A simple little “mirror of the soul,” like that of Margaret of France, was not sufficient for an apostle of beauty. Mirrors of every kind and style, hollow or pyramidal like factory chimneys, circular, angular, in columns or spirals, rightly absorbed her attention every morning and gave her a philosophical and serious conception of her person. It is not at all to be wondered at that the lady whose appearance was to thrill the world should begin by setting all this machinery in motion. The care of the complexion, and especially of the hands, naturally took some time to begin with, not to speak of hygienic attentions. A delicate little touch with the brush on the face is quickly given, but it demands wonderful skill: it is nothing, and it is all. But the hair required an exemplary patience. Remember what we have said about the infallible charm of light hair. At Venice Veronese never met a brunette! When a brunette was mentioned everybody understood that she was a woman who had given up dyeing and all pretensions to beauty! That is why the Roman ladies, whom Tertullian reproached with flaunting “barbarous colours,” and why our modern artists in hair-dressing, have never discovered any more beautifully effective recipes for golden tresses than those furnished by Marinello[189] or Cennini to many a convinced devotee of platonism. The Venetian blonde, with her beautiful, glossy, golden-brown locks, enjoys even to-day a renown so much the more legitimate in that Nature has never succeeded in imitating her.—When the hair had received its golden hue, it was spread at length in the sunlight to dry, and then began the real operation of the day—the grand masterly operation of hair-dressing. In France, singular customs in regard to this matter had long prevailed. A lady would run a comb through her hair, probably quite perfunctorily, slip on a hood, which she would keep on the whole day, and trip off to Mass. This was still common as late as Anne of Brittany’s time: that good queen herself was faithful to the hood to her dying day. By Heaven’s favour, Mary of England brought Louis XII. beautiful fair locks, quite genuine too, and the fashion of wearing hats. Then, despite the invectives of a few insignificant people like the poet Coquillart, the feminine head-dress attained altitudes more and more complicated: crimpings came in, and curling irons, paddings of false hair, huge coils stuck with jewels in the Italian fashion. The quest of intellectual charm displayed itself in some ladies by an artificial broadening of the brow; to become philosophic, it sufficed slightly to shave off the hair in front and pile it up high behind. The hair-dressers, who had now become men of substance and repute, lengthened their showcases, and invented those charming wooden heads which we have not ceased to admire.