CHAPTER XII
THE BEARD
en’s hair on their heads hath ever been at odds with that on their face. If the head were well covered and the hair long, then the face was smooth shaven. William the Conqueror had short hair and a beard, then came a long-haired king, then a cropped one; Edward IV’s subjects had long hair and closely cut beards. Henry VII fiercely forbade beards. The great sovereign Henry VIII ordered short hair like the French, and wore a beard. Through Elizabeth’s day and that of James the beard continued. Not until great perukes overshadowed the whole face did the beard disappear. It vanished for a century as if men were beardless; but after men began to wear short hair in the early years of the nineteenth century, bearded men appeared. A few German mystics who had come to America full-bearded were stared at like the elephant, and a sight of them was recorded in a diary as a great event.
There is no doubt that, to the general reader, the ordinary thought of the Puritan is with a beard, a face and figure much like the Hogarth illustrations of Hudibras—one of the “Presbyterian true Blue,” “the stubborn crew of Errant Saints,”—without the grotesquery of face and feature, perhaps, but certainly with all the plainness and gracelessness of dress and the commonplace beard. The wording of Hudibras also figures the popular conception:—
“His tawny Beard was th’ equal Grace
Both of his Wisdom and his Face:
* * * * *
“His Doublet was of sturdy Buff
And tho’ not Sword, was Cudgel-Proof.
His Breeches were of rugged Woolen
And had been at the Siege of Bullen.”
Herbert Westphaling, Bishop of Hereford.