We learn from an entry in the “Diary” for June 11th, 1666, that ladies in addition to assuming masculine costume for riding, wore long wigs. “Walking in the galleries at Whitehall,” observes Mr. Pepys, “I find the ladies of honour dressed in their riding garbs, with coats and doublets with deep skirts, just for all the world like mine, and buttoned their doublets up the breast, with periwigs and with hats, so that, only for long petticoats dragging under their men’s coats, nobody could take them for women in any point whatever.”
Pepys, we have seen, wondered if periwigs would survive after the terrible plague. He thought not, but he was mistaken. Wigs still remained popular. The plague passed away, and its terrors were forgotten. The world of folly went on much as of yore, perhaps with greater gaiety, as a reaction to the lengthened time of depression.
In some instances the wig appears much out of place, and a notable example is that given in the portrait by Kneller, of George, Earl of Albemarle. He is dressed in armour, and wearing a long flowing wig. Anything more absurd could scarcely be conceived.
THE EARL OF ALBEMARLE.
The beau of the period when the wig was popular carried in his pocket beautifully made combs, and in his box at the play, or in other places, combed his periwig, and rendered himself irresistible to the ladies. Making love seems to have been the chief aim of his life. Sir John Hawkins, in his “History of Music,” published in 1776, has an informing note on combing customs. “On the Mall and in the theatre,” he tells us, “gentlemen conversed and combed their perukes. There is now in being a fine picture by the elder Laroon of John, Duke of Marlborough, at his levée, in which his Grace is represented dressed in a scarlet suit, with large white satin cuffs, and a very long white peruke which he combs, while his valet, who stands behind him, adjusts the curls after the comb has passed through them.” Allusions to the practice may be found in the plays from the reign of Charles II. down to the days of Queen Anne. We read in Dryden’s prologue to “Almanzor and Almahide”—
“But as when vizard mask appears in pit,
Straight every man who thinks himself a wit
Perks up, and, managing a comb with grace,
With his white wig sets off his nut-brown face.”
Says Congreve, in the “Way of the World”:—
“The gentlemen stay but to comb, madam, and will wait on you.”
Thomas Brown, in his “Letters from the Dead to the Living” presents a pen portrait of beaux, as they appeared at the commencement of the eighteenth century. Some of the passages are well worth reproducing, as they contain valuable information concerning wigs. “We met,” says the writer, “three flaming beaux of the first magnitude. He in the middle made a most magnificent figure—his periwig was large enough to have loaded a camel, and he bestowed upon it at least a bushel of powder, I warrant you. His sword-knot dangled upon the ground, and his steinkirk, that was most agreeably discoloured with snuff from the top to the bottom, reach’d down to his waist; he carry’d his hat under his left arm, walk’d with both hands in the waistband of his breeches, and his cane, that hung negligently down in a string from his right arm, trail’d most harmoniously against the pebbles, while the master of it was tripping it nicely upon his toes, or humming to himself.” Down to the middle of the eighteenth century, wigs continued to increase in size.