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It is more complicated to know exactly how she performed the other step referred to in the chronicle of her performance,³⁹ the pas de basque. In the absence of a precise description of how the pas de basque was performed, we have to rely on the technical manuals from these days: August Bournonville explained this step in his Études Chorégraphiques;⁴⁰ considering the ballet training received by Bournonville from his father and teacher, Antoine Bournonville, pupil himself of the famous danseur Noverre in France, we can assume that Bournonville’s pas de basque was similar to the movement performed by la Camargo in her professional debut, on May 5, 1726 at the Académie royale de musique.⁴¹ According to Bournonville, to perform the pas de basque the legs are thrown forward during the take-off of the jump, then the dancer must draw –in the vertical plane– successive circles, and conclude when the dancer lands on the floor.⁴² A very spectacular movement when interpreted by a man, and which was widely used by women up to the first part of Romanticism due to the beautiful flight that it created in the skirt of the dancer. However, the pas de basque could cause more than one problem to a dancer who performed it without her safety bloomers⁴³ under the pannier.

What is certain is that the audacity of La Camargo –and some of her contemporaries– in shortening her skirts above the ankles opened up a whole world of technical possibilities for choreographers and dancers, who stopped being mere puppets to their male partners. Their clothing now allowed the audience to see their evolutions on stage because of the greater comfort in the joints of their legs. How much La Camargo shortened the length of her skirts, is difficult to prove; we can calculate, from Lancret’s paintings, that the hems were cut at least 10 centimetres, since in the arabesque⁴⁴ performed by La Camargo the ankle of her supporting leg –Camargo’s right leg– is completely visible and the beginning of the calf appears under the skirt; from the lifted leg –Camargo’s left leg– we can even see the lower part of her knee appearing under the dress, since the flared skirt lifts up together with her leg. Also, by the flounce of what looks like an overskirt or ‘mantua’ (presumably made of fine brocade silk) one can suppose that there was a small turn towards the right, which could correspond to a slight piqué en tournant, which would be linked to another travelling step. This dress design pictured by Lancret was very popular in the fashion of the time: it was open at the front, with an inverted ‘V’ cut shape which showed the petticoat underneath, sometimes equally as decorated or even more than the dress itself. Undoubtedly, the movement of this overskirt was a determining factor so that the choreographer could include slow turning steps that would add light movement to the upper layers of the dress, but not fast enough to let the frills be lifted and show more than strictly necessary.

We should not overlook the fact that at that time the women’s fashion entered fully into the dictatorship of corsets and bodices. Although the most critical point of women’s underwear would be reached almost a century later –when the tightness of the bodice went to unhealthy maximums– a radical aesthetic change was happening in Europe and the new search for a different point of attention in the female body had started: if during the 17^th century the most admired part of the woman had been the bust and fashion emphasized the cleavage, now the attention was focused on the lower half of the body.⁴⁵ In the 18^th century, dresses showed some gathering of the fabric around the waist, which was accentuated by the enormity of the pannier. It seems probable that under the dress worn by La Camargo in Lancret’s oil painting, the dancer wore a strapless bodice as was usual at the time,⁴⁶ barely held by the ribbons that supported both sides of the garment, and would probably be free of the sophisticated and cruel bones –whale bones or stays that, arranged vertically, would give consistency to the bodice, keeping the sides of the woman in a still position– facilitating the inclinations of the torso, characteristic of the choreographies of those days.

Although the neckline and the armhole of the dress do not seem to prevent the rotation of the shoulders, they could surely limit the elevation of the arms, because the fabric –obviously not elastic at the time; the synthetic fibres that would allow the fabric to stretch were not invented yet– does not seem to have the traditional sleeve design of most stage costumes of today. Over the years and as more technical acrobatics were performed to dazzle the audience, stage costume designers started to solve the discomfort of street clothes for dancing. Nowadays, some cutting techniques facilitate the movement of the arms allowing the dancer to raise the arm above the head without lifting up the jacket or bodice, or tugging at the waistline.

Some costume-shops or designers add a small rhombus-shaped piece right at the bottom of the seam between the sleeve and the garment side seam, under the dancer’s armpits.⁴⁷ The technique used in the costume-shop at the Mariinsky Theatre is different, but it also solves the problem: the arch corresponding to the cut of the armpit changes direction in the pattern of the sleeve, so that it has a few extra centimetres of fabric that prevents the jacket from pulling upwards when the arm is raised.⁴⁸ This detail, simple but convenient, facilitates the movement performed by the dancer’s torso, giving greater freedom to the choreographer to incorporate any kind of port de bras⁴⁹ in his/her creation. In the past, part of the seam under the armhole was left open, so the limb could be raised as much as with the rhombus-shaped cut. This technique, however, had the disadvantage of showing the dancer’s own armpit –or the garment they wore underneath, which could be a shirt under the jacket– when he/she moved his/her arm upwards. It seems logical to think that La Camargo would barely raise her arms above her chin, thus maintaining the prudence and modesty that corresponded to the dancing of the time.

2.4 - Sleeve pattern. Drawing by Tatiana Noguinova, Mariinsky Theatre, 2009.

