The wives of plebeians were forbidden to wear coats like ladies, and head-dresses of velvet. Dark colours only were permitted them, and common materials. But of what avail are severe laws, when broken? The stream of fashion was in favour of splendid garments, and of all the aids that are given by dress. The first hand-knitted silk stockings were worn by King Henri II., at the wedding of Marguerite of France with Emmanuel-Philibert of Savoy, in the month of June, 1559. The common people, and even the well-to-do classes, continued for a long time to wear stockings made of pieces of stuff sewed together. Extravagance and luxury pursued their way, and became more versatile and ruinous than ever. Men and women spent their money, as well as money that was not their own, on dress. Frenchmen and Frenchwomen seemed bent on proving themselves absolute arbiters of fashion. Now to hold the sceptre of taste and toilet involves obligations as onerous as nobility itself, and to excite the admiration and envy of coquettes is a costly privilege. [Illustration] CHAPTER XII. REIGN OF CHARLES IX. 1560 TO 1574. The wars of religion—The fashions of Italy are brought across the Alps, and are welcomed in France—Effects of the expeditions into Italy—Articles from Venice and Genoa are very fashionable—A cloud of sugar-plums, and a shower of scents—Effeminate style of dress—Charles IX. and his Edicts against extravagant display—Fashion rebels against sumptuary laws—Women of high rank, bourgeoises, widows, and spinsters—Wedding dresses—Observations of a Venetian ambassador—“Corps piqué”—Drawers—Paint—Cosmetics—Breast mirrors, girdle mirrors—Court dresses—“Arcelets.” Hitherto we have seen only the brilliant side of the Renaissance, so to speak, and its multiplicity of arts, fêtes, and ceremonials conducive to splendour and display. Let us now glance at the darker side of the picture, at the shadows cast by the religious wars, and let us note the results of more than one disaster. The name of Charles IX. immediately recalls to our recollection the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, and fills us with horror and dismay; that of Henri III. brings before our minds the League, with its grotesque and sanguinary incidents, and its fatal termination by the dagger of Jacques Clement. At the same time, both reigns afford us matter of a highly interesting nature in connexion with our subject. In no other way can these reigns be attractive to us; nor will the horrors of those times ever be repeated, but the fashions of the sixteenth century have, on the contrary, already reappeared in a certain measure, and at different periods. They will revive completely, perhaps, at some future day. There is nothing more present, sometimes, than the past, especially in matters of dress, as every Frenchwoman knows. Why then should not our fair contemporaries once more attire themselves in the fashions that were so becoming to their predecessors?