely a conflation of characteristics added over time--its history is uncertain, and its development remains to be investigated in order to understand when and how it might have acquired some of characteristics it now exhibits.346 In any case, the folkloric version of the contradanza and the version reconstructed in the Spanish-French style are markedly different, which this study’s movement-analytical research brought into sharp relief. The dance reconstructions for this opera, like their music, bear unmistakable marks of European style. It seems unlikely that local Andean or more cosmopolitan African influences affected the execution of dancing at the formal, viceregal seminary, although we cannot completely rule it out. Musicologists Geoffrey Baker and José Quezada Macchiavello

346 Peter Manuel, ed., Creolizing Contradance [sic] in the Caribbean (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2009) represents a recent foray into understanding the many iterations of the contredanse/ contradanza in the New World, but focuses specifically on the Caribbean islands and the form’s proliferation in the nineteenth century and development since. The versions dealt with here are not parodic. 239 contend that while indigenous and black musicians worked in the Cusco religious music scene, there is no evidence that they played anything other than European style music.347

Dancing in a seminary of San Antonio Abad, even if it was executed by indigenous or black dancers, was most likely presented in strictly European style. Importantly, however, the European stylistic elements in the music and the dance are not predominantly Spanish. Although the opera’s lyrics are Spanish, the music itself draws on Italian and French styles. Thus, the dance, following a pan-European trend in the eighteenth century, is French-based, but the reconstruction allows for a bit of Spanish influence, as the Spanish dance manuals of the suggest.

Using research from the repertoire and also the archive in different situations, I embodied, analyzed, questioned and reconstructed formal features of dancing to arrive at a historically informed idea of what the dance in this operatic situation might have been like.

A physical investigation into Peruvian dancing reveals some of the formal characteristics of dances from different regions, as they have been passed down to the current generation of dancers by the traditional means of the repertoire, and we note little similarity between these and the court-style European dancing likely used in the official culture. By also embodying the reconstructed technique and dances of seventeenth- century Spain, we can recognize, with the help of the archive, some of the formal features and their importance to this style. We also note the likely influence of Italian dancing on the Spanish style in this earlier period. Later, in the eighteenth century, Spaniards would

347 See Baker, Imposing; Quezada, El legado. 240 embrace the French style, and because we see traces of this influence in Venid, venid deydades, examples of French court dances were devised to fit the opera’s music.

Explained reconstructions of dances for the opera offer a historically informed way to add to the conception this performance piece, complementing the extant music with previously absent dance.

241

CHAPTER FIVE - RECONSTRUCING CHOREOGRAPHIES: NOTES,

NARRATIVES AND RECOMMENDED PROCEDURES

Extant music, is often the driver of early choreographic reconstructions, because it provides meter, tempo and structure consistent with one dance type or another. More often than not, this music is part of the textual archive. The archive is consulted, too for its examples of similar dances in notation and prose form. Musicians and dancers, through their embodied practice interpret this information by having established reconstructed physical techniques. This technical dance reconstruction chapter engages deeply with the process of reading extant dance notation, understanding steps, direction and timing and applying them to music from the opera rather than the music that accompanies them in their text. For each dance an overview precedes a step-by-step narrative of the process I took to build dances for the opera’s score based on applicable dance sources. The narratives offer the reader information about decisions that had to be made, sometimes because of gaps in the textual information, and sometimes because of having to make alterations to accommodate the choreographies to the opera’s music. As such they illustrate what is gleaned directly from the archive in this reconstruction process, and what the repertoire of technique indicates are apt alternatives or additions.

For the reader interested in historical dance and the practice of reconstruction, the reconstructed choreographies are also presented in table form so that dance practitioners might more quickly embody the dances as reconstructed. The original notated choreographies used, and the musical scores for each reconstruction appear after these tables, so that they may be referenced when reading either the narratives or tables. Lastly 242

I have included a section on recommendations, which is a methodological contribution of this study to the practice of early dance reconstruction. I show how some of the informal standards that active reconstructors consider were salient in this project, and add additional suggestions with illustrations based on the work this investigation.

Minuet Reconstruction – Preliminary Considerations

The aforementioned considerations of step execution and choreographic convention come together to reconstruct a minuet for Venid, venid deydades. Here, I combine and synchronize dance information about step phrases, qualities, and choreographies, with the extant musical score and lyrics. With the aid of reconstructed recordings, I could hear how the narrative’s ideas were expressed through sound. Based on its appropriate formal qualities and apt thematic content, the minuet “Bien lo pregona la voz del clarín,” sung by Cuzco, serves as a case example for a reconstruction of that dance type for the opera.

In this aria, Cuzco, the female character who personifies the city of Cusco, uses garden allegory to assert that even though her famous son Oblitas was born elsewhere, his residency in Cusco was the determining factor in his preparation for the great honor now bestowed on him. She sings,

While clarion voice proclaims that my Oblitas is from Arequipa today. In my confines he came, after my careful cultivation of the purest harvest, to be the noblest fruit of my illustrious garden.348

In order to make the danced minuet reflect the sentiments being sung, the reconstructor has to make conceptual choices to direct the scene. An obvious setting option would be a garden—this would be a particularly fitting choice because the production was meant for

348“Bien la pregona la voz del clarín que de Arequipa mi Oblitas hoy es. En mi con fín logró después con el cultivo de más pura mies ser noble fruto de ilustre jardín.” Claro, Antología, 117-119. 243 the Seminary’s courtyard. To elaborate on the garden imagery the reconstructor might design the dance as a duet, since with two dancers the symmetrical patterns of their geometric curved and straight pathways, suggestive of Baroque gardens, may be readily appreciated.

One option for such a duet would be to have the minuet sung by Cuzco and danced by a duo representing her and a young Oblitas. In this case, since the dance’s desired effect would be symmetrical, some staging decisions would need to be made as to where to place the singing Cuzco, so both she and the garden geometry being danced would be visible. Alternatively, the singing Cuzco could actually dance with the other dancer representing the young Oblitas. While having singers dance is sometimes difficult in terms of vocal projection while a singer is turned away from the audience and in the overall stamina required to sing while dancing, this is neither a long nor technically demanding song. As such the choreography, too, can be elegant and charming but not terribly demanding.

An early step in this process was to find a minuet or passapie in a Spanish source whose figures and step sequences matched with, or could be fitted to, the musical structure of the aria. An analysis of the music of “Bien lo pregona” reveals that this minuet contains 64 musical measures in 3/4 time, broken down as follows:

The piece’s A section:

eight sung measures;

eight instrumental (repeating the tune of the previously sung measures);

eight sung (again, repeating the original eight measures); 244

The B section:

twelve sung measures; (a new motif);

twelve instrumental (repeating the new sung motif);

An abbreviated reprise of the A section:

eight sung measures (the original eight measures);

eight instrumental (again, repeating the original eight measures).

To break this entire scheme into dance measures or phrases, the musical measures are effectively doubled, as the minuet step and other steps used in the dance take two musical measures. The dance, then, requires phrases of four; four; four; six; six; four and four dance measures, in that sequence.

An important performance practice question arises from this interesting score with its alternating of vocal and instrumental music. Would the dancing have occurred only in the instrumental sections or during the sung sections as well? Musicologist Rebecca

Harris-Warrick, through her research into the divertissements in seventeenth-century

French opera composer Lully states,

A standard aesthetic principle was for there to be a single focus for the audience’s attention, which is to say that dancing occurred primarily during instrumental pieces or in some of the instrumental passages within choruses. Dancing did not take place during solo singing or duets, no matter how danceable the music, but it could occur during the ends of choruses or in choruses whose text invites action.349

349 Rebecca Harris-Warrick, “Reading Roland,” Journal of Seventeenth-Century Music 16, 1 (2010): par. 2.4. http://sscm-jscm.org/v16/no1/harris-warrick.html. Her observation about dancing in choruses is consistent with information about the Italian theater presented by Irene Alm, whose research indicates that singers, themselves, danced while singing the choruses. Irene Alm, “Theater Dance in Seventeenth-Century Veneitian Opera” (PhD diss., University of California Los Angeles, 1993), 21-22.

245

Expanding the possibility of simultaneous singing and dancing beyond choruses in the

French tradition, John Essex, in The Dancing Master (1728) provides an account of the opera-ballet, Les fêtes vénitiennes (1710), by Lully’s successor, André Campra. There is a very unusual scene in the work in which a dancing-master enters and sings in praise of his art, and at the same time performs all the different styles found in dancing.350 This work premiered in 1710 and was revived several times before and after the publishing of this account. We can see that by the eighteenth century, although perhaps unusual, simultaneous singing and dancing was not strictly limited to choruses.

To this information, I add Fernández de Castro’s account (discussed in Chapter

Three) of his own Introducion al Sarao de los Planetas (1725). Castro tells us directly that the characters of the planets danced minuet figures while the nymph, Iris, sang.351

Since Castro is giving a description of his own work, we may trust his understanding of it to a greater degree than we might that of a more casual observer.

In a related vein, it seems germane to consider the ubiquitous presence of dance songs in Peruvian and Spanish folk and theatrical tradition,352 which has been discussed in previous chapters. The song genre of villancicos, popular on both sides of the Atlantic, even had a subgenre called bailete (a brief dance that customarily introduced theatrical

350 John Essex, The Dancing Master (London: John Essex and J. Brotherton, 1728), xxvii. This Essex work is an English language translation of the aforementioned Pierre Rameau’s Le maître a danser (1725).

351 Fernández, Elisio, 140. “Con la Copla, que cantaba Iris; daba una vuelta formando una mudanza de minuet el Amor, y cada uno de los Planetas, y acavada, tomavan sus lugares, y el el arco con la Nimpha empeçò à irse elevando.”:“With a verse that Iris [the nymph] sang, Amor, and each one of the Planets did a turn forming a minuet figure, and finishing, they took their places, and the arc/rainbow with the Nymph began to rise and exit.”

352 Stein, Songs of Mortals and La púrpura de la rosa; Quezada, El legado, 137.

246 works).353 The zarzuela theatrical form itself, although variable in structure, was known for its dance songs (sones and tiranas, among them)354 Further, in Dance and the Music of J.S. Bach, Meredith Little and Natalie Jenne assert that the sarabande (which is assumed to have originated in Peru or Mexico) was a lewd dance song before its transformation into a refined French court dance.355

Based on eighteenth-century accounts and on Hispanic folk and musical-theatrical conventions, I have opted to conceive of the two reconstruction pieces as sung dances, continuing the choreography throughout, rather than having it cease during sung portions of the arias. Since the choreography I employ is not highly intricate or virtuosic, it is doubtful that it would distract from the singing—the choreography is meant to enhance the mood but not to steal the scene. Likewise, the arias are quite simple, in terms of both their music and libretti, and are consistent with the dance. This consideration is in concert with Harris-Warrick’s related rationale, as noted above. Interweaving ideas from the lyrics into the dances and combining the dancing and singing, provide a stronger cohesive message than either might have done alone.

The “Passapie de España” in Minguet’s El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española provides good choreographic possibilities for use in the opera’s minuet chosen for reconstruction.356 The Spanish penchant for the passapie has been noted, and this

353Diccionario Manual de la Lengua Española Vox, s.v. "bailete." http://es.thefreedictionary.com/bailete.

354 Janet Lynn Sturman, Zarzuela: Spanish Operetta, American Stage (Urbana-Champaign, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2000), 184-185.

355 Little and Jenne, Dance and the Music, 92.

356 Minguet, El noble arte, 29.

247 example is found only in this Minguet source—unlike many of the dances presented in the Spanish treatises, taken from French texts. Probably conceived in Spain, it includes elements perhaps well-liked or commonly used by Spaniards,357 yet it is not noticeably different from French-style figured minuets. Importantly, this passapie’s music has a moderate tempo and is in 3/4 (minuet) time rather than the 3/8 or 6/8 meter more usual for passepieds/passapies; its choreography therefore works well as a minuet, as the character, and the time signatures of the two dance types are congruent here.358

When utilizing El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española reconstructors will find that Minguet presents dances using a variety of means. He offers some steps and well-known dances of the French repertoire in Beauchamp-Feuillet notation, and presents other minuetes and passapies, including the “Passapie de España,” in a simplified notation system that he based on the Beauchamp-Feuillet system. This simplified system provides a diagram for each figure of the dance, and includes symbols for the dancers in their positions and at the beginning of each figure. (See the notation for the “Passapie de España” included in this chapter.) These symbols show the dancers’ facings, and lines show each dancer’s pathway throughout each figure. Measure markers on the pathway tracts that are symbols for the dancers’ feet. Although the marks look like arrows, they actually indicate movement in the opposite direction--the V shapes must be understood as the dancers’ feet in first position, thus they move in the direction of the

357 This assumption could be strengthened by an exhaustive analysis and comparison of this dance to other Spanish passapies and a broader comparison of these to passpieds from other places. This, however, is outside the scope of this study.

