From Lysistrata to Cydalise- Beardsley, von Bayros & Traynier

Beardsley, engraving of Lysistrata for Lysistrata

In 1975, the artist, lecturer and art historian Peter Webb wrote about the work of the Austrian illustrator Franz von Bayros, describing his illustrations of erotic literature and his “skilful drawings that reflected fin-de-siecle extravagance and showed a great debt to Aubrey Beardsley. He conjured up a world of guiltless sex, a carefree world of sexual pleasure only occasionally marred by harsher realities.” Von Bayros’ inspiration by Beardsley (as well- to a lesser extent- by Felicien Rops) is clear, but it struck me recently, when working on my study In the Garden of Eros, how their influences might also be traced to Jean Traynier, illustrator of Cydalise by Pierre Louys.

Beardsley, engraving for Lysistrata

Aubrey Beardsley was a self-taught artist who had learned his craft from studying illustrated books and ancient Greek painted vases. He was inspired and encouraged by Edward Burne-Jones, but (as Edward Lucie-Smith wrote in Symbolist Art) the young man emphasised what was perverse in the older painter’s work. Beardsley is known for his sharp penwork, his “linear arabesque,” which he balanced against bold contrasts of black and white. Lucie Smith described how Beardsley was a natural illustrator, able to “think of the design as something written on a surface, whose essential flatness must be preserved in order to balance the type which appear either on the same page or on a facing page.” He was a founder of the Art Nouveau style, hugely influential across Europe, and, through his work, book illustration came to be dominated by the new Symbolist and Art Nouveau ideas: “Partly art and partly craft, illustration rapidly assimilated itself” to the new decorative movement- as we have seen, for example, with Henri Caruchet.

Beardsley is renowned for the highly erotic nature of much of his illustration. His work on Aristophanes’ play Lysistrata (1905) is characterised, in particular, by men caricatured with enormous phalluses and, quite commonly, large, mature women with big bosoms and bottoms. He depicted sexuality and bodily functions with a startling honesty that offended many at the time. Webb was perfectly correct to spot the lineal influence, for the work of von Bayros bears many close parallels with that of Beardsley: not only is his sharp graphic work comparable (both artists depicted fabrics in a masterly fashion), but there are the exaggerated phalli (which may also be found in Rops), the obese and lascivious women, the preternatural and precocious children, and (even) in one plate, from his collection Im Garten der Aphrodite, a scene in which woman ecstatically rubs herself along a taut rope (something which instantly reminded me of the engraving of ‘Two Athenian women in distress’ from Lysistrata reproduced above). Odd forms of excitement like this are typical of the illustrator’s images: compare as well ‘Le Collier‘ (The Necklace) from von Bayros’ portfolio of 16 prints produced under the pseudonym of Chevalier de Bouval in about 1925.

Beardsley, The Climax, 1893

Both Beardsley and von Bayros illustrated Salome and John the Baptist- in the case of Beardsley, for Oscar Wilde’s play Salome (1896). Each artist also detected and portrayed something unwholesomely sexual in the relationship between the princess and the executed prophet- in one plate by von Bayros he showed Salome breast-feeding the severed head of the Baptist, which lies on a plate. Decapitated heads and skulls were, in fact, common in the Austrian’s’ work, another part of the cloying atmosphere of macabre perversity that he constructed.

print by von Bayros

These two earlier artists seem to have provided clear models for Jean Traynier when he came to taking on erotic works such as Louys’ Cydalise in 1949 and a 1957 edition of Point de Lendemain, ou la nuit merveilleuse (No Tomorrow, or the Wonderful Night) by Dominique-Vivant Denon (1747-1825). In the case of the latter, the eighteenth century setting reminds me of many works by von Bayros, such as his 1905 portfolio Fleurettens Purpurschnecke- Erotische Lieder und Gedichte (Fleurette’s Purple Snail- Erotic Songs and Poems from the Eighteenth Century) and John Cleland’s novel, Die Memoiren der Fanny Hill (1906). In part, these images simply mirror the era of the works being illustrated, but their erotic nature (and that of other writers such as Laclos and de Sade) generally imparted an aura of licentiousness to the entire period- so that wigs and beauty spots came to act as visual symbols for a certain liberated sexuality: Beardsley’s plates for The Rape of the Lock, as well as the general mood of his Lysistrata, are cases in point; in addition, see my book, Voyage to the Isle of Venus.

von Bayros, illustration for John Cleland’s Fanny Hill

As for Traynier’s monochrome engravings for Cydalise, two of the plates feature exaggerated, ‘fantasy’ phalli directly comparable to those seen in Lysistrata, and surely inspired by them, possibly by way of either von Bayros or Rops- or just as likely directly. Comparable ‘erotic dream’ images, albeit in very different styles, may be found in the 1932 edition of Pybrac by the Czech surrealist Toyen and in recent work by the British graphic artist Trevor Brown. In addition, the black and white style adopted for both works by Traynier repeats that of von Bayros and Beardsley, suggesting that, for him, it seemed suitable for depicting powerfully erotic scenes. Another small detail which may indicate a derivation from Beardsley’s Lysistrata are the many bows the decorate the hair of Traynier’s female figures- an elaborate and distinctive touch.