2.5 a & b - Detail of a male stage jacket. Costume-shop at the Mariinsky Theatre, St. Petersburg.

The sleeves of La Camargo’s dress, which we can see follow the usual design of those days –a tightly sewn down sleeve of three quarters length, probably with a false adorned cuff⁵⁰– barely reaching below the elbow, which is then decorated with spectacular ruffles following the fashion of the time. The sleeves could have two or three ruffles made with the dress’s own silk, and were known as the “classic rococo double or triple-sleeve ruffle.”⁵¹ This sleeve significantly beautifies the arms by visually diminishing the size of the hands, as demanded by the canons of feminine beauty of the 18^th century. No doubt the choreographer would have coached the dancer to move her hands with exquisite elegance. The headdress, so light that even Noverre would have approved it,⁵² would also not prevent her from performing fast turns, although there was no specific technique for using the head-spot for pirouettes at that time.⁵³ Our dancer adorns her hair only by wearing a light floral decoration, which brings naturalness and joviality to the image. As a whole, only the skirt would prevent a higher rotation speed for performing turns on the ground or while jumping.

Curiously, despite having passed to posterity as a pioneer in having eliminated the heel from her dance shoes, and wearing ballet shoes similar to what we use today,⁵⁴ in the images we have of La Camargo she is always depicted wearing high heels. In Lancret’s oil paintings, the dancer wears a pair of beautiful shoes, with presumably –if we look at them in detail– 6 centimetres-high heel and made, or lined, with a fabric similar to that of the dress: brocade silk with red ornaments on the tongue. The heel, leaning inwards, would force the dancer to keep her body weight closer on the metatarsals, far from the heels, which in a way would facilitate her quick raising sur la demi-pointe. A poorly trained body, or one not accustomed to standing on this heel, however, increased the risk of a sudden fall backwards, of even losing balance completely. What could be truly uncomfortable in street movements, presented some advantages to the dancer, something that both the performers and the ballet masters would know how to use.

La Camargo’s shoes, light in colour and closed by a beautiful red ribbon –in all the three paintings of her–, also have red heels; a detail that may go unnoticed but it is revealing due to its singularity if we think that it was a very rare feature at the time to chromatically separate the different parts of the footwear. In general, shoes used to be discreetly coloured, and only light or bright shades were used for special occasions and eye-catching dresses.⁵⁵ This would undoubtedly be what La Camargo was looking for: her feet to stand out when she performed on stage. On the other hand, as Linda O’Keeffe points out, “red heels, a symbol of social prestige in 17^th and 18^th century Europe, were worn only by the privileged classes.”⁵⁶ La Camargo, in addition, imposed her own style to the fashion of the moment, to the extent that, for the accessories and complements with its characteristics, the expression “à la Camargo”⁵⁷ was coined.⁵⁸

Although in Lancret’s painting at the National Gallery in Washington, the dancer appears dancing with an unknown couple –at least their names have not reached us– and surrounded by a bucolic country landscape, it is surely a recreation of some of her scenic performances decorated by the pastoral settings that the painter used in most of his works. We find a whole theatrical staging perfectly studied to showcase the main artistic virtues of our dancer, and the choreographer –if not she herself– would take full advantage of it.

It is tempting to compare this image of La Camargo with a later one of Mademoiselle Anne Auretti.⁵⁹ Anne Auretti danced in London between 1742 (Covent Garden) and 1765 (King’s Theatre),⁶⁰ often accompanied by her sister Janneton. There is a print by Gérard Scotin, estimated to have been made approximately during these years, just a few decades later than Lancret’s La Camargo.

When comparing them, several things surprise us: the first and most important is that both dancers are portrayed in almost identical postures; it can almost be said that Auretti has imitated La Camargo in gesture, grace and even in clothing, bearing in mind that her portrait is later: the cut of the dress, the lower folds of the overskirt, the length of the pannier and the design of the sleeves are similar. Scotin has shaded the lower part of the dress, exactly under the gathered layers of the skirt, which makes us understand that the dancer wears a full dress, although slightly shorter than the inner petticoat, and thus reveals the fabric and adornments similar to those of the dress that covers it. The pannier, considerably larger than that of La Camargo, also shows the evolution of the fashion of the time, in which the volumes of women’s dresses were laterally enlarged, making it very difficult for women to move around even in their daily routines. We can suppose that in dancing, it would be so much more so, and that dancing as a couple would become quite complicated.

But apart from the size of the pannier, between the portrait of La Camargo and that of Mlle Auretti there are two other obvious differences, when it comes to the wardrobe. One is the design of the neckline of Auretti, much more open and daring⁶¹ as we will see in the prints; the other important difference can be seen when comparing the shoes of both dancers. Auretti’s heel is considerably shorter, would probably not reach 4cm in height, and the front of the shoe is lower, and is adorned with a buckle.