358 Neither the passapie’s original music, nor the opera’s minuet pieces contain hemiolas. 248

V’s opening rather than its point. These markers indicate dance measures rather than music measures, and so for minuets or passapies where main steps require two musical measures, there are half as many dance measures as musical ones in each figure. Rather than notating the steps with complex symbols, as in Beauchamp-Feuillet notation,

Minguet includes a letter for the name of a step on the tract line in each measure—m for passo de minué, b, for balancé and c, for contratiempo. These represent the entire step vocabulary of the dance. The only additional symbols used are those also commonly found in Beauchamp-Feuillet notation that look like the letter u with a stem drawn near each dancer to indicate that they should take hands. The same symbol with the perpendicular hatch mark on the stem of the u indicates that they should drop hands.

Because the dance utilizes only a few very well-known steps, the simple letter indications work well and keep each figure clear and legible.

Minguet’s simpler notation highlights the use of space rather than the intricacies of the steps, and generally speaking, it works well to designate what steps should be done, when, and where; however, in some cases, where one, or both dancers must change direction, the transition to the new direction is unclear in the notation. Where one phrase of notation leaves the dancer facing one direction, and the notation of the beginning of the next figure shows him or her facing a different way, we are sometimes at a loss to know in what direction the dancer should turn his or her body to arrive at the specified new position. Because the notation’s accompanying prose is silent on these matters, through experimenting, it became clear that in turning one way would necessitate a quarter turn, which was direct and efficient, and the other way required a three-quarter 249 turn and appeared a bit more sophisticated and showy. While I chose to incorporate the latter, this is an example of the kinds of information that are sometimes missing from notation and must be dealt with in reconstruction. Other such incidences are detailed in the close choreographic narrative that follows.

My alterations to the original “Passapie de España,” in order to match the opera’s score include leaving out choreographic figures three and four and adding two measures each, to figures six and eight, keeping within the dance’s very limited step vocabulary.

The meter and time signature of the piece have been maintained, as has most of the choreography. The opening of the notated “Passapie de España” has been used, and the closing has been amended only slightly. The most interesting figure of the dance, figure six, with its springing contratiempos, retrograde minuet steps and taking and releasing of hands, has been preserved, but here it falls in the middle of the dance, whereas in the notated dance it came a bit later. This change is actually in keeping with period style, as climactic figures commonly occur in the middle of the dances of this genre.359

Minguet’s simplified notation system employed for this dance offers no possibility of prescribing specific ornaments for the steps, as can be done in Beauchamp-

Feuillet notation. The Spanish sources, however, suggest certain ornaments for steps, particularly balancés and contratiempos. Hence, the dancers might experiment with

359 When considering the individual choreographies as works, in and of themselves, I find that climactic moments, in terms of interest created by dance virtuosity or dance-to-music complexity, frequently occur near the middle of the dance, rather than near the end, as is common in the present-day literary plot scheme. This is a personal observation, and the same notion is articulated by reconstructor and dancer Paige Whitley-Bauguess in “Lecture-Demonstration on Dance Reconstruction Issues: Same Music-Different Dance: Analysis and Comparison of Dances by Louis Pécour and Anthony L’Abbé to the Same Music and Phrasing as a Reconstruction Tool,” in Proceedings, Society of Dance History Scholars Twentieth Annual Conference, Barnard College, June 1997 (Society of Dance History Scholars, 1997), 105. 250 executing the balancés front-to-back rather than sideways, and they also might add beats, campanelas or tortillés, as Ferriol recommends.360 Likewise they may add beats to their contratiempos. In this duet, both dancers would perform the same ornaments. These flourishes may help give a Spanish stylistic stamp to the choreography, and their use should be considered. Lamentably, Peruvian sources have not left us any indication as to the execution of minuets or the particular steps or flourishes that were popular here. As neither minuets nor passapies were passed down through the repertoire, we likewise have no embodied suggestions as to a particularly Peruvian style. In dearth of evidence to the contrary, I assume that since church and state administration reflected Spanish regulatory authority, that Spaniards and criollos in performance situations in these institutions would have likely have mirrored the Spanish cultural style. The reconstruction thus uses a

Spanish choreography for a minuet couple dance where the dancers, with upright carriage, perform the same steps as one another in changing symmetrical geometric pathways and patterns. The rises, bends and springs of their steps vary their vertical levels as they travel through space with a seemingly unstudied elegance.

Minuet Reconstruction Narrative

For Cuzco’s first eight sung measures, the first figure of the “Passapie de España” fit perfectly. In it, the dancers begin upstage center facing down, the lady (Cuzco, in this conception) stage right of the gentleman (Oblitas). Both advance forward, hand-in-hand, with a lilting contratiempo, then a passo de minué, and balancé (side-to-side, right and

360 Ferriol, Reglas útiles, 116-119. 251 left)361 and they drop hands, each doing an additional passo de minué in small half- circles, turning in opposite directions outward, the lady to her right and the gentleman to left, until they face upstage. If the staging is devised so that the same Cuzco character is both singing and dancing, this choreography is advantageous in that she faces forward

(downstage) for nearly the duration of the figure and may project her voice easily until the last turning minuet step.

The next eight instrumental measures are matched to the passapie’s second figure of four dance measures. In these the dancers repeat the first figure, but proceed in the other direction, heading upstage with their backs to the audience. By the end of this figure, they have turned so that they are again facing downstage, and now begin another phrase of eight sung/four danced measures.

For the next segment, the fifth figure of the passapie, which is of an appropriate length, provides a smooth transition into the following livelier figure. Side-by-side and facing downstage the dancers each do a balancé (right and left), and the lady continues with a passo de minué laterally to her right as the gentleman does one similarly to his left--they thus move away from one another. The lady continues with two passos de minué follows a curved pathway downstage to her left, turning upstage still arcing left until she ends facing downstage. Meanwhile, the gentleman does nearly the same thing, but heads upstage first, arcing to his left, he eventually turns downstage and ends facing

361 Minguet does not specify whether this step should be done front-to-back or side-to-side, but performing it side-to-side provides a nice visual difference from the forward-traveling passos de minué before and after it. With regard to points such as this (where the direction is not given), a reconstructor will consider how the step looks within the choreography, and also the degree of ease with which dancers can transition to the next step or position. 252 upstage. There is a question for him here, however. Both dancers start these two minuet steps facing downstage. She is in direct position to continue forward downstage

(eventually curving left), but the notation is not clear regarding how the gentleman turns to face upstage from here. He could either turn in “on himself” to his right, pivoting slightly, or make a larger three-quarter turn to his outside (left) on the first step of his first minuet step. The latter is a more virtuosic-looking choice, but is more visually different from what the lady is doing. Here then, his turning direction should be established by watching him execute the turn both ways in the context of the dance to form an aesthetic judgement. I have chosen to have him make the larger outward turn to the left, which I believe looks stronger and feels more organic to dancer.

At the end of figure five, the dancers are facing each other but because of notational limitations it is not clear whether they should end directly in front of one another or offset. This is true even though the notation for this figure depicts them directly facing one another. The question arises when we look at the starting positions of the two dancers in the next figure. The beginning of figure six shows them clearly offset—facing, but not directly opposite one another, with right sides aligned. Ideally, the ending positions of one figure should match the beginning positions of the next, but this is not the case here. The notation for figure six does indicate, by use of dotted lines for both dancers in dance measure three, space that is not actually traversed. Backing up from this point then, we might guess that they actually begin the figure directly opposite one another. The dotted line is a convention that facilitates written notation, but does not reflect the actual pathway that dancers are to follow, so it gives a somewhat erroneous 253 visual idea of pathways. For this adaptation I have stipulated that the dancers begin figure 6 offset in order to that the steps of the figure might better approximate a more forward and back feel for the steps to be executed per Minguet’s diagram, rather than a more angled execution that would be necessary if dancers used direct facings. The dancers then, from offset positions, move toward each on parallel paths, taking right hands and each doing a contratiempo, the gentleman toward downstage and the lady toward upstage. They pass each other slightly by right sides. They each then do a passo de minué backwards (to where they began, either facing, or offset) and drop hands. They now do a contratiempo passing their partner by left sides without taking hands and back up again with a passo de minué (here they must retreat to positions that are offset from one another to continue). The dancers’ distance and positioning from one another in the beginning of the figure affects the angles at which the contratiempos and passos de minué must be executed, so aesthetic choices must be made here. Additionally, we might consider that the lack of symbols for taking and dropping hands when performing the last steps in the second direction was an oversight in the notation. Whether to repeat this for the second set is another judgment call. I have chosen to repeat this gesture for aesthetic balance.

Figure six is two dance measures short for the music to which it is being set, so I propose that the dancers, having finished this notated figures definitively offset from one another (the lady still upstage, facing downstage and the gentleman downstage, facing upstage), each perform a balancé right and left for two musical measures, and for the other two, a passo de minué making a small full turn “on themselves” to their right, to 254 place. This will not change their location or position and will allow them to transition normally to the next figure.

Figure seven of the passapie works perfectly with the twelve measure instrumental section that comes next, as it contains six dance measures. The dancers each perform a balancé to their right and left, and a passo de minué sideways, each to their left, thus they pass each other on parallel lateral paths. They each make a passo de minué on a curve—she, turning first upstage, then stage left, and then downstage, and he, turning first downstage, then stage right, and then upstage. Opening up their curved pathways somewhat, each dancer performs another passo de minué and a contratiempo— she moving downstage and he, up. Lastly, each does a passo de minue turning, more tightly now, each to their left, so that they end facing one another directly (she facing upstage and he, down).

The last figure of the passapie, figure eight, requires two additional measures of choreography to accommodate the music. These I add to the end of the dance. Figure eight begins with dancers facing each other directly, the lady downstage facing up and the gentleman upstage facing down. They begin with a balancé to their right and left, and then a passo de minué sideways to their left—she, toward stage right, he, toward stage left. With the next sequence of two passos de minué, a contratiempo, and a passo de minué, the two dancers move in toward the center and around one another in a back- to-back or do-see-do configuration, both using the last passo de minué to position themselves side-by-side facing downstage. This is the actual end of the passapie, and to 255 it, I simply add a balancé right and left, and an additional passo de minué backward to end the dance with the music.

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Table 1. Choreography for Minuet Reconstruction Choreography for Minuet Reconstruction Musical Measure Figure 1 from the “Passapie de España” is used for “Bien lo pregona” 1 & 2 musical measures 1 through 8): The dancers begin upstage center, side-by- side, the lady (Cuzco, in this conception) stage right of the gentleman (Oblitas). Both advance hand-in-hand, with a contratiempo (hop on the left foot (beat one); step onto the right foot bending and gliding (beats two and shifting weight on three); hop on the right foot (beat four); plié and take off for leap (beat five); land from the leap on the left foot (beat six)). All subsequent contratiempos follow this rhythm. They continue with a passo de minué forward (step to a rise on the right foot 3 & 4 (beat one); bend on the right foot (beat two) step to the rise on the left foot (beat three); two steps on the rise, right, left (beats four and five); plié on the left foot (beat six)). All subsequent passos de minué follow this rhythm.

The dancers each balancé side-to-side (step to the rise on the right foot, left 5 & 6 foot is extended in the air to the other side (beat one); hold the balance (beat two); bend on the right foot (beat three); step to the rise on the left foot, left foot is extended in the air to the other side (beat four); hold the balance (beat five); plié on the left foot (beat six)). All subsequent balancés follow this rhythm. The dancers drop hands and each does an additional passo de minué in a 7 & 8 small half-circle, turning in opposite directions, the lady to her right and the gentleman to left, until they face upstage. It is also fortunate that Cuzco (should she be both singing and dancing) faces forward (downstage) for nearly the duration of the figure and may project her voice easily until the last turning minuet step. Figure 2 from the “Passapie de España” is used for “Bien lo pregona” 9 & 10 musical measures 9 through 16): The dancers are now downstage, side-by- side, facing upstage. They repeat their previous figure in the opposite direction. They advance hand-in-hand, with a contratiempo. They continue with a forward passo de minué heading upstage. 11 & 12 The dancers each balancé side-to-side, right and left. 13 & 14 They drop hands and each does an additional forward passo de minué in a 15 & 16 small half-circle, turning in opposite directions, this time the lady to her left and the gentleman to his right, until they face downstage again. Figure 5 of the “Passapie de España” is eight musical measures long, and 17 & 18 corresponds to measures 17 through 24 of “Bien lo pregona.” The dancers now in their original positions, side-by-side facing downstage, they perform sideways balancé right and left. Now they perform a sideways passo de minué away from one another, the 19 & 20 lady moving to the right and the gentleman moving left. 257

Table 1: (continued) The lady, now following a curing pathway downstage and left, does a 21 & 22 forward passo de minué, to face upstage at a point stage left of where the gentleman began figure 5. The gentleman does a ¾ turn to his left362 to begin his forward passo de minué, which curves upstage and to the right. He ends facing downstage at a point stage right of where his partner began the figure. The dancers here should be on a diagonal to one another—she facing upstage but on a downstage diagonal from him. Continuing on their curving pathways, both dancers do another forward 23 & 24 passo de minué, she moving upstage, and he down, they end turned to face one another, but slightly offset.363 Their right shoulders are in line. The lady ends the figure facing her partner upstage and stage left of him facing downstage and the gentleman, downstage and stage right of the lady, facing her (offset) and upstage. Figure 6 from the “Passapie de España” occupies musical measures 25 25 & 26 through 32 of “Bien lo pregona.” Moving straight ahead, the lady directly downstage and the gentleman directly upstage, the dancers execute a contratiempo along their partner’s right side, joining right hands as they approach and briefly move past each other. On diagonal pathways they each perform a passo de minué backwards, 27 & 28 dropping hands and ending in a position directly facing once another. Turning slightly diagonally left now, the dancers execute a contratiempo 29 & 30 approaching and passing by their partner’s left shoulders, joining left hands364 as they do this. Retreating on directly up- and downstage paths, they do another backward 31 & 32 passo de minué, dropping hands and ending in an offset position with the lady upstage and stage right of the gentleman and facing downstage, and he, downstage and stage left of her, facing upstage. Four musical measures of choreography need to be inserted here to fit the 33 & 34 music, so I add two typical dance steps, each taking up two musical measures. From the dancers’ positions facing each other (the lady upstage of him facing downstage and the gentleman downstage, facing upstage), each perform a balancé right and left. For the other two musical measures the dancers each do a forward passo de 35 & 36 minué making a small full turn “on themselves” to their right, to place. Next, figure 7 from the “Passapie de España” is used for the aria’s musical 37 & 38 measures 37 through 48. Each dancer performs a balancé right and left.

