Infinitely more showy is the dancing dress of a professional, a member of a well-known troupe in Seville. The yellow satin skirt, reaching below the knees, is laden with glittering sequin trimming and a shower of lace and chiffon flounces, and powdered with spangles and small imitation coins. The low-necked satin bodice has tight elbow-sleeves, softened with lace frills, and from the décolletage dangle glittering paillettes, a cluster of flowers being fastened at the left shoulder. The hair is elaborately arranged, and a bunch of flowers peeps out at the right side from under the folds of a mantilla. An important part of the male dancer's dress is a black toreador hat, with a large pompon in front. Merely a glimpse is caught of a white shirt front, and the long-sleeved satin or velvet jacket is gorgeously embroidered at the wrists. Similar embroidery shows down the outside of either leg of the satin knickerbockers, which meet white stockings accompanied by black ballet shoes. A sash with fringed ends is knotted on one hip, and a cloak is thrown with careless care over the shoulders and wound in inimitable fashion round the left arm.
The "Coon" dance so dear to the South American makes no great demands upon the skill and ingenuity of those entrusted with the planning of a suitable costume. A short skirt of red and white awning is the most usual, accompanied by a scarlet sash knotted low on the left hip. The loose white blouse vaunts a sailor collar, turned-back cuffs, and a cravat of striped material matching the skirt. Black shoes and stockings are worn, and the large straw hat is of the haymaker order, the crown encircled by a red scarf tied at the left side with the ends falling to the shoulder.
A costume appealing to the male dancer who appreciates comfort is that of gay old Pierrot, with his full white trousers and black pompons, loose coat and ruffle, conical hat above a black silk scarf, whitened face, and vermilion lips. His feminine companion is a common object in the fancy-dress ballrooms on and off the stage.
Practically every country has its characteristic dances, to which are naturally dedicated some adaptation of the national dress. There are fancy dances in plenty which call for no distinctive style of dress, but the fashion fits the footstep as a rule, and no doubt influenced its birth. The stately movements of the minuet and the grace of the gavotte ask for the dignity of powder and brocade; the country dance seems the merrier for the gaily-coloured fluttering ribbons and short bright petticoats; the hornpipe would lose some significance without the co-operation of navy blue and a man-o'-war or a Jack-tar hat; the hunting dance shouts "away" for pink; the Irish jig is shorn of much of its charm without the emerald-green skirt, the scarlet cloak, and the folded kerchief; the Scotch dance demands its tartan; the Spanish dance the mantilla and castanets; and so on through the whole dictionary of dances. The mode suits the measure, and the dance destined to be performed in clogs loses its individuality when tripped in satin slippers; the tarantella could not live to tell its tale in sabots; the jig would jump to a conclusion under the stultifying glories of satin and patches; and the sensuous grace of the East would expire in the bondage of Western raiment.
CHAPTER XX
OF THEATRICAL DRESS
The time has long gone by when the dress of his own period would serve the turn of the actor in any character in any play, irrespective of the century in which its story passed. That condition of affairs has no place even in the mental treasure-trove of the oldest playgoer, who saw Edmund Kean, and never lets you forget it.
Although it has not been stated that the most audacious actor ever ventured to play Hamlet in a tall hat, solecisms no less grave have in the long ago been committed and condoned, even applauded. Imagine Othello addressing the "most potent, grave, and reverend signiors" of sixteenth-century Venice in a stiff-skirted coat, breeches and waistcoat of the English fashion of George II.'s day, with a full-bottomed wig, a three-cornered hat, and a black face! Yet that was how Garrick dressed the part, and, notwithstanding, thrilled his audience to enthusiasm; whilst handsome Spranger Barry won even Colley Cibber's applause when he acted the dusky Moor dressed in a full suit of gold-laced scarlet, a small cocked hat, knee breeches, and silk stockings! Then, picture Macbeth, as Garrick played him, in a 1750 suit of black silk, and silk stockings and shoes, with buckles at his knees and feet, and a tie wig, or in the scarlet and gold-laced uniform of a British general of George III.'s reign! And fancy Lady Macbeth in enormous hooped petticoats and huge flounces, as Mrs. Yates dressed her; yet, when she said, "Give me the daggers," and took them in her hands, as an old print shows her doing, no one in the audience recorded a thought that the action was incongruous with the costume, or the costume with the tragedy. What a contrast to the superb green and gold glories of the costume of Miss Ellen Terry's Lady Macbeth, immortalised by Sargent! But there was no attempt in those days to give the audiences anything better. When Benjamin West asked Garrick why he did not initiate reform in stage-costume, his answer was that the public would not allow it. "They would throw a bottle at my head," added the great actor, and he found it easier to elude the bottle—at least, that particular bottle.