Paris Where You Are

Paris as Pilgrimage

A few months back, dance historian Jennifer Homans was making the rounds of all NPR-like media outlets promoting her impressive history of ballet, Apollo's Angels  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/28/books/review/Bentley-t.html. For several weeks, the book was everywhere.  I caught one of the radio interviews in which I learned that the greatest and most influential ballerina of all time was Marie Taglioni, a dancer of the mid-nineteenth century whose career was primarily with the Paris Opera Ballet.  Her most important contribution was the refinement of en pointe dancing for women (men were the pioneers of the style).  Wikipedia reports that in 1842, "at the height of the cult of the ballerina, a pair of her pointe shoes were sold for two hundred rubles, reportedly to be cooked, served with a sauce and eaten by a group of balletomanes." (Ever seen the term "balletomane" before?  Me neither.)

In the interview, Homans mentioned that a pair of Taglioni's shoes are available for viewing in the library of the Paris Opera (chapter 4, footnote 5).  As soon as those words were uttered, I knew I had to see those shoes. I knew I must make a pilgrimage to the opera's library. Here are my reasons.

For a couple of years, I was a community columnist for the Fort Worth Star Telegram.  Writers from the community submitted sample columns and thirteen of us were chosen to write a column once a quarter.  My first column, and I believe one of my best, was about my ballet teacher, Lillian Zoll, who was persuaded by a group of Jewish patrons of the arts to come to the Missouri Ozarks and teach ballet in the 1950s.  

Honestly, I know very little about ballet. (I took lessons from ages three to seven.  I don't remember all that much.)  I've only been to a few performances in my entire life.  And yet I regard ballet as the quintessential art form.  If Rome is the Holy City of Roman Catholicism, then Paris is the holy city of ballet, and Marie Taglioni's point shoes are worthy objects of adoration.  I want to see them on my next trip to Paris (probably in the fall).

So I'm going to contact the Bibliotheque de l'Opera de Paris and see if the shoes are permanently on view or if I have to make a special request to see them.  I'll let you know what I find out.  Wish me "Bonne Chance!"

 

 

The Awakening

Nearly two years ago (June 3, 2009) to be exact, I wrote my first blog post and Paris Where You Are was born. Its purpose was to keep me (and others) in touch with our inner Paris.

Then a few weeks later, after a nostalgic trip to Kansas City where I did most of my undergraduate work, I sent a "friend request" to Bill Canavan. Calling him my "college sweetheart" is a polite way (Bill would call it a "vanilla" way) of describing our relationship. Also being new to Facebook, it took him more than a month to respond, but when he did . . . oo la la! So there has been a "do not disturb" sign on my hotel doorknob since . . . well, since August of 2009.

This morning, I've awakened from my languid and lazy slumber! My other beloved (the Weekend edition of the Wall Street Journal) awakened me with a review of two new books about Paris. One is about daytrips by train from Paris (Paris to the Past: Traveling through French History by Train) and the other is a collection of short stories centering on Paris Metro stations (Paris Metro Tales), which I will buy today!

As many of you know, on my first trip to Paris, I was robbed at the Arc de Triomph metro station and was only able to return to the US because a hotel clerk loaned me 100 euros. That incident (and Nora Ephron's "I Feel Bad about My Neck") inspired one of the most satisfying writing experiences I've ever had. Call me sick, the worse Paris treats me the more I love it.