362 See the preceding Minuet Reconstruction Narrative for further description of the ambiguous nature of the notation here. Also see figure 5, dance measures 2 and 3 in the notation.

363 See the notation ending position of figure 5 and beginning position of figure 6.

364 See the description and the notation, figure 6, dance measures 1 and 2 as opposed to 3 and 4.

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Table 1: (continued) Each dancer executes a sideways passo de minué to his and her left, such 39 & 40 that from a frontal view the dancers laterally cross one another—she staying in back moving toward stage left and he staying in front (with his back to the audience) moving toward stage right. Each dancer makes a ¾ turn to his/her left and executes a forward passo de 41 & 42 minué that curves first toward each dancer’s left, then right. This minuet steps takes each dancer on a curved, semi-circular pathway, first away from one another, and then back toward the sides of their dance space. They each continue with another forward passo de minué along this slightly 43 & 44 curved pathway on the outside edge of their dance space, she moving downstage and slightly stage left, and he moving upstage and slightly stage right. Upon finishing this step the dancers’ shoulders will be in line, though they are a good distance from one another. Next, they each execute a contratiempo forward on this same pathway, 45 & 46 beginning to turn in, each to his/her right. The last two musical measures are occupied with a forward passo de minué 47 & 48 each dancer turning to his/her right so that they end facing one another. The lady is now downstage with her back to the audience, facing her partner upstage, and he is upstage, facing her and looking downstage. Figure 8 of the “Passapie de España” provides the twelve musical measures Repeat of the dance for “Bien lo pregona.” These measures constitute most of the of 1 & 2 vocal repetition if the aria’s A section (the repetition of measures 1 through 12, leaving four additional musical measures for additional choreography.) In the first two musical measures the dancers each perform a side-to-side balancé right and left. Next, both dancers do a sideways passo de minué each to their left. This 3 & 4 means that the lady will move stage left and the gentleman, who is facing upstage, will move stage right. Each dancer then executes a forward passo de minué curving in toward 5 & 6 her/his right, and remain facing in their original directions. This minuet step brings them within closer proximity and they are now on a diagonal to each other facing opposite directions. She is upstage right, facing upstage, and he is downstage left of her facing downstage. They continue a curving do-see-do idea by performing a backward passo de 7 & 8 minué each curving backward and toward their own right sides, passing each other (back-to-back) to end facing one another directly. The lady is downstage looking up and the gentleman, upstage and looking down. Both dancers turning to their own left sides, arc first left, then forward 9 & 10 performing a contratiempo. This step brings them further from one another sideways and they end so that their shoulders are in line, still facing opposite directions.

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Table 1: (continued) Here the lady performs a forward passo de minué heading upstage and on 11 & 12 her last step on the left foot (beat five of her minuet step), she makes a ¼ turn stepping in toward him, and with another ¼ turn closes the right foot. Meanwhile the gentleman does a backward passo de minué on a parallel path to hers. They are now both facing the audience. To finish the dance, I add two dance/four musical measures. For the first 13 & 14 two, they both execute sideways balancés right and left. Both dancers do a passo de minué backward to first position to finish. 15 & 16

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Figure 1. Cover page from Pablo Minguet e Yrol, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española (Madrid: Pablo Minguet, ca. 1762).

261

Figure 2. Dance notation, “Passapie de España” from Pablo Minguet e Yrol, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española (Madrid: Pablo Minguet, ca. 1762), 29.

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Figure 3. First page, Minuet. “Bien lo pregona la voz del clarín” from Venid, venid deydades, Fray Esteban Ponce de León (1749). Transcription and performing edition by Samuel Claro, Antología de la música en América del Sur (Santiago: Ediciones de la Universidad de Chile, 1974), 117.

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Figure 4. Second page, Minuet. “Bien lo pregona la voz del clarín,” Claro, Antología, 118. 264

Figure 5. Third page, Minuet. “Bien lo pregona la voz del clarín,” Caro, Antología, 119.

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Contradanza Reconstruction – Preliminary Considerations

Based on the appropriateness of the opera’s most dance-like music, I determined that a duple-meter piece with alternating instrumental and vocal sections could have been danced as a contradanza.365 This type of dance is also suitable because the music’s context in the opera and the thematic content of its lyrics can logically support a social group dance. While several arias and choruses in this work have instrumental sections interspersed with singing, “Si en tan reñida cuestión,” a bright duple meter aria for the alto moderator of the plot’s proceedings, has the longest instrumental sections. The extended sections between incidents of singing give the aria the feel of a call-and- response conversation. On one side of the conversation we have the singer and his words, but where he is not singing, an absence is felt where a response is missing.

Because of this, the piece seems to demand some kind of prominent stage business between sung sections to reinforce the lyrics. Certainly, a dance would be the ideal sort of staged activity for this purpose, and it could be integrated into the sung portions of the aria as well.

Unlike those of the minuet, the lyrics in this piece provide sonic landmarks— some of them rhyming and repeated or alternating, and some melismatic sounds, where a single syllable is sung in a long phrase of several notes. In reconstructing dances where there are lyrics, the choreography should aim to fit their temperament. When we come to this aria in the opera, the gods have been summoned and have heard Arequipa and Cuzco

365 As has been noted in Chapter Three, another duple-meter dance of the time, the bourée or buréa/boréa was known in Peru--it was cited in the script of Peralta’s aforementioned play, however, the contradanza was mentioned with more frequency in Peru and in Spain, including in the Spanish dance treatises. 266 each claim to have been the most important influence on Oblitas. Now the moderator urges a resolution to the question of which character is more worthy. The alternating between singing and not singing, and a back and forth of repeated rhyming lyrics (“no sosiega, antes ciega, no sosiega, antes ciega” (does not bring calm, blinded before) and,

“del deseo, del trofeo, del deseo, del trofeo” (of the desire, of the trophy), offer a biformity that perhaps parallels the consideration of one side of an argument, and then the other--flip-flopping back and forth between choices with regard to the decision at hand.

Note that lines sung as call-and-response are indicated by indentation in the text below:

If in such a disputed question reason again does not bring calm…

-blinded before, -does not bring calm, -blinded before, -reason again.

…then may the resolution come… -of the desire, -of the trophy, -of the desire, -of the trophy.

… from the heavenly region. -of the trophy, -of the desire, -of the trophy, -from the heavenly region.

If in such a disputed question reason again does not bring calm… -blinded before, -does not bring calm, -blinded before, -reason again.366

366 The original Spanish states, “Si en tan reñida cuestión no sosiega, antes ciega, no sosiega, antes ciega, nuevamente la razón, la razón, antes ciega, antes ciega, nuevamente la razón. Venga la resolución del deseo, del trofeo, del deseo, del trofeo, de la celeste región, del deseo, del trofeo, del trofeo de la celeste 267

As a group dance in the French set style for eight dancers, four of each gender, the dancers could represent the gods themselves, or their doubles, who are indecisive in their judgment of Arequipa and Cuzco. Otherwise, the dancers could simply characterize anonymous interested residents awaiting closure on the question. Having mixed couples of male and female dancers, even if the “female” dancers are en travesti, fortifies the idea of a duality.

The melismatic treatment of words punctuates the end of three phrases, and these features constitute lyric, as well as musical markers that provide the opportunity to insert extended choreographic ideas in figures longer than one or two musical measures. Also, the music’s structure in terms of repeated motifs and obvious cadential phrases can be reflected in the choreography. The hands-on work with bringing choreography to the lyrics and music necessitated close scrutiny of the libretto and score and is described in the subsequent narrative.

Choreographic possibilities for the contradanza are found in the Spanish treatises, just as they were for the minuet. Again, I use sample dances from Minguet’s publication

El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española as a basis for choreographic figures, this time contradanzas for four women and four men called “Los muchachos hermosos” and “Los petímetres y petímetras.”367 I consider additional phrases and embellishments

región. Si en tan reñida cuestión no sosiega, antes ciega, no sosiega, antes ciega, nuevamente la razón.” Claro, Antología, 126-127. Translated with the help of Manuel Hidalgo Iglesias.

367 The constant turning and weaving of the dancers in contradanzas would make it difficult to have the singer act as one of the eight dancers. He might better stand to the side and perhaps refer to the dancing by gesturing to the dancers or approximating their movements from time to time. 268 from this and other Minguet texts, from that of Ferriol, and also (to a lesser extent) from the older works of Esquivel and Jaque.

Because the aria is in 4/4 time, the dance figures in “Los muchachos hermosos” and “Los petímetres y petímetras,” which are in duple meter, fit to it easily. The original music for “Los muchachos” is in 2/4 time, and that for “Los petímetres” is in cut, or 2/2 time. In performing the steps and figures, the time signature differences are readily reconcilable. Doubling or using two measures of choreography from “Los petímetres” equals one measure of aria music and one measure of choreography from “Los muchachos.” A thorny aspect of this 4/4 tune for dancing became apparent when I looked at the score, after having listened to it on a recording. I realized that, by ear, I had been counting the piece wrong. Beats one and four fall on rests in many measures, which makes these beats inaudible. This can be problematic for the dancers, who commonly expect that the first audible beat will be beat one. To mitigate this difficulty somewhat, I thought of the 4/4 measures as divided in half to conceive of them choreographically.

This would allow the dancers to begin on an audible beat three, rather than a silent beat one in tricky spots. This problem highlighted the need for those performing the dance to be quite familiar with the music.

In consulting primary dance sources for potential choreographic possibilities, I came upon a condition that other reconstructors may also encounter, when looking for sources appropriate to the time period under study. Minguet’s El noble are de danzar a la francesa, y española is undated, although its repository, the Biblioteca Nacional de

España, dates it 1755—a problematic assertion. In this text Minguet presents 269 contradanzas in a yet a different notation system from those previously mentioned. (See the notation samples.) This one was utilized and explained by French author Sieur de La

Cuisse in his Le répertoire des bals, a three-volume collection, the first two of which were published in 1762, and the last in 1765. Scholars generally credit de La Cuisse with the invention of this system, and of the related choreographies that also appear in

Minguet’s publications, in which case Minguet’s source was likely published sometime in or after 1762. Further investigation might reveal that de La Cuisse (or perhaps even someone else) had presented this work earlier in a different, perhaps non-extant source.

Minguet’s changes to de La Cuisse’s notation system include the whimsical addition of stick-figure-like legs, arms and heads to de La Cuisse’s shape-symbols for the dancers.368

Minguet’s addition actually improves this system, helping us to understand the dancers’ orientation in space by clarifying their positions and facings. Many of the contradanzas that Minguet presents here, including “Los muchachos hermosos” and “Los petímetres y pentímetras,” also come from the de La Cuisse collections, although Minguet has renamed them.369 Minguet’s titles seem appropriate for a seminary performance of

(perhaps) young men at a time when French fashion was “in style.” These dances offer

368 See examples of Minguet’s notation for “Los muchachos hermosos” and “Los petímetres y petímetras” in found after the Contradanza Reconstruction Table in this chapter.

369 Minguet, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española, 11-12 and 9-10 respectively. The de La Cuisse choreography that corresponds to “Los muchachos hermosos” (the beautiful boys) he calls “La dauvergne” (the title is a regional dance name) and appears in Sieur de La Cuisse, Le répertoire des bals, vol. 2 (Paris, Cailleau Libraire, 1762) four pages pertaining to leaf 51. Another de La Cuisse dance titled “Les jolis garçons” contains different choreography and music. The dance that Minguet calls “Los petímetres y petímetras” (which could have meant “the French-mannered young gentlemen and ladies,” or “the (male and female) dandies” or “fops”) appears in de La Cuisse as “Les babbillardes” (the babblers). Ibid., the four pages pertaining to leaf 42. 270 several figures of varying lengths that may be reconfigured to build a contradanza for this aria.