The fact that in a few decades the size of the pannier in dancers’ dresses –and with it the total weight of the dress– had increased, and the lowering of the necklines, could indicate that most of the jumped steps would have been removed from the choreographies. Perhaps we could consider this as a relapse in the technical gender equality on stage. To the contrary, however, the lowering of the heels and the front of the shoes would have facilitated the raising on demi pointe, since it would have also facilitated the flexion of the metatarsals. Although it is true that a lower heel requires more muscular strength and physical preparation to ascend to the relevé⁶² than a high heel –in which the body weight, as said before, is placed closer to the toes–, we should consider that it also facilitates the flexion of the knee needed to achieve a relevé. We can assume that the dances performed by Mlle Auretti had less proportion of jumping steps than La Camargo’s, but more rising sur la demi pointe and steps performed on her toes. Likewise, the fact that the pannier had enlarged, particularly towards the sides of the body, would prevent the dancer from lifting her legs behind the body –in the sagittal plane– because the legs would collide with the internal structure of the pannier. And so it is, at least in the images we have from both dancers: while La Camargo clearly shows a small arabesque, Auretti performs the movement of her left leg in front of her body; the eloquence of both images is unequivocal.

2.6 - Mademoiselle Auretti. Print by Louis Gérard Scotin, around 1745-55.

The sleeves of Anne Auretti’s dress are similar to those seen in Lancret’s paintings of La Camargo –rococo triple sleeve–, and their torsos are placed in similar positions in both images; the hands are shown in an apparently relaxed and slightly curved position favoured by the design itself of the sleeve, as if the costume suggested the hands to be less important than the rest of the arm. Auretti’s head, with her hair carefully untidy at the back of her neck, holds an upright position, emphasised by the choker necklace. Moreover, the position of her head highlights the attitude of the dancer, who looks directly at the viewer, as if challenging him, with a light smile that can barely be interpreted from the social perspective of our days… Is she flirting, seducing, or simply showing her charms and the joy of her dancing? However, La Camargo seems to be isolated from the viewer; she is dancing only for her partner and for their own surroundings. Both these dancers are reflecting the importance achieved by the light coloured costumes of the couple that seem to attract the light of the country scene. It is difficult to prove –we will have to leave it as a hypothesis– if it was the artistic choice of the painters by picturing their costumes in pastel tones –light blue, peach, silver grey, pink, light green– that undoubtedly emphasized their charms. The paintings of Watteau, Boucher or Lancret himself, seem to say that the pomposity of the bronze colours of the beginning of the baroque had been banished from dance.⁶³ Now the tendency is on lightness, perhaps even frivolity, before the warm gas light of Romanticism reached the stage.

The decades that preceded Romanticism were of decisive importance in the subsequent development of stage dancing; the end of the Baroque and Rococo were times when dancers and choreographers were constantly experimenting with the novelties that the ever-changing costumes brought. However, Marie Sallé –La Camargo’s rival– would go one step further in terms of the costumes she wore, and consequently, the way the dancers after her will move on stage.

Marie Sallé (1707-1756) shared decades of success with La Camargo, although it is very likely that they never met together on the same stage. Not only because Sallé spent almost her entire career in London –the two dancers only coincided in Paris in 1727, and for a short time⁶⁴– but also because their ways of understanding and interpreting dance were very different from each other, mostly in the visual and plastic sense of their performances. Marie Sallé, a kind of Isadora Duncan⁶⁵ of the 18^th century, had the audacity to appear on stage without wearing pannier, corset or wig… and we don’t really know what her real attire was, since she apparently only wore a light robe of muslin rolled up around her body as if it were a Greek tunic.⁶⁶ The presence of a woman whose body was glimpsed through the subtle layers of gauze had no erotic interpretation, quite the contrary: her clothing was intended to appear as a symbol to free the dancers from unnecessary props, which neither facilitated their movement, nor adequately characterized them for the characters they played, who were often masqueraded according to the fashion of the moment. It does seem evident however, that Sallé was the earthly counterpoint to the mystical Camargo, as would later happen with the pairing of dancers Fanny Elssler, the pagan, and Maria Taglioni, the spiritual.⁶⁷ Unfortunately, there are no real references to how Marie Sallé danced –what steps she performed and how exactly she performed them– and the preserved paintings of her do not convey everything we would have liked to know about the dancer. Portrayed by Louis-Michel van Loo (1707-1771), we see a beautiful woman sitting on a rococo chair in a classical, light dress that in no way reminds us of what La Camargo must have worn on stage. Our attention is drawn to the light veil that adorns her head, a pendant of soft muslin that perhaps suggests the light tunics that covered her body on stage,⁶⁸ a subtle reference made by the way she skilfully holds it. Chazin-Bennahum quotes some lines from the newspaper Le Mercure de France in 1734, which refer to Sallé on stage “without panniers, without a skirt, without a corset, without any ornaments on her head… in a simple muslin robe draped in the style of a Greek tunic.”⁶⁹ It was almost how she was portrayed by van Loo.

2.7 - Portrait de Mademoiselle Sallé. Oil on canvas by Louis-Michel van Loo, 1737. Painting recovered at the end of the Second World War… (please see ‘Figures: location and credits’).

