Lampridius censures Heliogabalus, who astonished his age by wearing jewels in his shoes. In our time this is common, almost even among serving men and tailors, as well as emperors and princes: all the flowers, stars, constellations, gold and precious stones stoop to adorn their shoes. To restrain the luxury of Roman matrons there were the Valerian and Oppian laws, and a Cato to speak against such luxury; but no laws can restrain the pride and insolence of our day, its prodigious extravagance in this respect.

Our ordinary citizens outdo Lucullus’s wardrobe; and a cobbler’s wife in Venice, or a courtesan in Florence, is no whit inferior to a queen, if our geographers tell the truth. Why all this? “Why do they glory in their jewels,” as he says, “or exult and triumph in the beauty of their clothes? Why all this expense? To kindle burning lust in men all the sooner.” They claim it is propriety and ornament; but let them beware lest, while adorning their bodies, they damn their souls. This is Bernard’s warning: they shine with jewels and stink in character, wearing purple robes over a ragged conscience.

Let them heed Isaiah’s prophecy, lest their slippers and headdresses be taken from them—their perfume-balls, bracelets, earrings, veils, wimples, curling-pins, mirrors, fine linen, hoods, lawn and sweet scents—and they suddenly become bald, branded and foul-smelling. And let young women beware, as Cyprian advises, lest, while wandering too freely abroad, they lose their virginity, and, like Egyptian temples, look beautiful outside but prove rotten carcasses within.

How much better to follow Tertullian’s good advice: paint their eyes with chastity, place the word of God in their ears, bind Christ’s yoke to their hair, and submit themselves to their husbands. Then they would be beautiful enough. Clothe themselves in the silk of sanctity, the damask of devotion, the purple of piety and chastity: painted in that fashion, they will have God himself as a suitor. Let whores and hussies deck themselves out and paint their faces with red lead and white lead: these are only fuel for lust and signs of a corrupt soul. If you are good, honest, virtuous and religious matrons, let sobriety, modesty and chastity be your honour, and God himself your love and desire.

“A woman smells right when she smells of nothing”: a woman smells best when she wears no perfume at all. No crown, chain or jewel, Guevara adds, adorns a maiden or a virtuous woman as much “as modesty adorns a maiden”—as chastity does. By their plainness they gain more credit in a wise man’s eyes and judgement, and seem fairer than those decked out with baubles, like a butcher’s meat skewered into shape, puffed up and adorned like so many jays in a variety of colours.

It is told of Cornelia, that virtuous Roman lady—the great Scipio’s daughter, Titus Sempronius’s wife and mother of the Gracchi—that she happened to be in the company of a Campanian woman, a lady from elsewhere. Presumably she was some loose woman dressed like a May Queen, and, like most of our gentlewomen, more concerned about her headdress than her health, spending her time between comb and mirror, preferring beauty to virtue, as Cato said, and sooner seeing the commonwealth turned upside down than her headdress spoiled. She did nothing but boast of her fine robes and jewels, and challenged the Roman matron to show hers. Cornelia kept her talking until her children came home from school. “These,” she said, “are my jewels”; and so she outwitted and dismissed a proud, vain, fanciful woman.

How much better for our matrons to do as she did, dressing respectably and becomingly, “like an honourable woman who uses gold for what it is, only for necessary purposes”: to use gold as gold, for the purpose it serves and when they need it, rather than waste it in extravagance, beggar their husbands, prostitute themselves, entice others, and perhaps damn their own souls! How much more would that advance their honour and reputation?

By doing so—as Jerome said of Blesilla, “Furius did not triumph so greatly over the Gauls, Papirius over the Samnites, or Scipio over Numantia, as she did through her self-restraint, always in a dark dress,” and so on—they would triumph and rule over lust, folly, vainglory, and all such excessive, furious and unruly passions.

But I am too tedious, I confess. While I stand gaping after fine clothes, another great attraction—in the world’s eyes, at least—has almost slipped out of sight: money. “The arrows come from the dowry”: money makes the match; “they look only at money.” It is like sauce with their meat, “seasoning with the flesh”: a good dowry with a wife. Many men, merely hearing of a large marriage portion or a rich heiress, grow more frantic than if they had all the beautiful ornaments and fine qualities that art and nature can provide. They care nothing for virtue, upbringing, birth, beauty or person, but only for money.

For dogs and horses, Cyrnus, we seek Noble stock and good descent; Yet a good man does not mind marrying A bad woman, a bad father’s daughter, If only she brings him a large dowry.

For dogs and horses we seek the best breed With care, and may they prosper well; But as for wives, so long as they are wealthy, Fair or foul, we care not what they are.