This contradanza reconstruction borrows liberally from these two dances of

French origin. Effectively, all figures from “Los muchachos hermosos” have been used either directly or in edited form. The first five figures are used in order from the beginning of the reconstruction (the first, embellished by prescribing floréo steps as the base steps and by turns inserted at the musical cadences). Other figures are interspersed in a different order, in places where they fit the opera’s musical phrasing. The general ideas from some of the figures in “Los petímetres y petímetras” have also been inserted and expanded upon. For this reconstruction a conscious attempt has been made to physically interpret the Spanish notation and instructions for the execution of the French dances. To augment a Spanish quality in the reconstruction, and to honor both Minguet’s and Ferriol’s suggestions about including Spanish steps, I have interposed a section of choreography that utilizes a step found in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Spanish sources.

Additional creative choices highlight or reinforce the opera’s narrative and the aria’s lyrics. First, I chose to reconstruct “En tan reñida cuestión” as a contradanza to showcase, through movement, complexity and the threat of confusion and then resolution, to parallel the difficult decision and the hoped-for resolve sought in the text.

Dancers of both genders help reiterate the idea of duality, yet together they come to a harmonious end. Side-to-side balancé steps are inserted at many of the aria’s cadences to 271 add a physical representation of weighing two sides in the narrative’s judgment and the dichotomous treatment of alternating rhyming lyrics in the libretto.

Contradanza Reconstruction Narrative

Measure one of the Venid, venid deydades aria, “Si en tan reñida cuestión” allows the dancers to take their starting positions in a square set, facing inward, each couple forming a side, the gentlemen on the left of their partners. All dancers take hands, and as is prescribed in Minguet’s “Los muchachos hermosos,” on the first beat of measure two they begin walking, rounding their square into a ring, and walking forward as the circle rotates clockwise. Simple walking may have been customary for this traditional circling at the beginning of contradanzas at balls, but for staged dances, a more choreographed look may have been more seemly. Hence, here we might consider passos de boréa en floréo (three steps on the rise and a bend or plié) instead of walking. Beginning all steps on the same foot when possible throughout the dance may prove expedient. Performing boréas double-time, that is, two boréas to each measure, will ensure that the dancers make a complete revolution in their circle in each direction. Roughly conceived, this corresponds to completing two boréas (one measure of music) to traverse each “side” of the set (though it is actually being rounded). On the first beat of measures three, four, and five, dancers change hands (for visual interest to correspond with the repetition of question-and-response motifs in the melodic phrases of these measures), but continue circling in the same direction until measure six. This is a cadential measure which gives the feel of a conclusion to this six-measure phrase. Here dancers drop hands and each makes a full turn in place, turning outward from the circle, to the left, using one single- 272 time boréa step in that measure (three steps circling on beats one, two and three--and a plié on the fourth beat of the measure). In measures seven through ten dancers walk or perform boréas double time circling in the opposite direction, changing hands at beats one of measures eight, nine, and ten. Measure eleven provides another cadence and dancers perform another full turn by themselves, this time to the right, doing a single boréa step. These single turns provide the possibility to include a gestural reference to blindness—such as the leading arm held over the face so that the dancers turn “blindly,” for example.

In measure twelve, the first vocal measure of the aria (“Si en tan reñida cues-”), the dancers are still as the singer begins to allow attention to focus on him, and to allow the dancers a moment subtly square off their set and to be prepared for the next measures.

For measures thirteen and fourteen I insert figures two and three from “Los muchachos hermosos,” which together comprise eight beats. In these, couples one and three (the couple with their backs to the audience and the couple opposite them) taking hands with their partners, begin a boréa step on beat one of measure thirteen (“-tión”). Continuing as before with double time boréas, they move forward and to their right making an arch with their arms passing over the side couples perpendicularly. The side couples (two and four) are still, meanwhile, and merely raise their joined hands to meet those of the passing couple as they make the arch overhead. Gentlemen one and three briefly take hands in the middle of the set as the couples continue on to occupy the vacated spaces across from where they began, turning so that they are facing into the set again, ladies on the right, gentlemen on the left. Now, adding figures four and five from the same dance 273 for measures fifteen and sixteen, couples two and four repeat this choreography moving to arch over couples one and three, now to the right of them in the set (who meet their raised hands at the top of their arch to form a cross with their arms). Gentlemen two and four briefly take hands in the middle as they go, and these two couples end in each other’s positions, turned again to face into the set. This arching, first by two couples, and then the other two, corresponds to an alternating in words and motif of “no sosiega” and

“antes ciega.”

The next two measures, seventeen and part of eighteen together create a sense of resolve on the words “nuevamente la razón.” This is nice spot for all to perform a balancé sideways, right and left with a conventional brazeo, or arm gesture, for this step—arms placed diagonally forward, and at a 45-degree angle from the body, the palms turning upward (toward the ceiling) on the balancé’s rising step to the right and downward (toward the floor) on its rise to the left. The step to the rise on the right occurs on the second beat of measure seventeen, the plié on that leg, on beat three, the step to the rise on the left on beat four, and the plié on that leg, on beat one of measure eighteen.

The end of measure eighteen (which is not taken up with the balancé) echos the words, “la razón,” and employs an abbreviated version of figure ten from “Los muchachos”—the couples chassé hand-in-hand to the left, ladies cutting inward into the center of the set as the gentlemen mark the four corners. In reality dancers have only enough time for a chassé and a half, and this puts them in an X-formation, all facing the same direction. This is a preparatory figure that precedes a melismatic section that begins in measure nineteen. Measures nineteen, twenty, and part of 21, reprise and 274 extend the “antes ciega” (blinded before) idea. Here the four ladies take right hands in the center (their left hands are holding their partners’ right hands), and they form a cruz de Malta. All take six double-time boréa steps so that their cross rotates clockwise as a unit. It makes a quarter of a rotation in each of the two measures (the ladies’ steps must be very small, as they barely travel, while the gentlemen’s steps cover more distance).

This musical phrase begins to wind down toward the end of measure 21, and here, guided by figure twelve from the dance,370 the ladies drop hands in the middle of the formation, each gives her right hand to her partner’s right. All couples quickly do a half turn and then drop right hands. Ladies continue to turn in the direction they are going and end at the perimeter of the set facing outward as gentlemen advance, also facing outward, to the perimeter of the set on the ladies’ left sides. The couples are now facing outward from the set (their backs to the center). Although there is another musical cadence in measure

22 that would offer the possibility of executing another individual single turn or balancé step, logistically this would be difficult, owing to the speed and momentum with which the dancers are arriving to their positions. A simple placing of the feet together on the final note of the measure (on the end of the word “razón”) will, instead, end the section cleanly, with the positions of the dancers in the set made visible, and will allow the dancers to continue the dance from a sure and balanced position.

To beginning the B section, in measure 23 (“venga la resolu-”), the set breaks from a square into two parallel lines. This is accomplished by the couples one and three

370 The notation for this in figure 12 is somewhat misleading, as it indicates that dancers begin already on the perimeter of the set, even though they must actually perform this figure moving from the cruz de Malta (figure 11) to the perimeter of the set. 275

(who had been splitting center) separating, the gentlemen turning to their left and ladies to their right, to engage their “corners” (the dancers on the sides of the set) in a single right hand turn. They continue from this into measure 24 and begin figure fourteen from

“Los muchachos”--an extended sixteen-beat weaving cadena done in two parallel lines.

The notation and prose are silent on this aspect, but I would advocate that these be performed taking hands with the dancers being passed one-by-one, as this makes obvious the alternating of people passing on one side and the other of each dancer. This interchange mirrors a back-and-forth repetition of words and motif (“del deseo” and “del trofeo”) in measures 24 through 27. The dancers should finish where they began the cadena, in parallel lines, but with the two lines facing one another. For measure 28 and the beginning of 29, as a closing movement, all perform balancé right and left (stepping to a rise on beat two, bending on three, and stepping again on four and bending on beat one of the next measure) with the same brazeo as used previously. The corresponding text being sung is “de la celeste region.”

At this point, I insert Spanish sacudido steps to introduce add Iberian flavor to the dance.371 The dancers, in two facing parallel lines are directly in front of either their partners (for couples one and three), or their “opposites” (the side couples of the set).

The dancers in the stage-left line take three regular passos (steps) forward starting with the right foot, passing upstage of their counterparts in the stage-right line, who

371 The sacudido, as previously mentioned, is employed in Jaque’s Libro de danzar, and is described in Esquivel’s Discursos, and in Minguet’s Breve tratado. Because there are references to this step in different sources and time periods, I assume that the step may have been used widely enough in the Spanish tradition, that it might also have been known in Peru. Its use in the reconstruction adds a non-French element as per Minguet’s and Ferriol’s suggestion of a hybrid French and Spanish nature to these dances. 276 simultaneously cross with them by also stepping right, left, right passing on the downstage side. The third step (in this instance, onto the right foot for all dancers) takes a small plié, and then the dancers turn to the left on that leg to face those they just passed, giving a slight hop to the ball of that right foot, while the other foot, (the left, in this case) is pulled in with a straight leg to the front of the hopping (right) foot and executes a sacudido. The shaken foot (the left) then takes the first step to start the pattern again, but reversing it. The dancers who are now in the stage right line step left, right, left, facing and passing upstage of their partner or opposite who is doing the same, stepping left, right, left, and again crossing downstage of their counterparts. The dancers, thus, follow their own pathways back and forth, and keep their partner or opposite in view.

In setting the dance, I would want to experiment with the attitudes and eye contact between dancers here, as well as with the brazeo for the regular steps and the sacudido.

One option would be to let the arms move naturally during the steps and to oppose the sacudido gesture foot by wrapping the opposite arm in front of the body at waist height and the other arm behind. Keeping in mind that the arms opposing the legs was a strong

French convention, one might experiment with having dancers not oppose, but bring the same arm as leg forward to give the step a non-French.372

The four-beat step, step, step, hop/sacudido pattern, is repeated a total of three times to occupy measures 29, 30 and the first half of 31, and to coincide with the lyrics,

372 My ethnographic study of Spanish baroque dance suggested that this cross-lateral convention may not have been as strong in the seventeenth-century Spanish dances, however I keep in mind that brazeos in the Spanish sources of that period were scarcely mentioned, so in my experience of executing these steps and dances, participants relied heavily on arms that physically felt and intellectually seemed organic. They were also based on how they would facilitate continued movement, and on later conventions, rather than an explicit mention of them in the sources. 277

“del deseo” and the beginning of a melisma that occurs on “del trofeo.” The dancers’ positions are now reversed (those who began this section in the stage left line, are on stage right, and those who started there, are now on the stage left side). From the last sacudido, everyone’s front gesture foot (the left) initiates a three-step full turn in place as has been executed previously (again, perhaps blindly, with face turned in the elbow of the raised, bent left arm). The turn finishes the melisma of measures 29 and 30. The dancers are still in two parallel lines that face one another, and measures 33 and 34 provide a cadence and time for all to balancé right and left (stepping on the rise of the right foot on beat two, bending on that leg on beat three, stepping to the rise of the left foot on four, and bending on that foot on beat one of one of measure 34, and using the same brazeo as before). An echo of that cadence in the end of measure 34 could entice the singer to respond to the dancers’ balancé by executing one himself, as the dancers are still.

The A section of the dance begins again, with a repetition of the beginning instrumental section (which originally provided for the preliminary circling). Measure one is omitted (replaced by measure 35), and the continuing measures (renumbered) through 38, utilize figures six, seven, eight and nine from “Los muchachos.” From two parallel lines, the dancers will realign again into a square set concept (facing inward).

First, however, the ladies boréa into the set and, facing counter-clockwise, they join left hands in the center to form a cruz. With their continuing boréa steps, the cruz makes half of a rotation counter-clockwise (in reality, this is a transitional figure, where there is music enough for dancers to move into the cruz and move it slightly, before they move out of it, toward their indicated corner—the activity hits and moves through positions, 278 rather than enunciating them). Meanwhile, the gentlemen chassé to their right, to mark the right corners of the set. They then do half of a single right hand turn with the ladies emerging from the cruz (these will be the ladies from the couples normally opposite them). The half turn leaves the ladies on the right corners of the set, and the gentlemen boréa into the set and they make a brief left hand cruz and rotate it as they proceed to their next destination, half way around the set from where they started. They break off from the cruz and are met by their partners who are waiting at the opposite right corners, to do a full single right hand turn (the gentlemen actually turn half and end on the ladies’ left, where the ladies execute a full turn, largely in place). Here they utilize measure 39 to complete the turning and to accommodate themselves in their positions. Each couple should end on one side of the set, the ladies on the right, all facing inward. Measure 40 and the first beat of 41 resolve a musical motif, and dancers balancé right and left, stepping on the rise of the right foot on beat two, bending on that leg on beat three, stepping to the rise of the left foot on four, and bending on that foot on beat one of one of measure 41, using the customary brazeo.

At this point, as I have used most of the distinct figures in “Los muchachos hermosos,” I turn to “Los petímetres y petímetras” for figures that can vary the dance and can also move dancers to appropriate positions. I amend the figures in ways that conserve the integrity or look of the figure and that fit within broader set-style contradanza conventions.

