Another quality which idealists regarded as conducive to charm was a certain stiffness and reserve of manner. Woman, like the ark of the covenant, was to be worthy of all respect. She was not thought the worse of if, like a mimosa, she shrank within herself when the sun’s rays were no longer there to warm her, and if she was afraid of the dark. The woman chary of her smile was considered a delightful creature. In platonist circles they would scarcely even admire the beauty of the shoulders, and indeed there were no longer seen flaunted in the streets or churches, under the eyes of the common herd, certain liberties in costume, from time immemorial the despair of preachers—low-cut dresses, like that of good Isabel of Bavaria, whom the monk Jacques Legrant admonished from the pulpit for showing everything “down to her navel”: robes scalloped at the sides; long-pointed shoes so much in the way that a woman had to lift her petticoats very high to be able to walk. Castiglione goes into raptures about the simple little velvet boot of a lady who, on going to mass one morning, fancied she had to spring lightly across a brook. Aretino, naturally an expert in such a matter, declares that no one has a greater horror of a gratuitous display of her charms than a courtesan! Refinement and delicacy seemed to make women more fastidious and more shy, because they realised their value, and because they wished to be loved, principally at least, for their soul. And then great ladies, like everyone else, come in time to the verge of forty, and their taste and discretion are remarkable. Persuaded that perfection is always rare in this poor world, they appreciate the importance of a good appearance, especially in a blasé society, and they are not unaware how much they owe to the skill of the dressmaker. Here, however, there arises a question on which a few words must be said, for it not only occupies a certain place in the history of art, but it commonly leads to what appears to us a not very correct estimate of the aesthetic rôle of the women of the Renaissance: the mistake has perhaps been made of not treating it as seriously as it deserves. It is well known that the sixteenth century displayed an immoderate fancy for Venuses, delighting in them, going into ecstasies over them, setting them here, there and everywhere with a sort of intoxication,—like a man issuing from a too long seclusion into fresh air.