A time for Spain.

If memory serves--and the service seems not always so reliable these days--it was Lincoln Kirstein who first suggested that ballet's center, or at least its center of gravity, moved around. At one time it might be France or Italy (where classic ballet certainly started); at another Denmark, Russia, England, or the United States. And, yes, it does appear to be at least sort of true. Wondrous variables--a choreographer here, a teacher there, or just a shift of cultural fashion almost anywhere--and a boom or boomlet makes its apparently unexpected but, usually, totally explicable, appearance. But Spain? I think the presence of Spain as a major player in the world of classic ballet would have astonished even Kirstein.

Yet, yet, yet--for some years now the Hispanic classic dancer has been moving to center stage. First, perhaps, it was Cuba--with the redoubtable Alicia Alonso producing the National Ballet of Cuba, and then the school and the dancers to sustain it, some of whom, such as Jose Manuel Carreno and Carlos Acosta, are developing international careers. Then there was Argentina. Remember the Ballet of the Teatro Colon in Buenos Aires? Fokine, Massine, and Balanchine, among many others, have worked there. Indeed, Balanchine created a work there. Among the dancers who became internationally known are ballerina Olga Ferri (a magnificent Giselle) and, more recently, Maximiliano Guerra and, of course, Julio Bocca.

But Spain itself, the mother country? In fairness, the very words, dance and Spain, provide an instant connection, conjuring up images of flouncy skirts, staccato tapping feet, caves and cafes, castanets and scowls--the image, in fact, of flamenco. And, yes, flamenco is still doing very nicely in Spain, not least with tourists.

But what took me to Madrid recently was not the prospect of torrid Gypsy dances or Carmen-like passion but, in fact, a search for classicism. It was not a search unprompted by reason. Once one never thought of classic ballet in conjunction with Spain, even though Madrid and Barcelona in particular were popular touring destinations for companies, from the Diaghilev Ballets Russes onward. Audiences were obviously there; only the dancers seemed to be missing.

Then something strange happened. Here and there classical dancers started to appear. Victor Ullate, born in Zaragoza, studied with Maria de Avila in Spain and Rosella Hightower in France, and, after dancing with Antonio for a few years, joined Maurice Bejart's Ballet of the 20th Century, where he became a star. Much later Spanish ballerina Trinidad Sevillano (a dancer somewhat like Gelsey Kirkland, perhaps in more ways than one) caused a stir, first with English National Ballet and then briefly as a guest artist with Britain's Royal Ballet. In recent years a whole new generation of Spanish dancers has emerged. In American Ballet Theatre one of its brightest stars is Angel Corella, while another young Spaniard, the brilliant Joaquin de Luz, has just been appointed soloist. In London, English National Ballet only last summer gave the leading role in its new production of Romeo and Juliet at the Royal Albert Hall to its freshly appointed Spanish ballerina, Tamara Rojo.

These three dancers have one thing in common: a teacher, fifty-one-year-old Ullate. Returning to Spain in 1979 at the behest of the Spanish government, Ullate now has a thriving school and a large company, Ballet de la Comunidad de Madrid, usually known as Ballet Ullate. The company has already been to New York City and returns to City Center this fall with, among other offerings, Ullate's new production of that dear old nineteenth-century Russian warhorse Don Quixote. Catching a couple of performances in the company's new home, Madrid's magnificent, newly refurbished, virtually reconstructed opera house, the Teatro Real, I was struck first by the fact that Ullate's version maintains all the traditional Petipa-Gorsky choreographic bits and pieces made familiar by recent productions of the Bolshoi, the Kirov, and later Western versions.

However, in Madrid at least--it may, I suppose, be changed for New York City--Don Quixote is longer than most (it ran a full three hours) and offers unusual touches. For example, the role of Cupid in the Vision Scene, usually given to a soubrette ballerina, is here, for the first time, choreographed for a male dancer. It's a good idea--after all, the most superficial anatomical examination of any good Cupid painting will establish his gender, and the presence of a virtuoso male dancer in the sea of womanhood is structurally beneficial. And not only have the dances for the matador, Espada, and his girlfriend, Mercedes, been considerably expanded (most of the music sounds authentically umpty-tumpty Minkus), but in the Gypsy dances in Act II and in the opening of the final wedding scene, Spanish guitar music, both gitano and court, is also introduced to bring a well-blended air of Hispanic authenticity to these Russian festivities. In the same spirit, the dancers are permitted the occasional shout of "Ole!" here and there.

Virtually any moment now New York City will have its own opportunity to judge this new/old Don Quixote. What particularly interested me were the dancers. Corella and de Luz are not, it seems, alone. This is a terrific young company--men and women alike. Watch out particularly for Rut Miro, Carlos Lopez, Eduardo Lao, Ana Noya, and young Carlos Pinillos, the male Cupid, plus a whole group of young women in Petipa's classic variations. So why in Spain? Why now? I can only believe that the reason is primarily Ullate himself. He has become one of the world's great ballet teachers.

Seeing him in action over a few days, either giving company class or working with his gifted students at his school, made me realize that dancers like Corella are not just flashes in the pan. Ullate's pedagogic methods are somewhat unusual. He paces round the class rather like the late Stanley Williams (one of Ullate's idols), but where Williams seemed to teach almost by osmosis, Ullate is more like Houston's Ben Stevenson, constantly working and correcting. What is special is the enormous emphasis he puts on placement--starting with an unusually long, varied, and taxing barre, where balance and pirouettes are developed. The main classwork appears to be concentrated on this barre, with the center work being offered almost in the nature of a reward. It works. Just look at these dancers. From a Spain that is no longer just the home of flamenco.

Clive Barnes is a senior editor of Dance Magazine.