The remainder of measure 41 and the next several measures are based on ideas from figures eight and ten from this second dance. The gentlemen move into the set to 279 their right, each make a full turn in front of their partners, and continuing to turn, end facing into the set in the position vacated by the right corner gentleman to him. As neither Minguet nor Ferriol provide explicit guidance as to what Minguet, in the prose narration of the figure, means by the term “pirouetting,” other than turning, I conceive off this as a turn utilizing two boréa steps, the first, beginning with the right foot and turning to the right, turns ¾ of the way around (in front of the lady), and the second, continuing in the same direction, makes a full turn (ending in the indicated position. For measure

42, instead of a four-beat “Rigodon” (a springing step, with the legs gesturing to the sides, done in place) which is called for in the text for the end of that figure, I prescribe a balancé right and left in keeping with our established theme. Throughout this measure the ladies are still. Rather than follow Minguet’s suggestion and have the gentlemen return to the positions in which they began, I stretch the main notion, and have the ladies repeat what the gentlemen did, in the opposite direction. In measure 43 the ladies move into the set, also beginning with the right foot, as the gentlemen did, but making a full turn to the left in front of the gentlemen who now occupy their partners’ original places.

They continue to turn, and end in the positions vacated by their left corner ladies. In measure 44 the ladies balancé right and left (gentlemen are still during measures 43 and

44). In the closing of the phrase, in measure 45 (and first beat of 46), all dancers do a three-step full turn in place, as has been executed previously. This time they turn right

(and again, they might turn their faces turned into the elbow of the raised, bent right arm).

In measure 46 the singer begins again, repeating his part of the A section. As they did in the first iteration of this section of music, the dancers are still as he begins. In 280 order to return the dancers to the positions they held at the beginning of the dance, I continue to build on the characteristic of turning and progressing to new positions inherent in figure eight. In measure 47 the gentlemen repeat what they did in measure 41, continuing to move to their right, making a turn in front of the lady now to their right, and moving to occupy the space left by the next right corner gentleman. This brings each gentleman back to his original position. In measure 48, the gentlemen balancé. The ladies now, in measure 49, continue the same turning scheme to the left. They also end where they began, and in measure 50, the ladies balancé.

In cadence measure 51 the dancers repeat the three step full turn, again to the right, leaning into the raised, bent right arm (“nuevamente la razón”). It would be interesting to experiment with having the singer enter the set as they are ending the turn, and have the dancers stay still as he repeats “la razón” in measure 52. In the next measure, where the last melisma on “antes ciega” begins, the dancers rise (relevé) with their weight on the right foot and turn outward to the left, pausing on the rise, all facing out from the set, before joining hands on beat three and beginning to chassé en mass in a counter-clockwise direction, rounding their set into circle. The dancers chassé thusly, encircling the singer who is in the center of their set, though the melisma which ends with the first half of measure 55. The music allows the dancers enough time to execute eight chassé steps (two to traverse each side of the set, though the set has been rounded) to make one complete rotation and to arrive back in their starting positions. In the second half of measure 55, the dancers drop hands except for their partners’ and squaring off their set again, they step apart from their partners slightly extending their joined arms. In 281 measure 56 each couple performs a “caracol” turn, where the lady turns under the couple’s raised arms (as in figures nine and eleven in “Los petímetres”). Here, the dancers finish the turn facing one another, and on the final note (measure 57) all reverence to their partners—gentlemen extend their outside leg to a point and bend forward at the hips, while ladies, with heels together, bend their knees with their hands held together in front of them. The couple in front must bow deeply enough for the singer, who is in the center of their set, to be seen. Instead of bowing, he might raise his arms heavenward (a gesture to the gods).

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Table 2. Choreography for Contradanza Reconstruction Choreography for Contradanza Reconstruction Musical Measure Dancers rest 1 (Variation on Fig. I “Los muchachos”) Dancers join hands and in a 2 clockwise direction execute eight passos de boréa en floréo (boréas) in a 3 circle beginning with the left foot and in the spot to the left of each dancer’s 4 designated home position. The boréas continue, rounding the set into a 5 circle. Two boréas are used to traverse each (now curved) side of the set. The last boréa will be in the dancer’s designated home position. Dancers drop hands and each perform one half time slow boréa turning 6 single ¾ turn “on themselves” to the left in place. This boréa is half time as compared with the eight previous. Now in a counterclockwise direction, dancers join hands again and execute 7 eight boréas beginning with the right foot in the spot to the right of their 8 beginning places. Going around the circle in the opposite direction, their 9 last boréa will be in their starting positions. 10 They drop hands and each perform one half time slow boréa turning single 11 ¾ turn on themselves to the right in place. All end facing into the set and squaring it off. Dancers rest but take hands, singer begins. 12 (Fig. II “Los muchachos”) Couples 1 and 3, with two boréas moving to 13 their right and forward, to arch over couples 2 and 4 (who are still). (Fig. III “Los muchachos”) As they arch, gentlemen 1 and 3 briefly take 14 hands in the middle of the set. With two more boréas couples 1 and 3 continue and come to rest in the positions opposite their original places (couples 2 and 4 remain still). (Fig. IV “Los muchachos”) Couples 2 and 4, now, with two boréas move 15 to their right and forward, to arch over couples 1 and 3 who are still in their new positions. (Fig. V “Los muchachos”) As they arch, gentlemen 2 and 4 briefly take 16 hands in the middle of the set. With two more boréas couples 2 and 4 continue and come to rest in the positions opposite their original places (couples 1 and 3 remain still). All are facing into the set, hands joined with partners; all balancé right and 17 left (plié, step right in 17 a, “nueva-;” plié, step left in 17 b, “-mente la ra-”).

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Table 2: (continued) (Fig. X “Los muchachos”) The final plié from the balancé falls in this 18 measure, and all chasse into positions for a cruz de Malta: gentlemen head to their left corners as ladies, holding their partner’s right hand with their left, move into the center of the set, extending their right hands to make a star or cross. By the end of this figure dancers from a cross, four peoples abreast with joined, extended arms.

(Fig. XI “Los muchachos”) All execute six quick boréas to make the cross 19 rotate half way around the set (ladies using small steps and gentlemen 20 bigger steps). 21 (Fig. XII “Los muchachos”) Ladies drop right hands, give right hands to 22 partners, all couples do a half arm turn, ladies continuing to turn until all are facing outward from the set in a circle. Couples 1 and 3 split; each of these dancers does a full right hand turn 23 (vuelta) with his/her corner doing boréas, thereby splitting center and concentrating dancers in two parallel lines, both perpendicular to the audience. (Fig. XIV “Los muchachos”) The turn leads right into a cadena or hey in 24 two parallel lines, using boréas, until all come back to beginning spots in the 25 lines, and face the dancers in the other line. 26 27 In two lines facing one another, all balancé right and left (plié, step on “la,” 28 plié on “celes-,” step on “-te,” plié on “reg-”. The two lines of dancers will cross between each other, those in the stage right line crossing downstage of those in the stage left line, and all dancers maintaining eye contact with the dancer opposite him/her. With even timing 29 they take three steps and a sacudido—step right, left, right, turning slightly 30 as they go to continue facing their opposite, and then perform the sacudido 31 (1st with the left foot while rising/springing on the right. Crossing back on the half) same path they step left, right, left, turning as before, and doing a sacudido with the right while rising/springing on the left. And again they cross stepping right, left, right, turning, and perform a sacudido with the right while rising/springing on the left. Each dancer performs a slow boréa turning single in place to the left. 31 (2nd half) 32 In two lines facing one another, all balancé right and left (plié, step on “la,” 33 plié on “celes-,” step on “-te,” plié on “reg-”.

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Table 2: (continued) In this measure, which is an instrumental echo of the last, I would have the 34 singer balancé right and left as if answering the dancers. If this turned out to be impossible or ineffective, I would have those on stage right balance in measure 33 and those on stage left balance in measure 34. (Fig. VI “Los muchachos”) From the parallel lines, the ladies boréa in m. 35 together and do a left hand cruz, as the gentlemen, reasserting the idea of a replaces square set, chasse to the right corner of their side of the set. Ladies rotate m. 1 as their cruz a half revolution to the left using boréas. Gentlemen chasse to A sec places near their corners facing inward and rest. repeats (Fig. VII “Los muchachos”) Gentlemen perform a right hand turn with their Repeat “opposite” ladies (who are nearest them after the ladies’ ½ rotation of their of A sec cruz). This leaves the gentlemen in the interior of the set and the ladies in 2 the positions on the perimeter that the gentlemen had occupied. (Fig. VIII “Los muchachos”) Gentlemen, now taking the ladies’ places in 3 the left hand cruz, continue on with boréas and rotate it another half revolution. The ladies are still at the right corners of the set. (Fig. IX “Los muchachos”) Ladies perform a right hand turn with their 4 partners (who end up nearest them after the gentlemen’s ½ rotation of their cruz). This leaves the gentlemen in the interior of the set and the ladies in the positions on the perimeter that the gentlemen had occupied. Continuing on, couples do a full right hand turn still doing boréas. All end 5 facing inward into the set. All balancé right and left. 6 (Fig. VIII “Los petímetres”) Ladies are still as gentlemen move inward into 7 the set, each in front of his partner, making a turn single to the right before ending in his corner’s position (which has just been vacated). Ladies remain still as gentlemen balancé right and left. 8 (Variation of Fig. VIII “Los petímetres”) Gentlemen are still as ladies move 9 inward into the set, each in front of the corner gent who now occupies her partner’s position. Each lady makes a turn single to the left before ending in her corner lady’s position (which has just been vacated). Gentlemen remain still as ladies balancé right and left. 10 All do a slow boréa turning single –gentlemen turning right and ladies 11 turning left, all ending with a step-together to neaten positions. Dancers rest as singer begins again, as in the first A section. 12 (Variation of Fig. VIII “Los petímetres”) Ladies are still as gentlemen move 13 inward into the set, each in front of the lady now on his right (his corner lady), making a turn single to the right before ending in the position of his original opposite. He will now be in the position opposite his original position. Ladies remain still as gentlemen balancé right and left. 14

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Table 2: (continued) (Variation of Fig. VIII “Los petímetres”) Gentlemen are still as ladies move 15 inward into the set, each in front of the gentleman now to her left. Each lady makes a turn single to the left before ending in her opposite’s original position. She will now be in the position opposite her original starting place. Gentlemen remain still as ladies balancé right and left. 16 All do a slow boréa turning single –gentlemen turning right and ladies 17 turning left, all ending with a step-together to neaten positions. 18 All dancers execute a half turn outward to the left (with the weight on the 19 right foot), pausing on the rise before they begin to chasse in a circle to the 20 left, all taking hands. They make a complete a half rotation doing chasses 21 (1st ending in the places they began the dance, but facing outward from the set. half) Couples keep partners’ hands but drop others. Each dancer takes a 21 (2nd deliberate step sideways away from their partner (gentlemen stepping with half) the left foot, ladies with the right), closing their other foot in. (Fig. XI “Los petímetres”) Ladies turn under their and their partners’ joined 22 arms. All reverence toward partners. 23

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Figure 6. Dance explanation, “Los muchachos hermosos” from Pablo Minguet e Yrol, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española (Madrid: Pablo Minguet, ca. 1762), 11.

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Figure 7. Dance notation, “Los muchachos hermosos,” Minguet, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española, 12.

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Figure 8. Dance explanation, “Los petímetres y petímetras,” Minguet, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española, 9.

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Figure 9. Dance notation, “Los petímetres y petímetras,” Minguet, El noble arte de danzar a la francesa y española, 10.

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Figure 10. First page, Aria, “Si en tan reñida cuestión,” Venid, venid deydades, Fray Esteban Ponce de León (1749). Transcription and performing edition by Samuel Claro, Antología de la música en América del Sur (Santiago: Ediciones de la Universidad de Chile, 1974), 125.

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Figure 11. Second page, Aria, “Si en tan reñida cuestión,” Claro, Antología, 126.

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Figure 12. Third page, Aria, “Si en tan reñida cuestión,” Claro, Antología, 127.

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Reconstruction Findings and Suggestions

In this study I found that it was possible to provide carefully considered, historically informed choreographies for Venid, venid deydades by bringing together information from the archive and the repertoire in a historical dance reconstruction methodology. Documenting procedures and analyzing the resulting information made for a much more self-conscious process than is common in early dance reconstruction for performance alone. Dance for historically informed performance is often conceived by experienced reconstructors, but is sometimes set by choreographers with less reconstruction experience, and sometimes by personnel from music or theater who may have little historical dance or reconstruction experience. Hopefully the documented choreographic reconstruction process this investigation provides will inform readers in all situations.

Based on my findings, I recommend the following guidelines to those embarking on historical dance reconstruction. As was discussed in the Introduction of this study, early pioneers in historical dance reconstruction offered some guidelines of scholarly practices important to this field.373 Historical dance reconstructors tend to adhere to these guidelines, though not formally. For ease of use by the reader, I provide some of those main guidelines below with my own descriptions, explanations, examples, and/or additional recommendations.

373 See, for example, Brainard, “Renaissance Dance,” 336-340; Sparti, “Letter,” https://sdhs.org/sparti- letter-12july2012.; Sparti “What Can Pictures,” 19-22; Wynne and Woodruff, “Reconstruction of a Dance from 1700,” 26-55.

