Dearest readers,
Welcome back to another enthralling journey through time, here on Pink Tutu! This month, we’re waltzing our way back to the glorious year 1833, landing right on April 4th. Magic Meg, my trusty pink-sparkling shire horse with golden hooves, snorted with excitement as we arrived in London, and oh my, what a sight awaited us!
I had always envisioned the early 1800s as a time of lace, ruffles, and dainty frocks – and indeed, it was! However, London pulsed with a vibrancy that defied the seemingly quiet elegance. The cobblestone streets bustled with carriages and gentlemen in top hats, and the air vibrated with the music spilling out of grand concert halls.
But why this particular date, you ask? Well, darling, April 4th, 1833, saw the very first performance of the beloved "La Sylphide", a ballet by the French choreographer August Bournonville! I squealed with delight, for this enchanting work is a ballet near and dear to my heart – a story of a sylph (an ethereal forest spirit) who falls in love with a mortal, and a captivating testament to the beauty and fragility of true love.
Now, I must confess, in the late 19th century, "La Sylphide" was deemed scandalous! Shocking, I know! Imagine, the sylph actually dies at the end – gasp! Imagine! But back in 1833, it was revolutionary. This tale of forbidden love resonated with audiences then, just as it does now.
I managed to sneak into the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, wearing my very own pink tutu, naturally! (A tad bit daring, even for 1833, but darling, a pink tutu makes anything seem delightful!) Inside, the audience was in raptures as the beautiful and delicate Sylphide took flight. I even managed to purchase a small hand-drawn poster of the performance. (Darling, it now resides nestled in my ballet history rucksack alongside a tattered book of dance notation!)
Later, I rode Magic Meg around the streets of London, basking in the excitement of a ballet-loving era. The carriage I saw parked near Covent Garden (how grand it seemed!) bore a plaque: "The King's Theatre." A ballet performance that evening! Alas, my schedule would not allow for a visit – but, darling, think of the ballet dancers, pirouetting for King William IV!
As always, fashion was an irresistible pursuit in 1833! Oh, my dears, I am head over heels with the lavish gowns, the intricate lace, and the delicate slippers, just begging to be worn by our feet. Imagine – wearing a dress in a pastel shade with a silken sash around your waist, topped with a feathery bonnet and a pair of dainty gloves, and finishing the look with a graceful waltz around the ballroom! Perfection, simply perfection!
Oh, and you simply must have noticed those bonnets, don’t you, darling? A kaleidoscope of ribbons, flowers, and delicate lace, atop a structure that seemed designed to defy gravity! It's truly a time for romantic flourishes, a delicate elegance that I could simply lose myself in.
Of course, this adventure wasn’t all about pretty dresses and grand theatres. It was the thrill of stepping into a time that embraced the ballet with open arms. A time that viewed it as both art and entertainment – a dance that filled the halls of opulent theatres, danced by ballerinas with silk stockings and shimmering gowns. A time where the whispers of history mixed with the twirls of the dancers, an elegant and fascinating symphony!
I spent the afternoon soaking in the atmosphere of London, and yes, darling, you guessed it! I had to add a touch of pink! The bustling, multi-hued streets had no pink in sight, not a blush of rose, a touch of coral, not a hint of fuchsia. My eyes swept over the scene, landing on a merchant selling colorful fabrics – and in his little corner of London, I found a bolt of blush pink ribbon! Magic Meg watched, ears pricked with amusement, as I whipped out my needle and thread, adding a pink flourish to my own blush-toned gown, and oh, how stunning it was!
I have to confess, a mischievous thought popped into my mind – I secretly think that a pink tutu would have brought an even brighter splash of colour to those elegant ladies' dancing and fashionable streets of London! Perhaps they missed a trick there… or maybe I shall leave that to history to decide…
But oh, darling, just imagine the look on their faces if a flash of pink waltzed right past them. The sheer astonishment! Now that's a thought to dance with.
And as I bid farewell to London in 1833, and Magic Meg trots off into the starry twilight, I’m already thinking about our next journey… The year is waiting! And who knows what wonders, ballet magic, and pink tutus await us!
Till next time, darlings, stay graceful,
Emma x
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