Some call it an equestrian sport with ancient roots in the writings of Xenophon, others call it horsey prancing. Either way dressage – from a French term which vaguely means ‘training’ – certainly proves a novelty when it comes around every four years during the Olympics.
The aim of dressage is to enhance the natural athleticism of a horse, by encouraging the increasingly tame animal to hop about decidedly unnaturally on its hind legs. At peak dressage the horse will respond smoothly to a skilled rider’s minimal aids, which means just a little kicking and whipping.
So ‘aid’ in this sense seems strictly feudal, a duty required in lieu of more punishment, only don’t talk to any of today’s riders about lords or vassals, because some of them if you didn’t know happen to be working class. And when at last the horse has had all the life beat out of it, witness the beauty of the spectacle as it clips and clops, as the pelvis of the rider thrusts towards and away from the rear of the animal, as the beast bows resolutely its bashful face.
There is little that can match the sheer thrill as a piaffe becomes a passage, which for the uninitiated is when a stationary trot starts to take place at something much less than a canter. Judges evaluate each movement on a scale from zero to ten as riders lead their equines across the dressage arena, which to the eyes of the humble layman resembles something of a sand pit.
But what when the horsey refuses to trot? For that is precisely what happened to the once redoubtable Swiss during the team dressage at the Rio Olympics. Though it was turned out finely, with braided mane, polished hooves, and foaming at the bit, the moaning mare did its masters no favours when it came to a halt in the middle of a flying change, and offered a withering look as if to say ‘Give me some hay or I’ll mince no further’.
Recalcitrant in response to the whip, the whinnying nag pouted and bucked during the pirouette, as the forlorn Swiss rider struggled to remain vertical. They had called the horse Jaques-Dalcroze, after the famous Swiss composer, but evidently it had taken the lessons of improvisation and spontaneity too much to heart, and after it baulked at the half-pass and shimmied wantonly off into the Rio sunset, the team retreated to the stables with sorry expressions and a losing percentage.