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 Where possible, work from original primary dance sources rather than from

translations. Translations are sometimes made without an awareness about dance

and as such, use common definitions for words, rather than specialized dance

vocabulary. Working with the original wording allows the reconstructor to

translate and seek a variety of opinions on historical terminology as it relates to

dance. Additionally, in using transcriptions there is a risk that data will have been

miscopied. In working with Spanish Baroque dance, it came to my attention that

an available printed transcription of the Jaque source contained omissions from

the earlier manuscript transcription on which it was based. The errors were

significant to the choreographies involved.

 Investigate the dance sources’ creators, their reasons for producing their materials

and their intended audiences. These factors allow the reconstructor to judge the

validity or believability of the source’s information, and sometimes, how well-

known a particular step or its manner of execution might have been. Some of the

most useful primary sources for this study were short books or booklets published

by Pablo Minguet e Yrol.374 Minguet, however, was a publisher and not a

dancing master. He seems to have published this material for a market of

Spaniards interested in learning the (mostly) French dances that were in fashion.

Minguet, then, was likely not a true authority on dancing. Since he relied heavily

on specific French sources by Feuillet, Rameau and de la Cuisse, I referred to

those other sources as a backup for Minguet’s explanations and notation.

374 An example of these publications by Minguet is El noble arte de danzar a la francesa, y española, ca. 1762. 295

Whether or not Minguet was an expert, he was producing dance publications for

sale to the Spanish public. I have tried to consider how his readers might have

interpreted his work.

 Possess kinesthetic familiarity/have training in dance or related forms of

movement. As Spanish treatise writer Ratier suggested, one needs a good model

and practice to achieve perfection.375 As my experience with learning some of the

dances of the Peruvian repertoire illustrated, although I thought I understood some

of the movements from having observed them, it took practice, correction, and

finally being able to correctly reproduce the movement in order to truly

comprehend what their coordination entailed. Reconstructors should practice

movements themselves in order to develop embodied knowledge. Without this

knowledge, the reconstructor cannot hope to convey necessary coordination or

timing to other dancers. A recommendable method to acquire technique is one I

used in working with Peruvian folklor: I worked with two Peruvian dance

companies, though not simultaneously. I watched one in performance and in

rehearsal several times; I participated in rehearsals approximating the movement

as well as I could; and I worked one-on-one with the teacher/dance director,

interviewing him about the dances, asking for verbal descriptions as well as

physical demonstrations of their movements, and requesting corrections as I

attempted to replicate the movement. I was able to videotape this process, which

I found invaluable. I later repeated this process with a different Peruvian dance

375 Ratier, Observacion, 34. 296

group and dance teacher, working on many of the same dances. Here again, I used

the same processes of performance observation, participant observation and

interviewing, and I again made a video record for later reference. With a method

such as this, despite the risk of being confused by subtle differences in style or

execution, the reconstructor generally benefits from watching and hearing things

explained in different ways.

 Understand the music and how it relates to dance forms and steps of the period. It

is imperative for reconstructors to understand how dance steps fit into the musical

structures of the dances. This becomes particularly salient when applying

choreography, even simple step phrases, to music other than the dance’s original

music. This was particularly important when I was setting steps to music in piece

“Si en tan reñida cuestión.” In spite of a seemingly simple duple (4/4) rhythm, a

look at the music showed that in fact the first beat of the measure was a rest, so

that, by ear alone, I was counting the music incorrectly. When measures begin

with rests, reconstructors can consider either waiting a full measure to begin the

dance or dividing musical measures, if possible, to begin steps mid-measure.

Either of these solutions will give the dancers an auditory cue to begin. As part of

understanding the correlation between music and steps, the process of breaking

down steps to describe them according to musical beats, for me, served as an

analysis tool that deepened my understanding of the steps and the figures they

made up.

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 Understand costume/clothing conventions of the period. Because clothing,

including footwear, affects posture and movement, this important facet of the

dance should be considered. As discussed in Chapter Four, in addition to costume

features that might constrain the limbs and torso, sometimes the volume, weight

and drag of clothing affect step execution and timing.

 Understand the cultural/historical contexts of the dances in social and theatrical

contexts. Besides allowing for a more complete idea of the dance’s role and

aesthetics, such contextual information may indicate etiquette, gesture or costume

conventions that would have affected movement or style and might be included.

The archive generally provides important sources for historical contextual

information.

 When working with a particular dance type, study several notated or described

examples of that type, if available, to recognize common conventions such as step

combinations, floor patterns or types of figures. This analysis sometimes results

in recognizing common conventions in a dance type particular to a place and/or

period. In the current investigation, the sheer number of passapies in the Spanish

treatises was noticeable, and the similarity of their step vocabularies to those of

the minuets they present was also noteworthy.

 Where there is an evident connection (contextual and formal) between two dance

styles, consider using sources from other places and/or time periods when faced

with a lack of primary source information. Considering the progeny of styles may

lead the reconstructor to additional related sources. As discussed in my 298

description of Spanish Baroque dance workshops,376 the contextual as well as the

formal connection between the steps of the seventeenth-century Spanish treatises

and late Italian Renaissance works of Caroso and Negri became very clear.

Therefore, lacking floor patterning and spatial directions from the Spanish works,

we turned to the Italians for those aspects of the dances that were missing. Also,

lacking Peruvian sources for choreographic information on dance types known in

both places, I turned to sources from Spain, Peru’s hegemonic authority.

 When using parts of one extant dance to reconstruct another, reconstruct the

original dance with its music beforehand. This gives the reconstructor a thorough

understanding of the choreography and its idiosyncrasies, and also the feel for the

original through its relationship to its music. Before utilizing dance figures and

phrases from selected notated choreographies, I reconstructed the dances in their

entirety with their original music. This gave me a good working knowledge of

the choreography, its problematic and more difficult phrases, its particularly

pleasant phrases (both to dance and to view), and a visual sense of the dances and

their various figures.

 Be prepared to make amendments, “corrections,” or fill in gaps in choreography

even when reconstructing a dance as notated, with its original music. Dance

notations generally provide the most descriptive choreographic material from the

archive, yet they are not always complete or precise, and the reconstructor must

make assumptions about ambiguous places in dances. This was true in the

376 See Chapter Four. 299

reconstructions portions of this study, where turning directions in one

choreography were not indicated, and in another the directional facings given for

the beginning of a figure were inconsistent with what would have been possible

from following the prescribed movement.

Even when the reconstructor proceeds carefully with sound research and conscientious work with dance technique and music, resulting reconstructions will bear his or her personal marks. As an ultimately creative process, the reconstructor’s interpretation of step execution and choreographic judgment about how gaps in information should be filled constitute personal choices that are made based on research and practice, but will not be identical to what a different reconstructor might have done.

In reconstruction, as in dance history generally, scholars’ and practitioners’ assumptions are challenged by others who have different interpretations, sometimes based on different linguistic or kinesthetic understandings or, over time, on additional evidence that comes to light. This questioning and rethinking is indispensable to the study of dance history.

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CONCLUSION

This study investigated dancing in viceregal Peru through a historical and ethnographic process that brought together the archive and the repertoire to design choreographic dance reconstructions appropriate for an extant eighteenth-century

Peruvian seminary opera. The Viceroyalty of Peru, the site of the first European style opera in the Americas, provides intriguing possibilities for research. Experts in related fields have explored some of the few accessible, extant musical scores from Baroque

Latin America. However, information about the danced components of musical theatrical works is critical to staging these musical theatrical works.

This interpretive work deals with the relative absence of dance in recorded history, and demonstrates that, in the case of the 1749 seminary opera Venid, venid deydades, by uniting data from textual as well as embodied sources, we can understand and reconstruct a historically informed idea of its dances. Although dance is often not complete enough in archival texts to permit its accurate direct translation into physical execution, the eighteenth-century European dance archive is descriptive enough that, when considered through physical practice, it allows a surprisingly clear window on dances of the time. In this archive, a combination of precise written explanations, described graphic notation systems and extant choreographic examples of a variety of dance types in dance texts of this period provide an uncommonly deep understanding to the dance historian-reconstructor. I submit that the development of a repertoire of technique is a crucial, yet rarely considered step in a process that allows us to reconstruct dances of the past in a historically informed way. Based on the archive’s direction, 301 training the body to perform a universe of steps and movements in prescribed stylistic ways is fundamental to its ability to interpret dance data into historically informed choreographic products. Further, in the practice of reconstruction, gaps in explicit dance information are filled, sometimes using other applicable texts, and always using the reconstructed repertoire of technique—step vocabulary, theory and rules about the style that the body knows from experience. Where exact choreography from a particular performance occasion is missing from the archive, it may be possible to draw on an array of both documentary and kinesthetic data to reconstruct a semblance of the dance in question and to learn about the context and aesthetics of performances past and the societies from which they sprang.

This study contributes methodologically to early dance reconstruction by providing a rare chronicle of the process, from research, through analysis, to choreographic reconstruction. This research and reconstruction process generated new knowledge about the context of Venid, venid deydades and the dance within it, and also about the more theoretical role of the archive and the repertoire—how they function, and might have functioned historically, beyond Europe. This work also engaged with the concept of disappearance: the absence and apparent disappearance of viceregal-era

European characteristics from the Peruvian repertoire, and the disappearance of Baroque- era dance styles in Europe, such that repertoires of their techniques had to be rebuilt.

This study peruses the question, how we can reconstruct something that has been lost from the repertoire is the central concern of this study? 302

Peru today cherishes its dance tradition, which is rich, varied, and transmitted from one generation to the next almost exclusively via personal kinesthetic means.

Dances of today’s folkloric repertoire contain formal elements representative of the various groups whose worlds collided as a result of the colonial project—native Andeans,

Spaniards and Africans. I had wondered about these diverse groups and their dances, and how they might have affected the aesthetics of dancing on the early opera stage.

There has been little historical dance research into Peru’s viceregal past. I chose to research a case study in early Peruvian opera that attracted me as a scholar active in historically informed performance in early dance reconstruction, and I intended to fill a gap in institutional knowledge about the dancing in Peruvian/Latin American viceregal performance. My objective was to understand the formal elements and aesthetics that the dancing in a work like this would have contained in order to reconstruct a historically informed conception of the dances, and to understand the process that allowed such a reconstruction. I used a historical dance reconstruction methodology that combined historical and ethnographic methods. A co-purpose of this investigation was to make my process in researching and reconstructing these dances intelligible, so that it too could be considered, replicated or altered by others who investigate and reconstruct dances on an embodied, choreographic level.

Problem and Methods

An eighteenth-century Peruvian opera, Fray Esteban Ponce de León’s Venid, venid deydades (1749) was selected for study based on its accessibility, the completeness of its musical score and libretto, and most importantly, its undeniable inclusion of dance 303 music. The original music and singing can be reproduced today, but the work’s dance cannot, as direct evidence of its original choreography is not extant. This study sought to answer the question, how did they dance in this opera, and further, how can we come to a reasoned, historically informed idea of what the dancing was like?

To pursue this line of inquiry I utilized research methods consistent with historical dance reconstruction, which included archival research, interviews, performance observation, participant observation and finally, choreography reconstruction. The archival research exposed me to the nature of religious archives in Peru and indirectly provided the case for this study, through a secondary source performing edition. Textual matter provided important contextual information about Peru and Spain, as well as

European choreographic data upon which I would ultimately base the choreographic reconstructions. The interviews undertaken for this study ranged from discussions with scholars on music and performative activities of the place and period under review to ethnographic interviews with dance and music practitioners that probed cultural understandings and the technical execution associated with Peruvian music and dance.

Performance observation provided a way to apprehend contemporary Peruvian folkloric dancing, whereas participant observation provided an embodied method to study it incisively. Through participant observation, I also investigated the reconstructed repertoire of seventeenth-century Spanish dance style.

These experiences in research allowed me to identify clear differences between these styles of dance and the French style dances that ultimately proved applicable to

Venid, venid deydades. Further participant observation events, where I reconstructed 304 eighteenth-century French dances from notated Spanish sources, fed a deep understanding of the dances’ formal elements and aesthetics, the relationships of steps to music they propose and their notation systems. Last, as a culmination of the above research, I created a minuet and a contradanza to fit the opera’s score and libretto, using choreographic phrases from appropriate extant Spanish notations. This procedure is one commonly followed in reconstructing dance for contemporary performances of early music and opera when no extant dance notation exists for a particular work. For the two selected dances in Venid, venid deydades, I substituted extant phrases of appropriate notated choreography, inserting, where necessary, original choreographic phrases and transitions of what this research has determined to be applicable choreographic convention. The narratives of the choreography reconstruction process are found in the

Chapter Five. Through these varied research methods, the archive and the repertoire are both tapped to reveal a semblance of the opera’s missing dance, and by documenting my procedures I leave a textual trace that is unique in historically informed performance.

