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Magic Ballerina 1-6. Darcey Bussell
Читать онлайн.Название Magic Ballerina 1-6
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780007513543
Автор произведения Darcey Bussell
Жанр Детская проза
Издательство HarperCollins
Magic Ballerina: Delphie and the Birthday Show
Prologue
1. In Class
2. New Shoes
3. King Rat’s Mischief
4. The Forest Fairies
5. Stolen Shoes
6. True Love
7. A New Beginning
Epilogue
Darcey’s Magical Masterclass
Welcome to the world of Enchantia!
I have always loved to dance. The captivating music and wonderful stories of ballet are so inspiring. So come with me and let’s follow Delphie on her magical adventures in Enchantia, where the stories of dance will take you on a very special journey.
p.s Look at the end of each story to learn a special dance step from me …
In the soft, pale light, the girl stood with her head bent and her hands held lightly in front of her. There was a moment’s silence and then the first notes of the music began. For as long as the girl could remember music had seemed to tell her of another world – a magical, exciting world – that lay far, far away. She always felt if she could just close her eyes and lose herself, then she would get there. Maybe this time. As the music swirled inside her, she swept her arms above her head, rose on to her toes and began to dance …
Delphie hurried home, her breath freezing in the snowy night air. The houses on either side of the road had their curtains drawn – all apart from one – a big double-fronted house with iron railings and a gate. Two stone steps led up to the door and light streamed out of the windows. As the snowflakes landed softly on Delphie’s shoulders, she looked longingly at the brass plate, just as she had for the last four weeks since it had been open: Madame Zarakova’s School of Ballet.
A car drew up outside and two girls jumped out. They were about nine – the same age as Delphie – and had their hair tied back in neat buns.
“Come on, we’re going to be late!” one of them called as they ran through the gate and opened the front door. “Madame Za-Za will go mad!”
For a moment, Delphie caught sight of a long wide hallway with white walls and wooden floors before the heavy door banged shut behind them.
Delphie felt a wave of longing so strong it hurt. She wanted to be inside the ballet school about to have a dance lesson. She was ballet-mad but her parents had always put her off having lessons.
“Maybe when you’re a bit older,” her mum had said, kissing Delphie’s long dark hair. “The nearest dance school is on the other side of town. It’s too far to take you every week.”
But Delphie hadn’t been put off. She had borrowed books from the library and practised ballet exercises almost every day.
And she danced all the time – in the house, in the garden, she wasn’t even embarrassed to dance on the street! She loved the feeling of spinning, moving, jumping. It was hard to explain but, although she had never had any lessons, inside she just felt like she knew what it was like to be a real ballerina.
And now Madame Zarakova’s ballet school had opened on the very street she lived. But even that hadn’t helped her. Delphie did understand. After all, money was quite tight in their house.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Mrs Durand, Delphie’s mum, had sighed. “We just can’t afford to send you there.”
Standing by the railings now, Delphie could now hear the faint sounds of a piano tinkling and, through the branches, she could see light from the big windows falling into the front garden. Shivering she pulled her coat closer around her as she looked over the railings.
The music and lights seemed to be calling her nearer. Slipping through the gate, she crept over to the house, peering in through the window. The room inside was large with mirrors on each of the four walls. Eight girls, all about the same age, were holding lightly to the barre, a wooden pole that was fixed around the wall of the room. They were all dressed in pink leotards with a ribbon round their waists, pale socks and satin ballet shoes with ribbons crossed neatly round their ankles.
They were gracefully bending and straightening their knees out over their toes.
“Pliés,” Delphie sighed longingly, recognising them from one of her books. Oh, if only she could be in there with them.
Madame Za-Za was walking around the room, talking to the girls and correcting a leg position here, an arm position there. She held her own body erect and her grey-streaked brown hair was pulled back in a bun. As Delphie watched, the girls began a different exercise, pointing their toes and sliding their legs to the back, front and side. Battements tendu, thought Delphie. All the girls looked good but there was one dark-haired girl who looked very graceful and seemed to find everything very easy.
Next the girls began sliding the foot that was furthest from the barre and lifting it off the floor, stretching out as far as they could and holding their free arm out to the side.
Delphie couldn’t resist. She began to join in.
Holding on to the windowsill, she performed the movement in time