Ballet gowns of the Victorian era were usually about mid-calf length, off the shoulder, decorated with flower garlands or satin sashes. They were a mix of feminine, mystery, and effortless flowing beauty—just like their dancing. Ballet costumes typically reveal more of a woman’s body than normal street clothes, whether then or now, but Victorians of course hardly showed anything. For a dancer to have the freedom of movement they needed, their gowns had to be lighter, shorter, and lower on the torso than most of society found acceptable. Of course, that set them apart socially, and ballet dancers were rarely invited into parlors of polite society—aside from asking them to attend as a showpiece, of course.
The dancers also had to create their own costumes, after hours, with their own very small pay. More on their pay later, but believe me, it wasn’t much. In most cases, not even enough to survive. So they stitched late into the night after dancing all day, embellishing with tulle, flowers, or whatever they could find. Often the theaters provided paste jewels to share on performance night to give them a little added flash, but the dancers themselves had to come up with the rest.
After the classical era’s long, heavy gowns that made dancing difficult, the romantic era of ballet brought in lighter costumes with bright colors and suggestive lines meant to astonish and impress. They were vivid and memorable, just like the dancing that was evolving.
Then Marie Taglioni ushered in the age of more modest dress for ballerinas in the 1830s, enchanting audiences with her plain white gowns embellished with nothing but flowers and more natural décor, a gauzy ethereal costume that drew a watcher’s finer nature rather than the baser senses. Dancing took the same turn, featuring more natural floral and woodsy backgrounds instead of perfectly trimmed English gardens. No one believed it would work at first, but she made a name for herself by being unique instead of following trends. We can all learn from that, yes? She captivated audiences and left her mark. Her innocent, white-gowned, almost fairy-like style has shaped ballet into the dance we now know—artistic, graceful, innocent and pure.
In my Victorian theater novel, A Midnight Dance, my dancer was patterned a little after Marie Taglioni, and she ended up with more modest approach all around and took delight in ballet in general rather than being flashy and popular. It was hard going for her, refusing to allow men to help her the way they often did back then—more on that later, too—but taking pure delight in ballet was her best asset in the end. It was the same for Marie.
I tried to capture the sentiment and flavor of the period in this novel, and also with my heroine, but also weave in the real strength and beauty that is ballet through every era, in every costume and in every experience.
The main difference in costumes over time, of course, is the tutu replacing the long skirts, allowing audiences to fully see and appreciate the footwork a ballet dancer carries out in a performance. Besides that, the main difference is that dancers aren’t up all night anymore, piecing together their own gowns!
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