Summary of Research and Results

As I collected evidence from diverse types of sources, I slowly built an understanding of the dance aesthetics likely displayed in this opera’s performance. Much of the research described above revealed that Cusco’s Seminary of San Antonio Abad was intrinsically linked to Venid, venid deydades. The opera resides in the Seminary’s archive. It was written in honor of the rector, who had been elevated to Bishop of

Paraguay, and the work was performed in the Seminary’s courtyard. By extrapolating from accounts of like productions, we can surmise that the opera was presented to an 305 audience of ecclesiastical and civic leaders and their families, who were likely mostly

Spaniards and criollo elites. The identities of the performers are less sure, although they may have been young seminarians who were schooled in formal European musical practice. Research suggests that by the mid-eighteenth century, the musical and musical theatrical tastes of the upper class of Spaniards and criollo elites had firmly embraced

Italianate operatic and theatrical elements, along with French dance.377 Venid, venid deydades is an excellent example of this trend—its score contains Italianate features such as recitatives and da capo arias, some of them structured as triple meter French minuets.

Other pieces within the work are rhythmically consistent duple meter dances of the

French court repertoire, such as contredanses or bourrées. To gain a sense the opera’s probable dance aesthetics, I chose to investigate and reconstruct one of the opera’s minuets, and to work with a different dance type, I selected an apt duple meter piece, which I theorize as a contredanse or contradanza, to treat similarly.

Further investigation showed that minuets and contradanzas did in fact have a presence in the archive of eighteenth-century Peru. The dances were mentioned in theatrical works of elite criollo intellectuals—one account citing simultaneous singing and dancing—and were commented upon by clerics, thus indicating that their contemporary audiences would have had an understanding of the dances. Interestingly, evidence shows that toward the end of the eighteenth century these dances had been embraced by those outside of elite circles, and that black and mulatto dancing masters had a hand in promulgating the dances and their social use. The texts, however, offer

377 See Quezada, “La música,” and Estenssoro, Música y sociedad. 306 sparse information about the formal aspects of the dances, and we thus do not know of any stylistic features that any group or individual performers might have imposed on them. As such, the quest for formal dance data led to Spanish sources, which by the mid- eighteenth century featured French dances as the most important for their Spanish readership. These sources provided instruction and choreographies largely for minuets, passapies and contradanzas, many of which can be traced to earlier French sources.

Noteworthy, in spite of the Spanish dance treatise writers’ enthusiasm for the French style, was their oblique suggestion that Spanish steps could be used in French dances.

Minguet, in a few of his publications, offers some information on Spanish dances and steps. Many of the steps he describes also appear in dance sources from a century before.

This leads to the assumption that perhaps little had changed in the execution of Spanish steps in the meantime. Possibly any thirst for innovation on the part of eighteenth- century Spaniards was achieved by incorporating the French style into their dance lexicon. The Spanish and French dance texts offer instruction meant to be followed physically and through this means they convey the formal elements and aesthetics of their dance techniques. The Spanish sources provide the notated choreographic foundations for the minuet and contradanza reconstruction examples for Venid, venid deydades—a process that requires interpreting their information kinesthetically.

Dance is most often appreciated and conveyed physically rather than through texts, and my embodied ethnographic research into contemporary Peruvian folkloric dancing, seventeenth-century Spanish dancing, and eighteenth-century French dancing yielded epistemological knowledge on a bodily level of how to execute and coordinate 307 movements according to the conventions presented. This information, especially in the case of the Peruvian folklor, came intertwined with oral reasoning about cultural history that had also come down through the repertoire. The European dance styles under study had been reconstructed by twentieth-century music and dance historians and practitioners with the aid of the unusually descriptive dance texts of the period.

Peruvian folkloric dancing transmits a sense of the traditional past—most often a vague sense, as recognition of distinct periods through their corresponding formal elements is not an intense concern. The geographical heritage of dances seemed more salient, and coastal, highlands and jungle dances were identifiable by their formal similarities and differences. In the dances I observed and danced, my informants identified the use of an upright torso and open chest was being vestiges of European influence, but there seemed to be relatively little of this posture in the dances overall.

Even in a folkloric version of the contradanza intended to parody Spaniards and their

European practices, appearance and manners, I observed very little movement recognizable as European. In fact, I found few traces of European dancing or dance technique in present day Cusco, and I noted that the dancers with whom I worked taught and learned dances without naming steps, as we do in dance traditions of European derivation. This factor adds a deeper level of consideration to this study, which in part seeks to understand the importance of the repertoire—the nature of information transmission in embodied repertoire systems such as dance is variable. The weak

European presence in current dances is puzzling in view of the other obvious and tangible 308

Spanish influences on Peruvian culture and is likely an example of the tendency of the repertoire to change and evolve, leaving some facets to be lost.

As Spanish dancing was introduced into Peru from the early days of the viceroyalty, I used my participant observation experiences involving Spanish Baroque dance to inform me about to the kinds of aesthetics that were likely reproduced in the

Peru prior to the Bourbon transition of the eighteenth century. Research suggests that in

Spain the Spanish style in dance was not totally eclipsed by the French in the eighteen century, and it perhaps was not in Peru either. Spanish dancing in the seventeenth century had a different step theory and movement vocabulary than the French dancing from a slightly later period, as we know it. The seventeenth-century Spanish style was more akin to the Italian technique recorded in the treatises of the late Renaissance.

Noting these connections prompts reasonable use of the Italian choreographies to guide floor patterns and directions in reconstructing Spanish choreographies, as Spanish texts are moot on these points. Working with this integration of sources in ethnographic experiences was instructive to my later reconstruction procedures by prompting me to consider a broader survey of dance sources than those first apparent. This suggestion may also benefit other reconstructors. In this Spanish style, the importance of maintaining a vertical torso, and keeping legs straight when lifted backward is stressed and is, in the sources, equated with honesty of character. As we have seen, the idea of upright torso carriage in Peruvian dances acknowledged as being a European characteristic is bolstered by this Spanish preoccupation. 309

Although I already had significant experience with the technique and French treatises of the French Noble Style prior to this investigation, analyzing its steps and choreographic features systematically deepened my understandings of these aspects and strengthened my ability to describe their attributes in words. I employed understudied eighteenth-century Spanish texts for contextual as well as choreographic data. By analyzing their contents, notation systems and individual choreographies, and by comparing them to each other and to French dance texts, I drew conclusions about their raison d’être in their historical moment. This process confirmed for me their usefulness as primary sources for this study’s dance reconstructions, and I then translated selected choreographies into movement. Last, I used these choreographies to reconstruct dances for the music of one minuet in Venid, venid deydades and one duple meter piece that I theorized as a contradanza. Several pertinent ideas emerged through using these texts: the information on French dancing in Ferriol’s work is generally consistent with what is contained in Minguet’s works addressing the French style; both authors show a distinct predilection for minuets, passapies and contradanzas, which is incongruous with the

French treatises they emulated; and through reconstructing the dances of the Spanish treatises, I gained sense of the interchangeability of figured minuets and some of the passapies, in terms of musical meter, floor pattern characteristics, and step vocabulary.

Documenting my process for this investigation caused me to explore and value aspects of the process that I had understood tacitly but had not analyzed. When working with notation and/or prose, these points included the types of information that tended to be missing, wrong, or obscured in texts, as well as a menu of possible remedies to these 310 problems. These remedies tend to come from experience with other choreographies of the same type, time period or place.

To build an idea of the type of dancing in this opera, I prepared dance reconstructions as examples. I envisioned the opera’s minuet aria “Bien lo pregona” as a duet for the main character who sings it, Cuzco, and her son, who in reality is not a character in the opera, but the mentioned subject of it, as well as the actual honoree of this celebratory opera. For the aria’s choreography I used nearly every figure of choreography from Minguet’s presentation of the “Passapie de España,” varying their order slightly and adding only a few parts of phrases so that the choreography would fit the music. This particular passapie is in minuet time (3/4) and like passapies, generally, has a step vocabulary typical of figured minuets. This dance, although dignified and refined, is lively, which, through surveying the contents of the Spanish sources, I suspect would have been a Spanish preference. The two dancers perform the same steps in unison exhibiting mirror and axial symmetry. They use straight and curved pathways and sometimes parallel one another and sometimes cross paths and circle one another. A small step vocabulary in this choreography features three compound steps. Two of these highlight the body’s changes of levels—its lowering by bending ankle, knee and hip, and its rising by stepping onto the ball of the foot. The third compound step is a sprung step that has the dancers hop, glide and gently leap, sometimes in the same direction and sometimes close together, but in opposite directions. The tight musical and choreographic phrasing and formulaic symmetry give this dance a calculated, orderly appearance, yet its jumps and partner interaction give it an energetic spark. 311

For an additional, but aesthetically different example of a dance type that the opera might have included, I chose to reconstruct a duple meter dance for a group. The opera’s dance-y duple meter aria, “En tan reñida cuestión,” I reconstructed as a set contradanza for a group. The aria is sung by a narrator who urges that the gods resolve the plot’s main question. Eight dancers (four male-female couples) could either represent the gods or local people awaiting the gods’ decision. Despite the straightforward duple feel of this piece its musical structure required more analysis than had the minuet. For this dance, because of the placement of rests and cadences in the music, measures were divided and step units set to occupy the second half of one measure and the first half of the next. I employed most of the choreographic figures from Minguet’s notated contrandanza, “Los muchachos hermosos,” and a few from another in his source, “Los petímetres y petímetras.” Because of Minguet’s and Ferriol’s suggestions that Spanish steps could be utilized in French style dances, I took the opportunity to insert one figure that I choreographed highlighting a Spanish step, the sacudido, explained by Minguet, and also, in the previous century, by Esquivel. As a contradanza, this dance, rather than demonstrating the execution of steps, per se, emphasizes the interaction of dancers and the constant changes to the look of the set that their synergy causes. The dances’ base step, a locomotor boréa ( floréo) step, is repeated throughout the dance where other steps and features are not called for, and in several instances, a side-to-side balancé step marks cadences, both to give the piece coherence, and to parallel the narrative’s quandary of balancing two sides in a decision. Overall this contradanza adds an element of social 312 interaction to the opera, and a pleasing display of the set’s ever changing symmetrical shapes.

While the formal elements of the dances were taken from the Spanish treatises, some important factors considered and included here were gleaned from the Peruvian archive. Certainly the extant Peruvian score and libretto provided both formal structural and contextual information concerning the opera’s narrative. Additionally, Peruvian sources confirmed that both minuets and contradanzas were employed in theatrical circumstances, which strengthened my decision to use them here. Both types of dances were also social dances, so this reassurance about their use on the stage was welcome.

My reconstructions were also influenced by the evidence I found of simultaneous singing and dancing in theatrical minuets. Had I not encountered this reference, I might have designated dancing only in the instrumental sections of both arias. It should be acknowledged that these references do not constitute proof that simultaneous singing and dancing, or even that use of these dance types on the stage was typical conditions, but rather that there was a likelihood that they did occur. Perhaps future research will more decisively confirm these conventions.

Further Discussion

The most salient finding of this investigation was the discovery that the dancing in this viceregal Peruvian opera was French in style. We have seen that native Andean dance practices would likely not have seeped into this style, and although black dancing masters played an important role in disseminating the style, at least in Lima later in the century, we have no evidence of particular characteristics they might have imparted to it. 313

Interestingly, then, this dancing was neither native Andean, Afro-Peruvian, nor truly

Spanish.

In Peru cultural products associated with Spanish authority were, in fact, negotiating other nationalistic influences.378 This appears to be entirely consistent with tastes and conventions in Spain. The Spaniards and criollo elites of Peru’s official culture seem aligned with Spain in its now more international cultural expressions.

But what effects might amalgamated cultural reproduction have had on maintaining the hegemony and social order devised and claimed by Spain? Did such performances represent to their publics a further Spanish triumph in the ability to appropriate (and

“conquer”) foreign styles, or could it have signaled a weakening in the Spanish brand?

One wonders if a blatantly multicultural (though European) approach to performance might have had the inadvertent effect of demonstrating an erosion of Spanish cultural expression and identity. Criollo intellectuals, as has been noted, looked beyond Spain, frequently to France for Enlightenment philosophy and a sense of aesthetics to go with it.

Perhaps some of the same factors that influenced changes in performance conventions also stimulated the eventual unraveling of the colonial structures in Peru and elsewhere in

Latin America.

As previously mentioned, this French style is absent in Peruvian dance today.

The aesthetics of this highbrow foreign courtly dancing may have lost resonance as Peru

378 Nationalistic associations with form and aesthetics were written about and analyzed in period sources. As an example, Ratier’s Spanish source, Observacion I. sobre el arte de la danza (1759) focuses on different national styles. Estenssoro suggests that defining and labeling characteristics by nationality was an enlightenment-era trend visible in Peru in various notes in the paper Mercurio Peruano. Estenssoro, Música y sociedad, 33-34. 314 transformed from a viceroyalty into a republic, likely for some of the same reasons that it fell from favor in Europe. In former European colonies, a rejection of the practices of the colonial official culture is especially understandable. Although it appears that later

European dances and formal facets of them were embraced, the courtly French noble style was eclipsed.

Limitations and Future Veins of Research

This study successfully determined the probable style, along with formal and aesthetic characteristics for dances in Venid, venid deydades, and traced the research and reconstruction process for two sample dances for the work. However, it faced a final- stage constraint that makes the results a bit less comprehensive than they would otherwise have been. An important limitation in this study was my inability to set the choreographies on dancers for performance, as financial and time realities precluded this.

