But it is the care of the hair, above all, that takes the most time. Some, by means of concoctions which make the curls shine brighter than the noonday sun, dye them as if wool and turn them blond, making them lose their natural tint. Others, imagining themselves more beautiful with black hair, spend their husbands' wealth on that, and reek of all Arabia. The iron heated over glowing embers will curl even the most unruly hair, so that the forehead, rimmed with waves to the very eyebrows, is only glimpsed through a narrow opening, while in back their tresses drape magnificently over their shoulders.
Next, they put on flower-colored shoes that cut into the flesh and pinch their feet. To keep from appearing totally naked they drape on veils light as air, but whatever these may hide stands out even more than their faces; only women with ugly breasts wrap them in nets. Why bother listing here their spendthrift ways? Those Eritrean pearls hanging from their earlobes, worth many a talent; those serpents twisted about their wrists and arms, would they were real and not golden! Crowns star-studded with Indian gems circle their foreheads, rich necklaces hang from their necks; the gold must abase itself even to their feet to wrap what shows of their heels—it would be better to put their legs in irons. After the whole body, through some kind of witchcraft, has traded in its bastard ugliness for an ersatz beauty, they redden their shameless cheeks with makeup, so as to spruce up their oily skins with a splash of purple.
How do they behave, after all these preparations? They promptly leave the house, and all the gods take their side against the husbands. The women have, in fact, such gods as wretched men do not even know their names. They are, I believe, Coliades, Genetylides, or that Phrygian goddess whose ceremonies commemorate her unfortunate love for a shepherd.6 Later they go to unspeakable initiations, to suspicious mysteries that exclude men. But I will not reveal any further the corruption of their souls. Upon their return they take interminable baths, then they sit down to sumptuous meals and ply their men with come-ons. When their gluttony has had its fill and they can no longer stuff their mouths, they daintily finger the foods brought before them, talking among themselves about their nights, their multi-colored dreams, and about their beds, filled with such feminine softness that one needs a bath immediately upon rising.
