through trial and error, how to perform the proper steps.
Monsieur Noverre stood before me, quite naturally, with his legs together “
en parallel
,” and bent his knees ever so slightly. Although his torso was completely erect, as if he had been laced into a corset with a long busk down the center, he pitched forward just a bit and rose up to a
demi-pointe
so that his weight was on the balls of his feet.
“
Maintenant, regardez-moi
—now watch me,” he said, and began to shuffle forward in tiny, graceful steps, moving very quickly—an unbroken series of infinitesimal
pas de bourrées
. “You will notice, Madame Antonia, that my heels remain slightly raised, hovering just above the floor, while the rest of my foot never leaves the ground.” It was the most comical movement I had ever seen.
I endeavored to imitate his stance, but when I glanced in the mirror, I looked a lot more like Königen, our spaniel bitch, rightafter she’d done her business and was trying to avoid soiling her haunches.
“Almost,” said Monsieur Noverre diplomatically. He demonstrated the proper position again. “One does not squat, although one always keeps the knees bent and soft. Imagine that there are tiny wheels on the soles of your slippers. Have you ever seen a magician perform an illusion?” he asked me, and before I could reply, added, “You think you are seeing one thing, but your eyes are deceiving you. That is the Versailles Glide. No single step should be discernable. In fact, it should not look like steps at all. The woman must seem to
float
an inch or two in the air. And when it is done correctly, the beholder can only exclaim, ‘It is surely done by magic!’ ”
While the glide
looked
relatively simple, it was not at all easy to perform with any degree of grace. In fact it was rather fatiguing, and after only a few minutes my legs were aching from trying to balance on the balls of my feet while struggling to keep my heels from touching the parquet. To my astonishment I discovered that I could not take the gliding part for granted. I stumbled when I shuffled with my right foot and the sole of my slipper momentarily stuck to the floor, causing me to lose my balance.
“You mustn’t expect to master the movement in a single day,” Monsieur Noverre said encouragingly. “It takes some courtiers years to perfect it.”
“But I don’t have years,” I protested. After righting myself, I continued to practice the Versailles Glide until I began to feel more confident and my footwork became smoother. I could only imagine that with the necessary accoutrements in addition to the underpinnings—including an enormously wide skirt with a weighted hem that would increase the illusion of gliding and would mask my feet from view—it wouldn’t look quite so silly.
I was mistaken.
The
grands paniers
finally arrived and I retired to an anteroom where Liesl, one of my maidservants, helped me dress. But first I had to remove my bodice and overskirt so that she could fasten the cumbersome cages about my waist—“hen baskets,” we sometimes called them because they resembled the ones that peasant women would balance on their hips when they went to market. After Liesl tied the cotton tapes, the lower half of my body claimed an expanse of more than six feet; I was far wider than I was tall! Getting through a doorway would require a dainty sidestep; descending, or clambering into, a carriage would be a feat of uncommon dexterity, even though the hoops were made to collapse. I imagined that two hundred years earlier, when queens had dwarves to entertain them the way we played nowadays with our lapdogs, the little people might have hidden beneath the panniers and shocked everyone by emerging and beginning to juggle or tumble when no one expected it—like during Mass!
But these underpinnings, while ungainly, were relatively weightless; and without the voluminous court dresses worn over them, it would be impossible for me to fully
Monsieur Noverre stood before me, quite naturally, with his legs together “
en parallel
,” and bent his knees ever so slightly. Although his torso was completely erect, as if he had been laced into a corset with a long busk down the center, he pitched forward just a bit and rose up to a
demi-pointe
so that his weight was on the balls of his feet.
“
Maintenant, regardez-moi
—now watch me,” he said, and began to shuffle forward in tiny, graceful steps, moving very quickly—an unbroken series of infinitesimal
pas de bourrées
. “You will notice, Madame Antonia, that my heels remain slightly raised, hovering just above the floor, while the rest of my foot never leaves the ground.” It was the most comical movement I had ever seen.
I endeavored to imitate his stance, but when I glanced in the mirror, I looked a lot more like Königen, our spaniel bitch, rightafter she’d done her business and was trying to avoid soiling her haunches.
“Almost,” said Monsieur Noverre diplomatically. He demonstrated the proper position again. “One does not squat, although one always keeps the knees bent and soft. Imagine that there are tiny wheels on the soles of your slippers. Have you ever seen a magician perform an illusion?” he asked me, and before I could reply, added, “You think you are seeing one thing, but your eyes are deceiving you. That is the Versailles Glide. No single step should be discernable. In fact, it should not look like steps at all. The woman must seem to
float
an inch or two in the air. And when it is done correctly, the beholder can only exclaim, ‘It is surely done by magic!’ ”
While the glide
looked
relatively simple, it was not at all easy to perform with any degree of grace. In fact it was rather fatiguing, and after only a few minutes my legs were aching from trying to balance on the balls of my feet while struggling to keep my heels from touching the parquet. To my astonishment I discovered that I could not take the gliding part for granted. I stumbled when I shuffled with my right foot and the sole of my slipper momentarily stuck to the floor, causing me to lose my balance.
“You mustn’t expect to master the movement in a single day,” Monsieur Noverre said encouragingly. “It takes some courtiers years to perfect it.”
“But I don’t have years,” I protested. After righting myself, I continued to practice the Versailles Glide until I began to feel more confident and my footwork became smoother. I could only imagine that with the necessary accoutrements in addition to the underpinnings—including an enormously wide skirt with a weighted hem that would increase the illusion of gliding and would mask my feet from view—it wouldn’t look quite so silly.
I was mistaken.
The
grands paniers
finally arrived and I retired to an anteroom where Liesl, one of my maidservants, helped me dress. But first I had to remove my bodice and overskirt so that she could fasten the cumbersome cages about my waist—“hen baskets,” we sometimes called them because they resembled the ones that peasant women would balance on their hips when they went to market. After Liesl tied the cotton tapes, the lower half of my body claimed an expanse of more than six feet; I was far wider than I was tall! Getting through a doorway would require a dainty sidestep; descending, or clambering into, a carriage would be a feat of uncommon dexterity, even though the hoops were made to collapse. I imagined that two hundred years earlier, when queens had dwarves to entertain them the way we played nowadays with our lapdogs, the little people might have hidden beneath the panniers and shocked everyone by emerging and beginning to juggle or tumble when no one expected it—like during Mass!
But these underpinnings, while ungainly, were relatively weightless; and without the voluminous court dresses worn over them, it would be impossible for me to fully
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