But Pepys, in his immortal diary, did not pay proper respect to fashion. He commented on the clothes of the ladies, it is true, but he showed a lamentable vagueness, if not careless indifference, about their details. Doubtless his notes on dress were quite satisfying to his masculine mind, but I find them practically useless in assuaging the deepest emotions of feminine curiosity. However, I know from him and other sources that Nell Gwynn, the careless slattern, wore a cart-wheel hat when delivering a prologue in a play, and furthermore that she "looked pretty" on one occasion when Pepys passed her as she stood at her lodging door in "smock-sleeves and a bodice," whatever such description might please to mean. Colours, shapes, and materials this inimitable gossip ignored as unimportant; yet it may be written down to his credit that he confessed he was moved when he saw Lady Castlemaine's smocks and linen petticoats hanging out to dry in the Privy garden at White Hall, laced with the richest lace at the bottom which ever he saw, and he vows, "they did me good to look at them"; and so much may we count for grace, even though I sigh to think of the number of tucks and gaugings he failed to mention. It is to be hoped that, after that painful interview with the riding garb of the ladies at White Hall, he turned the other way and went back to the Privy garden and his joyful contemplation of Lady Castlemaine's under-wear. CHAPTER VIII IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY Marie Stuart shares with Madame de Pompadour the honour of standing godmother to fashions which will be known through the ages by their names. The former luckless lady will ever be associated with that coif which is pointed in the front, and curves at either side, while the latter stands eternal sponsor to the rolled coiffure which turns back from the face over a high pad. There may perhaps be other glories better worth attainment, but nobody respectfully imbued with the importance of dress can venture to assert that these ladies lived in vain. [Illustration: IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.] And in a minor degree their privilege has been shared by others. The art of Gainsborough and of Watteau has immortalised a hat, a pleat, and a flowered sac; Madame du Barry has a special shade of pink consecrated to her memory; the lace collar which expands round the shoulders had at its christening no less a person than Catherine de Medici; and Napoleon gave his name to a hat. Of the more modern garments I could take as examples the cardigan, a waistcoat of wool named after a noble lord; and I could recall that another noble lord, one Spencer, introduced a short woollen jacket; and that the great general Garibaldi is responsible for the loose shirt with open collar; and that a peculiar kind of open-sleeved bed-jacket, known as the nightingale, is sacred to the heroic efforts of that devoted nurse who did such splendid duty at the Crimea. [Illustration: MADAME DE POMPADOUR.]