The influence of von Bayros might also be traced in similar details. I have discussed previously the pseudonymous erotic illustrator Fameni Leporini. The impact of Claude Bornet’s 1790s illustrations to de Sade seems clear, as both opt for naked bodies stacked up improbably in their renderings of orgies, but the morbid mood of von Bayros may also be detected. Leporini, too, preferred pen and ink for his designs and we may identify in them various traits and details that appear to have been borrowed from the Austrian: the mood of perverse cruelty and of lesbian passion that suffuses a good deal of his work and certain specific scenes which could be derived more directly from examples by von Bayros.

Psyche- Nymph and Lover

William-Adolphe Bouguereau, The Abduction of Psyche, 1895

The figure of Psyche in classical mythology is, in fact, a dual character. She is- on the one hand- the Greek nymph, or goddess, of the soul. As such, she is often represented as a young adolescent with butterfly wings and it seems extremely likely that this iconography had a material influence in shaping our conception of faeries as winged females (as I noted in my recent post on painter William Sergeant Kendall).

Secondly, Psyche was a mortal girl whose troubled love affair is known from the story included in The Golden Ass by Apuleius. According to this fairy tale, Psyche was a royal princess whose remarkable beauty was widely celebrated, leading to her being compared to- or even mistaken for- Venus/ Aphrodite (to the latter’s disadvantage). Unsurprisingly, perhaps, the goddess of love became jealous at this and decided to take revenge by sending Eros/ Cupid to make Psyche fall in love only with ugly, cruel men.

Annie Louisa Swynnerton, Cupid and Psyche, 1890

The plan went wrong: Eros fell for the girl himself. Meanwhile, Psyche’s father imprisoned her within a darkened palace because her great beauty created only dissension and distraction, both within her own family as well as within the wider nation. Men didn’t want to marry her, only worship her beauty. Eros visited the isolated princess in her lightless rooms and became her lover. After a while, though, curiosity made her light a lamp so that she could see his face whilst he slept. A little oil dripped on his skin, wakening him, and when Eros realised that she had betrayed his trust, he deserted her, leaving Psyche desolate.

Matthew Ridley Corbet, Psyche Loses Sight of Love, 1900
Edward Matthew Hale, Psyche at the Throne of Venus, 1893

Matters got worse. The still vengeful Aphrodite managed to capture Psyche and subjected her to four nearly impossible tests. Luckily, other gods took pity on her plight and assisted her. The last and most difficult task was to bring back from the underworld some of Persephone’s beauty as a gift for vain Aphrodite. Persephone willingly gave Psyche some of her good looks in a box but, when she was nearly back at Olympus with this, the teenager was overwhelmed once again by juvenile curiosity. Just like Pandora, she couldn’t resist opening the box- only to find that what Persephone had placed in there for Aphrodite was the actually essence of death.

Henrietta Rae, Psyche Before the Throne of Venus, 1894

Psyche died instantly, but Eros saved her life and took her to join the Olympians. This is how the mortal princess Psyche became an immortal divinity. As for Psyche and Eros, they had a daughter, Hedone, the goddess of physical joy (of hedonism, in other words). The Romans called her Voluptas; she represented sensual pleasure and is said to symbolise (perhaps surprisingly) the union of love and the soul.

John William Waterhouse, Psyche & Persephone’s Box

Predictably, perhaps, the love of adolescent and innocent Psyche for Cupid, and their trials and separation, have always been a popular subject with painters. Numerous famous names have tackled the story, such as Edward Burne Jones and William Bouguereau (both of whom painted the couple several times). The teenaged and naive Psyche is often reduced to a simpering, fainting and helpless young girl, although I like Annie Swynnerton’s vision of the pair (see above), in which they are both envisaged more as teenagers feeling totally overwhelmed by the powerful emotions of a first love affair. George Frederick Watts painted her as a pale and slender girl, dejected after being abandoned by Eros (1875). Others, such as Lord Leighton, Maurice Denis, Emile Friant and Guillaume Seignac preferred to see her as more confident and sexy.

