The Anatomy of Melancholy

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.