Whiskers were still in fashion in the beginning of Lewis XIV.’s reign. This king and all the great men of his reign took a pride in wearing them. They were the ornament of Turenne, Condé, Colbert, Corneille, Moliere, &c. It was then no uncommon thing for a favourite lover to have his whiskers turned up, combed, and pomatumed by his mistress; and, for this purpose, a man of fashion took care to be always provided with every little necessary article, especially whisker-wax. It was highly flattering to a lady, to have it in her power to praise the beauty of her lover’s whiskers, which, far from being disgusting, gave his person an air of vivacity; several even thought it an incitement to love. It seems the levity of the French made them undergo several changes both in form and name: there were _Spanish_, _Turkish_, _guard-dagger_, &c. whiskers; in short, _royal_ ones, which were the last worn: their smallness proclaimed their approaching fall. Since that period, whiskers have been worn only at the theatres and by some of our troops; besides, they are less liked in France than among the other nations, where it is very common to see all the officers with them.
The man, who should be so bold as to wear whiskers first, would be a zealous citizen and a friend to true personal beauty. What glory would not this courageous mortal gain, who, braving the present effeminate custom, should restore our faces the ancient mark of our valour! He would bring back to his country that openness and sincerity of character which distinguished it from other nations, and would merit an honourable place among the worthies who were formerly the honour of France. “I have a good opinion of a gentleman curious in having fine whiskers,” said an author of the last century; “the time which he passes in dressing them is no time lost; for the more he admires them, the more his mind will be fed and entertained with manly, courageous ideas.”[47] Whiskers then have the power of giving energy and valour to the mind. Ah! Frenchmen, you lost every thing when you lost your whiskers.
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AMONG the dignities that ought, by an imposing appearance, to gain the confidence and veneration of the people, the priesthood holds the first rank. The minister of divinity, too often obliged to speak before a crowd of ignorant people, has need particularly that all the delusion of pompous raiment shall accompany him to the foot of the altar; but this sacred magnificence, whilst it forsakes frivolousness and vulgar luxury, should approach nearer to nature, and be more like that respectable image of antiquity. Is there an ornament to be found that more perfectly unites all these advantages? is there one that is less far-fetched, that brings us nearer the first ages, that gives a man a more stern, more grave, or more venerable look, and, consequently, is there one that more becomes the priesthood, than the majesty of a long beard? Were I to join to these clear reasons a faithful history of facts, supported by authentic precepts, sacred laws, the opinions and examples of a number of divine men, and, in short, come to demonstrate the absolute obligation under which our priests are, of wearing beards, I should unfold a truth not less interesting than unexpected. I might call to my aid the example of the priests of foreign religions, and point out, in the books of their dogmas, evidences of the honours paid to this mark of virility; I could cite a number of historical monuments, which attest, that all the nations of the world agree in looking on the beard as the ornament most seemly for an interpreter of the will of heaven; but I have no occasion for these foreign aids: it is our own religion that shall furnish me with arms against the effeminate abuse which degrades its ministers.