But Sallé, says Chazin-Bannahum, had another audacity on stage: she appeared in transvestite in the ballet Les Caractères de l’Amour, playing Cupid.⁷⁰ Marie Sallé unified the technique of La Camargo, with her own boldness and the growing artistic openness in the narrow morality of the time; dance teachers were able, in a period of just a few years, to make the most of the recent incorporations which emerged throughout the 18^th century. The great dance revolutionary Georges Noverre (1727-1810), who at the age of 17 had met Sallé, quickly understood the lesson and knew how to use the new artistic trends. His famous Lettres sur la danse et sur les ballets⁷¹ are a compendium of the great advances that will crystallize in the scenic dance during the following century. Noverre’s commitment to the absence of masks in the story-telling ballets,⁷² the need for lighter costumes that would allow greater mobility for the dancers,⁷³ or his public defense of the capacity of dance to represent the passions, emotions and complexity of the stage drama by itself,⁷⁴ meant a considerable qualitative and quantitative leap for the ballet.⁷⁵ Suddenly, we find images of dancers wearing lighter clothes, exhibiting bodies that we perceive as instruments capable of performing technical prodigies unconceivable until then; from that moment forward, masters and choreographers would tend to seek, principally, new positions to impress the public and reveal the physical faculties of the dancers.

The life of Noverre continues being a territory little explored⁷⁶ and of his choreographies, we barely have registered their titles and their categories according to the differentiation of genres of the time: ballet tragique, héroï-pantomime, ballet anacréontique, petit ballet en action, ballet pastoral, ballet en action… However, his written work has been republished in multiple languages and admired by choreographers of all ages;⁷⁷ his Lettres sur la danse et les arts imitateurs are a complete treatise on what the creation and performance of the dancing spectacle in the 18^th century entailed, ranging from references to dance in antiquity to a complete enumeration of the virtues and defects of the dancers who were active during those years. Noverre dedicates almost half of the pages to the qualities and formation that both the dancer and the maître de ballet⁷⁸ must have. From them, there are two specific letters referring to “The Expression of the face; inconvenience of masks”⁷⁹ and “Costumes.”⁸⁰ Noverre complained, justifiably, of how dance was very disadvantaged in its intervention in operas and although it justified in some way the negligence in the meticulousness of these complex scenic artifices in favour of the spectacularity of the productions, he defended the need not to be carried away by this sumptuousness and to bring some precision to the stagings of ballets.⁸¹ The usual uniform in ballet was the core of his attacks: “Variety and truth in costume are as rare as in music, ballets, and simple dance. Stubbornness is equal in all parts of the Opéra […]. Greek, Roman, Shepherd, Hunter, Warrior, Faun […], all the clothes of these characters are cut on the same pattern, and differ only in colour and embellishment.”⁸² He complained about the use of tonnelets⁸³ (puffed underware made of rigid fabric) and defended costumes that are “simple and lightweight, contrasted by colours, and distributed in such a way that the dancer’s figure⁸⁴ is not revealed.”⁸⁵ When he focuses on the dancers’ costumes, his criticism becomes even more bitter, since street fashion, perhaps a little quirky in his opinion, had reached the stage: “The Opéra has long been regarded as a school of good taste, the costume was observed, actresses and dancers, above all, dress elegantly […]. Everything has changed, Sir, the Opera, from being a model to being a copy of the women of the city […], changing shape and costume every month […] by a whim that is without precedence, they have left their hair, this magnificent ornament that nature has placed on their heads to crown their forehead and serve as a tiara to beauty. This simple and noble ornament was replaced for some time by ridiculous wigs. Women, who are brown today, are blond the next day […]. These wigs have passed from the city to the Opéra. The inhabitants of Paris who adopted these extravagant masquerades are today Titus, the next day Caracalla, and the day after Brutus. The Opéra took the costume of the day, and dedicated themselves to all the possible wigs.”⁸⁶ He also openly criticized the use of masks on stage:⁸⁷ “It is, as you know, Sir, on the face of man, that passions are imprinted, that the movements and affections of the soul are unfolded…,” he would explain, in defence of the visibility of the dancers’ faces.⁸⁸ “Those who love masks, who are attached to them out of habit, and who would believe that art degenerates if the yoke of the old Opera sections is shaken, will say, to allow for their bad taste, that there are characters in the theatre that require masks; such as the Furies, the Tritons, the Winds, the Fauns, etc. This objection is ridiculous; it is based on a prejudice that is as easy to fight, as it is to destroy. I will prove first that the masks used for these kinds of characters are poorly modelled, poorly painted, and that they have no credibility [to what they represent]; second, that it is easy to render these characters with truth without any external help.”⁸⁹

2.8 - M. Deshayes et M. d’Egville dans le Ballet Pantomime d’Achille et Déidamie. Lithograph by Villers Huët, hand-coloured, 1804.

The image of the dancers André Jean-Jacques Deshayes (1777- 1846) and James Harvey d’Egville (ca. 1770-1836) in a hand-coloured lithograph of Villiers Huët printed by Antoine Cardon in 1804, is a clear example of dance without artifice –nor tricks– and also of the capacity –to which we referred above– of the new dancers to perform technical prodigies hitherto unthinkable.⁹⁰ In a pastoral surrounding, and wearing clothes according to the characters that represent the Ballet Pantomime d’Achiles et Deidamie –composed by D’Egville himself– the dancers perform a daring and acrobatic elevated position: D’Egville lifts Deshayes, supporting him by the hands. Deshayes, who rests his body weight on the left hip of his partner, looks desultory over his shoulder. D’Egville, wearing a short Grecian tunic girded with a buckled belt, covers his back with a leopard skin which maintains the silhouette of the animal. The naked shoulders, the bare torso and the effort of the dancer/athlete are evident in a porté that undoubtedly dazzled the public at the time.