Completing this step and recording the performed dances on video would provide a visual object to complement this textual presentation. Additionally, the process of setting the choreographies might reveal logistical problems, which, with their subsequent remedies, would constitute important insights about reconstruction.

This investigation focused on the dancing in one circumstance, that of a seminary opera—an expression of the elite viceregal culture. Clearly, there is a considerable rift between this elite seminary fete and the performance contexts of other cultural groups present in the Viceroyalty of Peru in the eighteenth century. The dancing of some of these groups—regional Andean and Afro-Peruvian groups--which has been visited by some anthropologists and ethnomusicologists, has yet to be addressed adequately by 315 dance scholars. With regard to groups other than the official culture tied to Europe, there is a dearth of archival dance information. There is, however, a vast Peruvian repertoire that might be tapped. An additional group whose dances have not been closely considered is the popular class of Spaniards whose dances might be represented in the

Peruvian repertoire as well. Some experts believe commoners might have carried

Peruvian and other New World dance forms like chaconas and zarabandas back to

Europe—dance forms that were first ridiculed in the higher circles, but then refined and heartily appropriated into their repertoire as chaconnes and sarabandes.379 This transmission of dances is the subject of speculation as related source materials are scarce, but it deserves concerted investigation by dance scholars.

To conclude, I began this investigation wondering about the nature of dancing during Peru’s colonial period, and how and where the dance traditions of the various groups of residents were expressed. I had expected that European dance traditions might have been most visible in official and formal situations, but that indigenous, Afro-based and hybrid forms of dancing were also present within colonial culture. The findings of this investigation challenged the notion that styles of the various groups influenced one another in the official ecclesiastical and civil institutions. Instead, I discovered that dance would likely have reflected the French style, possibly influenced by Spanish conventions.

While in various periods during the Viceroyalty dancing by the different groups was

379 Musicologists have conducted some work in this area. Examples include Louise “De Chacona, Zarabanda, y La Púrpura de la Rosa en la Cultura del Perú Colonial.” In Perú en su cultura, ed. Daniel Castillo Durante and Borka Sattler (Ottawa and Lima: PromPeru/University of Ottawa, 2001), 211-223; Also see Maurice Esses, Dance and Instrumental “Diferencias” in Spain during the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, 3 vols (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1994). 316 encouraged and incorporated into official celebrations, groups performed separately from one another—a feature that, with every saint’s day procession or viceroyal entry into the city, reiterated administrative and religious authority over the different groups that the participating dancers represented. In this performance of authority, the display of difference between participating groups was crucial. Further research revealed that

French tastes in culture embraced by Spaniards and criollo elites after the Bourbon ascent extended to French dances such as the minuet and contredanse. In determining the likely aesthetics of dances such as these in Venid, venid deydades, it seems unlikely that they would have been influenced by anything other than European style.

Even though dance is generally transmitted through the repertoire, this period was one in Europe in which the archive has captured dance particularly well—well enough that a repertoire of French dance technique could be rebuilt using the archive. Using the reconstructed technique and additional ideas from the repertoire, as well as notated and verbally described choreographies from the archive, I have created historically informed dances for the opera that reflect a likely semblance to the works’ original dances. They propose the types of formal elements and aesthetics that such a production in a seminary might have had in the mid-eighteenth century.

Although we know that dances of this style were used in ballrooms later in the century, touted especially by Lima’s black dancing masters, except for upright torsos and open chests, virtually nothing of its technique is apparent today in folkloric dancing.

Perhaps, as in Europe, the style fell from favor along with the colonial monarchies. This research, then, replaces a lost facet of Peruvian dance history. 317

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APPENDIX A – SAMPLE DANCE OBSERVATION WORKSHEETS

(GENERAL WORKSHEET) Dance name Location of origin Possible function Original dancers

Number of dancers Gender (# ea) Age range

Tempo/speed

Locomotor?

Movement: Indiv unison canon solos (who) groupings (gender?)

COG, LMA

Level of movement

Repetition?

Floor patterns?

Facings

Dancer interactions

Narrative?

Gestures used

Resolution?

Music: meter, motifs, structure, coincide w/choreog? tempo, dynamics, Instrumentation (original)?

Costumes Props

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(LMA WORKSHEET)

Elements: BODY, EFFORT, SHAPE, SPACE –movement incorp.change in the relationship-

Phrasing- how these elements are patterned & sequenced together-

BODY Breath Core-Distal Head-Tail Upper-Lower Body-Half Cross-Lateral

COG, flexion/extension of trunk, limbs (core-proximal-medial-distal):

Bodily attitude/stances

Active/held body parts

Initiation/follow-through

Sequencing of movement through the body: Simultaneous / Successive / Sequential

EFFORT –dynamic quality, feeling, tone, texture, attitude toward investment of energy Sub-elements: Flow, Weight, Time, Space (effort)

Flow effort -(free: outpouring, fluid, released; bound: controlled, careful, contained)

Weight effort -active(light: airy, delicate, buoyant; strong: powerful, forceful, impactful)

weight sensing

passive (light: weak, wilting, flaccid; heavy: collapse, giving into gravity)

Time effort (inner attitude) -(sustained: leisurely, gradual, lingering; sudden: urgent, quick, staccato)

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Space effort (i.e., attitude, focus) –(indirect: multifocused, flexible, all-around; direct: single focused, lazer-like)

SHAPE Basic forms: linear, elongated (pin) flat (wall) round (ball) twisted, spiral (screw) tetrahedral (pyramid)

Shape flow support: breath-related growing/shrinking

Modes of shape change: Shape flow (self (body) sensing) (self or environmentally-influenced:) Directional movement: spoke-like: arc-like:

Carving:

Shape Qualities –most basic: opening/closing- spatial pulls related to a dimensional matrix in space rising sinking advancing retreating spreading enclosing

Shape Qualities can occur with Modes of Shape Change: e.g., rising while carving retreating w/arcing directional movement

SPACE -size of kinesphere, how the mover moves within, outside and through it

Sm Med Lg

Central –radiating out Peripheral –around the edge Transverse -through

Spatial pulls –where is the movement going in space?

Dimensions: vertical sagittal horizontal

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APPENDIX B – SAMPLE INTERVIEW INSTRUMENTS

(MUSIC-RELATED INSTRUMENT EXAMPLE)

My September 17, 2010 semi-structured interview with musicologist/musician José Quezada Macchiavello, took as its starting point his book about the archive of the Seminary of San Antonio Abad, El legado musical del Cusco barroco (2004).

1 ¿De los varios tipos de villancicos (y me gusta que su libro da descripciones de los varios tipos –rorros, juguetes, xácaras, negrillos, jocosos…) -todos tipos fueron usados en matines…. ¿Piensa que fueron acompañados por bailes?

Of the various types of villancicos (and I really like that your book gives descriptions of the various types!) you mention that all types were used in matins services. [As some have dance rhythms, are named for dances, or are play-related.] -Do you think they were accompanied by dancing?

2 Música de los conventos en el repositorio— ¿Se especulan que entre las piezas “anónimas” pueden ser algunas compuestas por monjas?

Regarding the music of convents in the repository, is there any speculation that among the anonymous pieces, there could be any composed by nuns?

3 En el repositorio del Seminario de San Antonio Abad ¿se puede buscar las piezas por lugar de origen –como por convento ‘tal’—Santa Catalina, por ejemplo?

In the repository you studied, can one search for works by place of origin, such as –those of X convent? --Santa Catalina, for example?

4 Me interesa mucho la nota en Samuel Claro sobre los festejos en 1743 para el Obispo Morcillo, y la comedia Antíoco y Seleuco, y también, la de la tarde de música y bailes den Santa Catalina, y la Madre Augustina de Estanislao y Alegría quien hacía zarzuelas. –¿Exsisten (partituras y/o libretto) en algún lado? ¿Tiene idea de dónde la sacó (su nombre e información) Claro?

I’m very interested in Samuel Claro’s descriptive note about the 1743 festivities for Bishop Morcillo and the production of the comedia Antíoco y Seleuco, but also that about the afternoon of music and dances given in the convent of Santa Catalina, and the Abbess Augustina de Estanislao y Alegría, who composed a zarzuela for the event. Do you know if her works (score and/or libretto) are extant anywhere? Do you have any idea where Claro would have gotten the Abbess’s name and this data? 345

5 ¿Sabe si han producido “Antíoco y Seleuco” contemporaneamente? --¿Sabe si la música figura en la “Antología” de Claro? (Si no, ¿dónde?)

Do you know if there have been modern productions of Antíoco y Seleuco? Do you know if its music is in Claro’s Antología? (If not, where?)

6 ¿Quiénes habrían sido los actores/cantantes originales? –¿gente del seminario? – ¿estudiantes/seminaristas?

Who would the original actors/singers have been? …. Seminary personnel? Student/seminarians?

7 ¿Y el público para una presentación así? –¿Un grupo privado de invitados? ¿La gente común?

And the audience for a presentation like this? --A private group of invited guests? -- Common people?

8 En “Venid, venid deydades,” los papeles de Cuzco y Arequipa son femeninos --con voces tiples, y las letras tratan de la maternidad. ¿Habrían sido mujeres cantantes? -- ¿de un convento?

In Venid, venid deydades, the roles of Cuzco and Arequipa are female….. –with treble voices, and their lyrics are maternal. Would they have been women singers? ….from a convent?

9 Tiene alguna idea acerca de las danzas de esta obra (sabemos que la partitura tiene minuetes, pero tiene algunas ideas sobre las convenciones y estilo de bailar)?

Do you have any ideas about the dances in this piece (we know there are minuets in the score, but any ideas about conventions or style of dancing)?

10 ¿Dónde la habría presentado “Venid, venid deydades”? (-y, nuevamente…..¿La habría sido visto por el público general o un grupo de invitados especiales?).

Where would they have presented Venid, venid deydades? (and again…..would the general public have seen it, or a especially invited group?).

11 Según sus estudios, ¿cuáles lugares ocupaban las mujeres en el teatro – en las comedias, zarzuelas y operas? 346

According to your studies, what place did women occupy in the theater –in the comedias, zarzuelas and operas?

12 ¿Cuáles libros u otras fuentes me recomendaría?

What other books/sources you would recommend for me?

13 ¿Cuál es la mejor manera de buscar y comprar libros? –¿Hay alguna librería específica o casas de imprenta que trabajan en música antigua?

What is the best way to look for and buy related sources? Are there any specific bookstores or publishers that deal in early music?

14 ¿Cuáles archivos considera más útil consultar para fuentes sobre música y danza antigua?

Which archives do you consider most useful to consult for early music and dance sources?

15 ¿Hay individuos que debería consultar sobre este tema?

Are there individuals I should consult about this topic?

Several unplanned questions also resulted from our conversation based on his answers to these and additional related topics we explored. With Prof. Quezada’s permission, I taped our meeting and later transcribed it made notes from it.

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(DANCE-RELATED INSTRUMENT EXAMPLE)

My October 30, 2010 interview with José Luque, director of folkloric dance troupe PERUDANZA focused on dances that I had seen the group rehearse and perform, and about which he had provided me captions from the group’s press kit. I posed these questions about each of the dances. The same template served me when I later interviewed Fabiola Serra, director of the folkloric dance troupe Tusuy Peru on June 25, 2012. Note: --Conversations with both of these dance professionals began and proceeded very informally, as the language here suggests.

¿Cómo/por qué eligieron estas danzas en particular para representar? How/why did you choose to present these dances in particular? (Go through the dances they do one-by-one. Get names/alternative spellings.)

1 ¿Cuál es tu entendimiento sobre el origen y desarrollo de las danzas? What is your understanding of theses dances’ origins and development?

2 ¿En cuáles contextos han sido usadas historicamente? In what contexts have they been used historically?

3 ¿Cómo las ha influido los componentes y la forma de las danzas, el cambio del contexto histórico? How have changing historical contexts affected the formal characteristics of the dances?

4 ¿Cómo reflejaban el estatus social, étnico/racial o de genero de los danzantes, los componentes formales de las danzas? How did the formal characteristics of the dance reflect the social, ethnic, racial status or gender of the dancers?

5 ¿Me cuentas sobre el desarrollo y los significados del vestuario y los apoyos o atrezzos? Can you tell me about the development and meanings of associated costumes and props?

6 ¿Sabes si hay maneras alternativas de bailarlas? Do you know of alternative ways these dances are performed?

7 ¿Cómo son distintas (formalmente) las dstintas versiones? What are the formal differences?

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8 ¿A qué atribuyes las diferencias? To what do you attribute the differences?

9 ¿Sabes si estas danzas fueron documentadas/contadas/anotadas en textos históricos? Do you know if these dances are documented in any way in historical texts?

10 ¿Sabes si estas danzas fueron documentadas/contadas/anotadas en textos contemporaneos? Do you know if these dances are documented in any way in contemporary texts?

11 ¿Cómo aprendiste estas danzas? How did you learn these dances?

In additional sessions with each dance director questions grew more specific and answers often required physical demonstration. With the permission of both, I recorded sessions on video for later transcription/annotation and physical reference.

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