BEAUTY OF THE HAIR.
CHAPTER I.
Although much time and attention are usually bestowed in dressing and ornamenting the hair, in compliance with the dictates of fashion, but little regard is paid to the natural beauty of the hair itself, as contributing to the expression and comeliness of the features. The absurdities and caprices of fashion have been constant themes for ridicule and declamation with the wits of all ages. The sharp epigrams of Martial, the satires of Juvenal, the anathemas of the Romish ecclesiastics, the invectives of sour Puritans, the coarse raillery of Swift, and the good humour of Addison, have all in turn been levelled against some prevailing folly of the day. It is not our intention, however, to act the part of censor, but, as humble chroniclers, to note the change from one fashion to another.
Before entering on the task we will say a few words about the hair, in relation to art, a subject of some interest, and which we believe has not been sufficiently insisted on. The hair is, undoubtedly, the chief ornament of the head; we naturally associate the idea of vigour, fertility, and gracefulness, with its growth. Its flowing outline gives grace and freedom to the symmetry of the features, and by a little license of the artist’s hand, its form may be made to correct whatever harshness of character the countenance may chance to have acquired. In the colour, too, and texture of the hair, what facilities are afforded for heightening the charm of the most delicate complexion, or the dignity of the manly brow. The poets have universally recognised the truth of these principles, and in their descriptions of ideal beauty we invariably find some allusion to the hair.
Milton delights to adorn the human countenance with long hair, flowing in rich profusion. Of Eve he sings:
“She, as a veil, down to the slender waist
Her unadorned golden tresses wore
Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved
As the vine curls her tendrils,——”
and to Adam he gives
“Hyacinthine locks
Round from his parted forelock manly hung.”
Even his angels are conspicuous for their beautiful hair—for instance
“Of charming sunny rays a golden tiar
Circled his head, nor less his locks behind
Illustrious on his shoulders, fledge with wings,
Lay waving round”——
The vivid descriptions of Homer, full of local colouring, afford many instances of the picturesque effect produced by duly noting so apparently a trivial matter, as the colour or crispness of the hair. Shakspere makes frequent allusions to its beauty: at the touch of his master hand a gleam of light seems to play about the silken tresses:
“Here in her hairs
The painter plays the spider, and hath woven
A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men!”
The Italian poets also show the same love of the beautiful, and fondness for
“Le crespe chiome d’or puro lucente.”
How much the form and variety of the hair help to distinguish the style and character of a composition was well understood by the ancient sculptors and painters. “The hair of the Phidian Jove, in the Vatican, rises in spouts, as it were, from the forehead, and then falls in waving curls, like the mane of the lion, most majestic and imperial in appearance. The crisp curls of Hercules again remind us of the short locks between the horns of the indomitable bull; whilst the hair of Neptune falls down wet and dank, like his own sea-weed. The beautiful flowing locks of Apollo, full and free, represent perpetual youth; and the gentle, vagrant, bewitching tresses of Venus, denote most clearly her peculiar characters and claims as a divinity of Olympus.” We remark the same peculiarity in the portraits by Sir Peter Lely of the court beauties of the time of Charles II.
“Loves walks the pleasant mazes of the hair.”
Hair is to the human aspect what foliage is to the landscape; and, whenever pen or pencil is guided by poetic feeling or good taste, it lingers with admiration and delight amid the shadows and glossy silken sheen—the ever-varying tints, and waving, wanton loveliness of sunny, luxuriant hair. Indeed, so beautiful is the hair itself, when arranged with taste, and kept in good order, (that is in a growing, healthful state,) that the addition of any further ornament, by way of head-dress, is all but superfluous. Not that all ornament should be dispensed with, but that great judgment is necessary in selecting such as correct taste may approve. Addison, with his usual good sense, thus counsels his fair readers: “I would desire the fair sex to consider how impossible it is for them to add anything that can be ornamental to what is already the masterpiece of nature. The head has the most beautiful appearance, as well as the highest station, in the human figure. Nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the face; she has touched it with vermilion, planted in it a double row of ivory, made it the seat of smiles and blushes, lightened it up and enlivened it with the eyes, hung it on each side with curious organs of sense, given it airs and graces which cannot be described, and surrounded it with such a flowing shade of hair as sets its beauties in the most agreeable light. In short, she seems to have designed the head as a cupola to the most glorious of her works; and when we load it with such a pile of supernumerary ornaments, we destroy the symmetry of the human figure, and foolishly contrive to call off the eye from great and real beauties to childish gew-gaws, ribbons, and bone lace.”
And beautiful exceedingly are those beloved memorials—the silken locks of childhood, the treasured tresses of riper years, or the silver gray of reverend old age—which, in the eyes of sorrowing friends, are the dearest relics of the loved ones whose angel spirits beyond the tomb have passed through death into eternity.
“There seems a love in hair, though it be dead:
It is the gentlest, yet the strongest thread
Of our frail plant—a blossom from the tree
Surviving the proud trunk; as if it said,
Patience and Gentleness in Power. In me
Behold affectionate eternity.”
Leigh Hunt.