Although already in some court dances small portés were performed, as in the case of the galliard –in this instance called volté due to the simultaneous travelling and turning action⁹¹–, these movements would not tread the stages again until the 18^th century, so they were forgotten for almost a century. Perhaps there were moral causes that limited the use of these steps in which the man lifted the woman, but there was also the safety of the dancer involved; Thoinot Arbeau, pseudonym of Jehan Tabourot, advised about returning the woman to the ground when he supposed that his partner might feel unstable: “…whatever good composure she may show, her brain shaken, full of dizziness and head in whirlwinds, and you didn’t feel better.” On the other hand, to correctly perform the dancer’s lift, the author indicated that the man should place his right hand on the woman’s back and his left hand under the bust, pushing her up with his right thigh, which he should place under her buttock. Certainly, this was just barely on the edge of the decorum of the time.⁹²

With the new times, the simplicity of the new wardrobe, the attractive physical exhibition of the artist and the heroic arguments they choreographed, led to the development of the true technical acrobatics for both individuals and couples. On the other hand, the new Hellenic-inspired tunics also enhanced the exquisite femininity of the dancers, who could now show their well-formed limbs without shame, while their movements exuded simplicity and ease.

In the lithograph by Hüet, the young Deshayes in transvestite as Deidamia wears a tunic/dress that only covers his body above the knees; loose from below the chest, made of a fabric that barely flutters from where it is gathered in the upper part, in spite of being cut like a cape, with biased fabric. Dressed in light green, we see a light, simple and well formed dancer, as shown by his gently toned calves and his thin but fibrous arms. A strong contrast to the image we see of Mr. D’Egville, in a dark blue tunic and a cape whose interior –blood red– brings nearly ferocity to his portrait; thick curly hair and beard add exoticism and some savage touches. In the meantime, Deshayes, with his blond hair gathered at the nape of his neck, looks passive despite the acrobatics he is performing.

The dancers Deshayes and D’Egville do coincide in their footwear:⁹³ Grecian sandals, tied around the ankle with crossed ribbons that allow the total vision of their bare feet inside; feet that seem to be willing to perform –without any obstacles imposed by oppressive footwear– any and all the steps that the choreographer imagined, no matter how demanding they were. In addition, this new kind of footwear offered a new sense of balance because the dancers could flex their toes more easily while raising to the relevé.⁹⁴

Especially revealing is the leg that Deshayes lifts backwards in an incipient arabesque, or more probably, an attitude allongé. In the search for new positions for dancers who for the first time could elevate their legs, the choreographers explored in images that –by aesthetic proximity– could inspire them the most: the sculptures of ancient Greece (hence the name sometimes used to define this era is Neoclassicism). The word “attitude” refers to the position in which the dancer lifts a flexed leg behind his back. It soon began to be used for jumps and turns, and by the mid-19^th century the attitude devant (when the leg is lifted in front of the body) was born as a new position. The attitude was first established by the Italian Carlo Blasis in his Traité élémentaire, théorique et pratique de l’art de la danse,⁹⁵ but it is evident that it was already used prior to this. Inspired by Giambologna’s famous Mercury sculpture,⁹⁶ Blasis coded this leg position to which he added new names, depending on how the torso was placed.

2.9 - Mercurio volante. Bronze sculpture by Giambologna, 1580.

2.10 - Arabesque à la lyre. Drawing by Casartelli for Blasis, Traité élémentaire… 1820.

Shortly thereafter, as ballet training improved, the arabesque began to rise. How high the leg lifted behind the back would reach –without corsets that would prevent women from flexing the spine– is difficult to know, but studying the illustrations of Blasis’ work, we find a quite significant drawing. In this image,⁹⁷ a couple –again in Grecian costumes– perform the arabesque that Blasis defined as à la lyre precisely because of the instrument the male dancer holds in his hands; he could also have called it à la flèche or something similar, since the female dancer has a bow in her hands and a quiver with arrows on her back. In any case, we see how the costume –in this case, a stage prop– inspired not only the creation of a new step of dance technique, but also influenced its future denomination. On the other hand, the dancer’s tunic simulates a neckline that would leave a breast uncovered, something very unlikely in reality. Although it has already been said that for some time the necklines of women’s street dresses showed the bust, they were only used sporadically and in acts of social importance; never, or very rarely, in live performances on stage.

When observing this image, any modern dancer is surprised to see the correction and perfection these figures show in their arabesques: their supporting legs are fully extended, with solid knees and the relevés well placed, consequence of a technique purified to the extreme; their backs are erect, maintaining the leg to the appropriate height and showing a pointed foot that presents a correct turn of ankle similar to the one that any ballet master of today would demand of his/her students. Perhaps the artist who captured this image was well acquainted with ballet technique⁹⁸ or the images were created under the supervision of Blasis –who served as a model showing each position himself– to depict the most perfect arabesque imaginable. It could also be that the absence of clothes that disguised any placement defect forced the dancers of the time to perform the arabesques with exquisite precision, while a few decades later –under the spell of the gas light– the artists preferred a dreamlike image of the dancer flying to a solid and correct position, technically speaking. In any case, the arabesque, now wrapped in the muslin layers of the tutu, became a perfect symbol of the flight of ethereal creatures that will fill the stages during the Romanticism.

