Charles Dickens, born 1812, died 1870.
An important firm of timber merchants in Hull made it a condition that any clerks employed by them should be clean shaven. This rule was strictly enforced until the firm closed its career a few years ago.
Mr Serjeant Robinson, in his interesting and informing volume, "Bench and Bar Reminiscences" (London, 1889), deals with the legal aspect of our theme. He says for many years anterior to 1860 scarcely a beard, and certainly not even a downy symptom of a moustache, was to be seen on the face of a practising barrister. Towards the close of the first half of the nineteenth century a quiet, gentlemanly, well-informed barrister, named Brierley, used to attend the Central Criminal Court, wearing a long flowing beard and a thick moustache. These hirsute adornments gave offence to the leaders who regularly attended the sessions. No other exception could be taken to him. A meeting of the senior Bar was held, and he was summoned to attend. He was called upon to defend his action. Instead of denying the jurisdiction of the tribunal that was to judge him, he recognised the enormity of his crime, and excused himself on the ground of a serious affection of the throat, and stated that it was under urgent medical advice that he was induced to transgress the unwritten ordinances of the Bar. Despite the reasonableness of the plea, a small majority passed upon him a vote of censure for subjecting the Bar to general ridicule by his extravagant physiognomy. "This was," says Mr Serjeant Robinson, "the worst that could befall him, for of course he could not be prevented from coming within the sacred precincts of the court, nor from taking his seat at the Bar table. The only means of carrying out the resolution was by sending him to Coventry. But he did not give them the opportunity of executing it, for he seldom appeared afterwards. It is not known what became of this barrister after he had been driven from practising his profession in the courts."
Several old laws regulated wearing the beard in the bygone times. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth a decree went forth that no barrister should appear in court with a beard of more than a fortnight's growth.
Barristers with beards and moustaches are not much less common at the present time than those without them. This is no doubt the result of the martial order which passed over the country at the introduction of the Volunteer movement. The moustache was regarded as indispensable to the military appearance of the citizen soldier.
Old illustrated books relating to the worthies of the Church often contain portraits of divines with flowing beards and moustaches. In modern times the cultivation of these adornments of the face has given rise to not a little discussion in Church circles. Early in 1861 the newspapers criticised the charge of the Bishop of Rochester, which included a denunciation of the development of beards and moustaches among the clergymen of his diocese. The writing in the press for and against the facial adornment had little point, but it gave rise to more than one book dealing with the subject. An author issued "An Apology for the Beard; addressed to men in general, and to the clergy in particular" (London, 1862). The Bible and other books are quoted against shaving. James Ward, R.A., the celebrated animal painter, produced in book form a "Defence of the Beard." He dealt with his subject on scriptural grounds, and gave eighteen reasons why man was bound to grow a beard unless he was indifferent as to offending his Creator and good taste. Mr. Ward asked, "What would a Jupiter be without a beard? Who would countenance the idea of a shaved Christ?" The artist set an example to others by adopting the beard when it was not popular. On the title-page of another work was declared: "A Breach of the Sabbath, and a Hindrance to the Spread of the Gospel." The writer designated himself "Theologos." If his views were carried out, it would lead to the practice which prevailed among the Essenes, who never did on the Sabbath anything that was customary for them to do on other days. The High Church clergymen use the razor, and as a rule the moustache is discarded. For some time not a few of the clergy in the lower ranks joined the moustache movement, but it was not until 1889 that a bishop was included. The late Bishop Ryle, of Liverpool, was the first to give up in modern times the use of the razor. Quite a sensation was caused towards the close of 1892 when it became known that the Archbishop of York did not approve of the moustache among his clergy. In several quarters the barber was visited, and the cherished moustache and beard swept away, it is said, to please the head of the Church in the Northern Province. Not so with a moustached candidate for Orders from Hull. He had been spending two or three days at Bishopthorpe before ordination, but gentle hints failed to induce him to make a clean shave. As a final effort the chaplain of the Archbishop asked him if he thought it was not time he cut off his moustache. He replied that he did not think of doing so, and asked why he should. "Well," said the chaplain, "you see the saints in the stained glass windows have not any moustaches." "That may be so," said the candidate, "but as I am not intended to be a saint and stuck in a window, I mean my moustache to remain."
Speaking at a reunion of the Leeds Clergy School held on June 6th, 1899, Dr Eden, the Bishop of Wakefield, said he recently noticed a paragraph in the newspapers which said that the Bishop of Wakefield had given it out that he was very much against the clergy wearing moustaches. "After a little while this legend increased in definiteness, and the next paragraph I saw was that the Bishop of Wakefield had 'commanded' the curates of his diocese to shave clean. A little while after that I took up a London paper, and I saw it stated: 'The Bishop of Wakefield has joined the anti-moustache brigade, and we believe he has the sympathy of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.' I waited a little longer, for I felt sure something more would come, and then I took up another paper and found that an exceedingly respected Prebendary of St Paul's in London had been uttering remarks, either in public or to the reporters—I don't know which—in which he held up the Bishop of Wakefield as being one of those foolish people who had largely exceeded their episcopal powers. I was given a very round lecture upon the contrast of my conduct with that of my predecessor, who would never have thought of issuing such a foolish order to the curates to shave their moustaches. The curates were recommended to do nothing of the kind, but a fear was expressed that a large number of them would probably comply with the demand. Still that was not quite the end of the legend; I had of course a great deal of private correspondence arising out of this newspaper paragraph, but only the other day I heard—I have not seen it—that a cartoon has appeared in a London paper in which the Bishop of Wakefield is represented with a drawn razor in his hand in full cry after a Wakefield curate with a moustache. That is a very good example of finding the truth about yourselves in the newspapers, for I have the most astounding fact of all to tell you, and that is that I have never said a single word about moustaches from first to last. I knew you would forgive me making this little personal reference because it is not personal to myself and to many of those in this tent."
A former Bishop of Wakefield, Dr Walsham How, related a good story. "The vicar of an East London parish," said the bishop, "was one of the first London clergymen to grow his beard. The then Bishop of London wished to stop the practice, and, as he was going to confirm in that church, sent his chaplain to the vicar to ask him to shave it off, saying he should otherwise select another church for the Confirmation. The vicar replied that he was quite willing to take his candidates to another church, and would give out next Sunday the reason for the change. Of course the bishop retracted."
We are told in the "Life of R. W. Dale" (London, 1898) that this famous Birmingham preacher, about 1860, was clean shaven, but with "long black hair that hung over his cheeks and ears like a mane." In a year or two it was cut short. He then let his beard grow, and, after some hesitation, his moustache. Many of the older people, we are told, were scandalised, but remained silent; some wrote to the newspapers in protest. The moustache was declared to invest ministers "with an air of levity and worldliness." A letter of approval purported to come from the shade of a Wesleyan minister, the Rev. H. D. Lowe, who, in 1828, had his beard cut off by order of the Wesleyan Conference. It ran as follows:—