1 vid. MCGOWAN, “Ballet de Cour / 1560-1670,” and CHRISTOUT, “id. / 1643-1685,” in International Encyclopedia of Dance…, 1998.

2 vid. AU, Ballet and Modern Dance… 1988, pp. 13-16.

3 BLAND-PERCIVAL, Men Dancing… 1984, p. 11.

4 Literally “The Sun King”; vid. fig. 2.1 - The image on the left shows one of the costumes used by Louis XIV, depicted as Le Roi Soleil. We can see that the adornments from his footwear, the heaviness of the jacket or his over decorated headdress made of feathers, would hardly allow him to perform complicated jumps or sophisticated steps.

5 AU, Ballet and Modern Dance…, p. 18.

6 MCGOWAN, “Ballet Comique de la Royne, Le,” in International Encyclopedia of Dance…

7 ESTEBAN, Ballet… 1993, p. 38.

8 Balthasar de Beaujoyeleux (1500?-1587), whose real name was Baldassare de Belgiojoso, was a violinist, composer, dance teacher and choreographer who worked under Catherine de Medici and participated in the artistic education of her children. Vid. “Balthazar de Beaujoyeulx,” in Encyclopædia Britannica… 2016.

9 Accuracy on proportions and inventiveness were most remarkable among his many talents; cfr. MCGOWAN, “Beaujoyeulx, Balthazar de,” in International Encyclopedia of Dance…

10 MATAMOROS, Augusto Bournonville… 2008, p. 168.

11 ESTEBAN, Ballet…, p. 40.

12 Ibid, p. 45.

13 GUEST, Le Ballet de l’Opéra… 1976, transl., p. 7.

14 To the early treatises by Domenico da Piacenza (ca. 1440-50), Antonio Cornazano (1455) and Guglielmo Ebreo (1463) –vid. refs. infra, chap. 8, nt. 106–, we should add, in the 16^th century, the remarkable Fabritio Caroso, Il Ballarino…Venice, Francesco Ziletti, from 1581 (vid. Bibliography).

15 Cesare Negri (1535-1605), Italian master and choreographer. Some scholars attribute to him the codification of the 5 basic feet positions, although Pierre Rameau names Pierre Beauchamp as the real inventor; cfr. [RAMEAU], Le Maître a danser… 1725, pp. 9-22.

16 NEGRI, Nuove inventioni… 1604, Regola XXXVII, pp. 78-79.

17 fig. 2.2 - This engraving in Nuove inventioni di balli by Negri is the first reference to what in the future will be the barre work. The dancer, using a table and a chair to keep his balance “appoggiandosi con le mani à qualche cosa, che sia commoda” (leaning with his hands on to something that is comfortable), practices the movements that he will have to perform later without support.

18 LAVER, The Concise History… 1969, augm. 1982, p. 91.

19 PRATT-WOOLLEY, Shoes… 1999, p. 16.

20 Although the specific idea of audience was not forged until the 18^th century in Europe, with the rise of the bourgeoisie first and the idea of democratising access to culture later, it became one of the fundamental ingredients in artistic production; contemplation, appreciation, the privileged meeting between the spectator and the artist during the performance…, are elements that have gradually modified the process of artistic creation. cfr. JIMÉNEZ, Teoría del Arte… 2010, pp. 144-155.

21 AU, Ballet and Modern Dance…, p. 23.

22 At the Louvre Gallery, with libretto by Isaac de Bensérade and music by Jean- Baptiste Lully, with the collaboration of Beauchamp and Dolivet for the dance airs; vid. BENSERADE, Ballet Royal de l’Impatience… 1661. For further discussion, cfr. CHRISTOUT, “Benserade, Isaac de,” in International Encyclopedia of Dance…

23 FOLLIOT, “Le costume comme support…”, 1997, p. 19.

24 She did, according to Mlle Poisson, “remarkable capers, because we could see her legs and part of her thighs, by means of her skirt, split on both sides, with silk stockings attached at the top of a small panty”; apud WITKOWSKI - NASS, Le nu au théâtre… 1909, p. 57.

25 With music by Pierre Beauchamp, also author of the choreography, and Jean-Baptiste Lully, premiered at the Château de Vaux-le-Vicomte on August 17, and shortly after performed in Paris (November 4) at the Théâtre du Palais-Royal. There is a publication dated one year later: Les Fâcheux. Comédie de I.B.P. Molière… 1662.

26 vid. infra, chap. 3.

27 fig. 2.3 - The fame of La Camargo made Lancret portray her in a gallant festive atmosphere, performing the steps that made her famous.

28 GUEST, The Romantic Ballet… 1966, reed., p. 17.

29 As reported by his sister, Bronislava Nijinska; apud ACOCELLA, “Nijinsky, Vaslav,” in International Encyclopedia of Dance… 1998. About Nijinsky dancer, vid. infra, chap. 3 and chap. 12.

30 vid. infra, fig. 3.11.

31 GUEST, The Romantic Ballet…, p. 12.

32 Choreography by Françoise Prévost, music by Jean-Ferry Rebel. It is a suite of solo dances premiered by Prévost herself at L'Opéra in Paris in 1714. After preparing it with La Camargo 1726, she would take it up again three years later, in 1729, with Marie Sallé.

33 FOLLIOT, “Le costume comme support…,” p. 19.

34 In addition to the above-mentioned painting [fig. 2.3], from the National Gallery of Art in Washington, at least two other different versions of the same work, with a similar title: Mademoiselle de Camargo dancing; one at The Wallace Collection in London and the other at the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. In these other two, La Camargo appears without any accompanying dancer, and flanked only by musicians.

35 They clearly show the volume of the pannier, the movement of the overskirt and the low-cut shoe that allows the raising of the foot sur la demi pointe.

36 Literally, “basket,” the name it received because it was generally made of wicker rods.

37 LAVER, The Concise History of Costume…, p. 130.

38 Literally, “in the neck of the foot,” referring to the ankle.

39 vid. supra, chap. 2.

40 BOURNONVILLE, Études Chorégraphiques… 1848-61, K.A. Jürgensen & F. Falcone (eds.) 2005, p. 271. There are three handwritten versions of the Bournonville Études, dated 1848, 1855 and 1861, respectively; the 1848 version is very focused on the historical and aesthetic analysis of dance, the 1855 version gives priority to the technical part of the choreographic annotation, and the 1861 version is more pedagogical and didactic; Jürgensen explains it in the cited edition, which gathers the three originals.

41 cfr. DACIER, “‘Les Caractères de la Danse’. Histoire…”, 1905, p. 324.

42 MATAMOROS, Augusto Bournonville…, p. 188.

43 A garment designed to prevent inconvenient parts of their anatomy from being exposed; vid. infra, chap. 3.

44 Position in which the dancer lifts one of the legs behind the body; we assume this is the gesture depicted in the painting; we can see in the figs. 2.8 and 2.10 different ways of executing it.

45 WILLET-CUNNINGTON, The History of Underclothes… 1992, pp. 70-71.

46 SALLEN, Corsets. Historical Patterns… 2008, p. 11.

47 MATAMOROS, Danza-Cuerpo. Diálogo… 2008, p. 5.

48 fig. 2.4 - Above, stage sleeve pattern; below, dotted, the standard sleeve cut; on the right, the extra part of fabric that is added to the sleeve; it is sometimes called “shield” because of its original rhomboidal shape, although it is sometimes designed as a curved extra piece of fabric. Also figs. 2.5 (a & b) - Details of a male stage jacket. On the left, movement of a sleeve to which an extra piece has been added under the armpit, whose pattern is reproduced in the previous figure (2.4). On the right, way in which the movement of the same sleeve would be limited without the extra fabric.

49 Literally, “arm movement.”

50 ECHARRI-SAN MIGUEL, Vestuario teatral… 1998, reed., p. 109.

51 HART-NORTH, Historical Fashion in Detail… 1998, p. 90.

52 In addition to those already commented about choreographic creation, another of the reforms of the great Noverre was, as we have already advanced, to free the dancers from the great wigs and masks that hindered their work; the dance will find itself closer and closer to achieving an adequate technical and artistic interpretation; vid. chap. 2.

53 BRUHN-MOORE, Bournonville and Ballet Technique… 1961, reed., p. 42.

54 A recognition so widespread that we find it even in didactic or divulging publications; e.g. HASKELL, Prelude to Ballet… 1936, transl. & augm., ¿Qué es el ballet?… 1973, p. 31.

55 PRATT-WOOLLEY, Shoes…, p. 40.

56 O`KEEFFE, Shoes: A Celebration… 1996, p. 79.

57 Camargo style.

58 “Dresses, hats, shoes, fans, all accessories are made and worn ‘Camargo style’”; PUIG CLARAMUNT, Guía técnica, sumario… 1944, reed., p. 16.

59 fig. 2.6 - Anne Auretti's posture is very similar to that of La Camargo in Lancret’s oils. The cut of the dress, the lower folds of the overskirt, the length of the pannier and the design of the sleeves are also similar. The pannier, considerably larger than that of La Camargo, shows the evolution of the fashion of the time.

60 “Auretti, Anne,” in HIGHFILL-BURNIM-LANGHANS, A Biographical Dictionary of Actors…, 1973, and SCHNEIDER, Index to the London Stage… 1979.

61 vid. infra, chap. 3.

62 Literally “elevated”; standing on toes.

63 KIRSTEIN, Fifty Ballet Masterworks… 1984, p. 35.

64 CHRISTOUT, Le Ballet Occidental… 1995, p. 44.

65 Isadora Duncan (1878-1927) revolutionized the dance world with her choreographies, that were free from any kind of academic technique; she was also the first performer to dance barefoot on stage. vid. infra, chap. 9, “Isadora…”

66 CHRISTOUT, Le Merveilleux et le ‘théâtre du silence’… 1965, p. 95.

67 CHRISTOUT, Le Ballet Occidental…, p. 45.

68 fig. 2.7 - The fine fabrics that cover Marie Sallé's body, free of pannier and corset, allow the viewer’s eye to guess the dancer’s shapes, and make her comfortable to dance.

69 CHAZIN-BENNAHUM, The lure of perfection… 2004, p. 44.

70 Ibid., p. 45.

71 Compendium of essays, each in the form of a letter, which Noverre published in various editions –adding new letters, but also sometimes deleting others– between 1760 and 1807. In our study we will use –and quote for it– the last edition published during his life since it is significantly the most complete: Lettres sur les Arts Imitateurs en général, et sur la Danse en particulier… 1807, in 2 vols. The comparison, in addition, of the same letter in diverse editions, clearly shows a more categorical and precise stance of Noverre in his last revision.

72 NOVERRE, Lettres…, ed. cit., vol. 1, pp. 313-319, 326-334 & 336-337 (Let. XXIII, “De l’Expression de la figure ; inconvénient des Masques”).

73 Ibid., vol. 1, pp. 304-310 (Let. XXII, “Des Ballets d’Opéra”).

74 “The Ballet Master –he already writes in the Preface– leaping beyond the limits of the material of his art, seeks in these same passions the movements and gestures that characterize them; and, by linking the steps, gestures and expression of the figure to the feelings he wants to express, he finds in the combination of all these means the one to achieve the most astonishing effects. We know how far the ancient Pantomimes pushed the art of moving by gesture”…, Ibid., p. IX; see also vol. 1, Let. I (“Origine et Progrès des Arts Imitateurs”), pp. 15-27, Let. VI (“Des Spectacles des Anciens, et sur-tout de la Pantomime”), pp. 91-99, Let. IX (“Renaissance de l’Art de la Danse”), pp. 124-134.

75 CHRISTOUT, Le Ballet Occidental…, p. 49.

76 Perhaps his most complete biography is the one written by a non-direct descendant of him: Charles-Edwin NOVERRE, The life and Works of the Chevalier… 1882.

77 The Lettres sur la danse by Bournonville [cit. supra, chap. 1, nt. 6] follow, for example, the structure and models of those by Noverre.

78 At the time, ballet master, choreographer and general manager of casts and choice of repertoire entrusted to him.

79 cit. supra, nt. 72, ed. cit., vol. 1, pp. 313-348.

80 “Des costumes,” Let. XXVI of the cit. ed. [the numbering of letters, not only the number of them, varies from edition to edition], vol. 1, pp. 372-387.

81 “The opera is only made for the eyes and ears; it is less the spectacle of the heart and reason, than that of variety and amusement. However, it could be given a more interesting form and character […] I would simply say that the dance, in this show, should be placed in a more advantageous day. I will only argue that opera is its element, that it is there that art should take on new strength, and appear with most advantage; but, by a misfortune born of the stubbornness of poets, or the clumsiness of ballet masters, the dance in this performance is meaningless and says nothing; it is, in a thousand circumstances, so unrelated to the subject, and so independent of the drama, that it can be suppressed, without altering the interest, without interrupting the progress of the scenes, and without cooling their action.” NOVERRE, ed. cit., vol. 1, pp. 273-274.

82 Ibid., p. 304.

83 “What can we say about these tonnelets […], which in certain positions of the dance, placed the hip on the shoulder, so to speak, eclipsing all its contours[?].” Ibid., pp. 305-306.

84 The word used by Noverre is “taille.”

85 NOVERRE, ed. cit., vol. 1, p. 306.

86 Ibid., pp. 373-375.

87 For further discussion, see MCCORMICK, “Mask and Makeup / European Traditions,” in International Encyclopedia of Dance…

88 Ibid., p. 313.

89 Ibid., pp. 316-317.

90 fig. 2.8 - Deshayes and D’Egville show here an acrobatic position of great difficulty at the time.

91 HORST, Pre-classic Dance Forms… 1937, p. 22.

92 [TABOUROT], Orchésographie… 1589, pp. 63v-65v. The revis. & augment. ed. of 1596 had the significant subtitle of “Method and Theory… to learn to dance, to play the drum in all kinds & diversity of drums, to play the sistrum and arigot… To be welcomed in all joyful companionship and to show its dexterity and agility of body.”

93 Note that similar footwear is also worn by the two dancers of the engraving of pl. XIV, from Carlo Blasis’ Traité élémentaire…, included in this chapter [fig. 2.10].

94 FOLLIOT, “Le costume comme support…,” p. 23.

95 BLASIS, Traité élémentaire… 1820, planche IX.

96 fig. 2.9 - Mercurio volante, 1580.

97 fig. 2.10 - The main interest of this image is in the position of the dancers; we see that the height of legs and the angles of inclination in the arms of both are identical, in a very perfected pose.

98 “The illustrations are drawn by Mr. Casartelli, and engraved by Mr. Rados,” is noted by Blasis himself in explaining to the reader his choice of clear and precise figures rather than “a long and tiring description of the movements.” BLASIS, Traité…, p. 16. About Casartelli’s drawings, cfr. PAPPACENA, Il rinnovamento della danza… 2009, chap. 1, “I disegni di Casartelli e gli schemi geometrici.”