Lord Leighton, The Bath of Psyche
Seignac, The Awakening of Psyche

Perhaps it is no coincidence that the more sensual Psyches are often those that show her winged, and therefore more in the form of a nymph than a mortal and suffering girl. Seignac, who in any case was a specialist in languid, sexy nudes, is notable for this. This trend in the representations of Psyche may be inappropriate to the story, but it fits with our culture’s deep-rooted equation between nymphs and an unbridled carnal nature, something I’ve described here before- for example in the paintings of Herbert Draper. This view too, of course, is something which has tended to ‘contaminate’ the faeries of native folklore, perhaps making them more concerned with seducing humans than might originally have been the case. Here, though, we’re straying into the subject matter of other blogs I write on WordPress, so I’ll direct you to the further reading on faeries to be found on my British Fairies pages and, on nymphs, on my new Nymphology blog.

Seignac, Psyche at the Fountain

Venus the bride

Edward Burne-Jones, Venus Epithalamia, 1871

I have often written about Venus and her sexual independence, so it comes as something of a surprise to consider her as a blushing bride, in the manner in which Burne-Jones has painted her- she is a very young woman, shrinking in trepidation from the celebrations being prepared in her honour (and what will follow them). Epithalamia is derived from the Greek epithalamion (the bridal bed chamber) and is more normally encountered as epithalamium- a nuptial song or poem.

Venus did marry, to Vulcan the smith, but the match was unhappy and she soon began an extra-marital affair with Mars. I don’t think we can really regard her as the uncertain teenager of Burne-Jones’ painting- as Titian’s rendering of the adulterous couple clearly suggests.

Tiziano Vecelli, Mars, venus & Cupid, 1530

Nevertheless, this treatment of Venus the bride is not entirely unique; the American poet e. e. cumings (1894-1962) wrote a poem on a similar theme, which I reproduce here. His Epithalamion is a robust and suitable evocation of the goddess Aphrodite- far more suitable to her character. Unfortunately, that means that the online versions available (few, because of copyright) are edited. I’ve restored a few of the missing words as best I can guess. It depicts the spring as a sort of coupling between the goddess and the earth.

I.
Thou aged unreluctant earth who dost
with quivering continual thighs invite
the thrilling rain the slender paramour
to toy with thy extraordinary lust,
(the sinuous rain which rising from thy bed
steals to his wife the sky and hour by hour
wholly renews her pale flesh with delight)
– immortally whence are the high gods fled?

Speak elm, eloquent pandar, with thy nod
significant to the ecstatic earth
in token of his coming whom her soul
burns to embrace- and didst thou know the god
from but the imprint of whose cloven feet
the shrieking dryad sought her leafy goal,
at the mere echo of whose shining mirth
the furious hearts of mountains ceased to beat?

Wind beautifully who wanderest
over smooth pages of forgotten joy
proving the peaceful theorems of the flowers
– didst e’er depart upon more exquisite quest?
and did thy fortunate fingers sometime dwell
(within a greener shadow of secret bowers)
among the curves of that delicious boy*
whose serious grace one goddess loved too well?

[* a reference to one of Aphrodite’s mortal conquests, Adonis]

Chryselephantine Zeus Olympian
sceptred colossus of the Pheidian soul *
whose eagle frights creation, in whose palm
Nike presents the crown sweetest to man,
whose lilied robe the sun’s white hands emboss,
betwixt whose absolute feet anoint with calm
of intent stars circling the acerb pole
poises, smiling, the diadumenos.**

[* Pheidias was a Greek sculptor; ** diadumenos– a term referring to Venus’ birth from the waves]

in whose young chiseled eyes the people saw
their once again victorious Pantarkes
(whose grace the prince of artists made him bold
to imitate between the feet of awe), *
thunderer whose omnipotent brow showers
its curls of unendured eternal gold
over the infinite breast in bright degrees,
whose pillow is the graces and the hours,

[* Pantarkes was a winner of the Olympic games]

father of gods and men whose subtle throne
twain sphinxes bear each with a writhing youth
caught to her brazen cunt,* whose foot-stool tells
how fought the looser of the warlike zone
of her that brought forth tall Hippolytus,
lord on whose pedestal the deep expels
(over Selene’s car closing uncouth)
of Helios the sweet wheels tremulous-

[* perhaps a reference to the attempt of one young devotee to couple with a statute of the goddess]

are there no kings in Argos, that the song
is silent, of the steep unspeaking tower
within whose brightening strictness Danae
saw the night severed and the glowing throng
descend, felt on her flesh the amorous strain
of gradual hands and yielding to that fee
her eager body’s unimmortal flower
knew in the darkness a more burning rain?

 2.

And still the mad magnificent herald Spring
assembles beauty from forgetfulness
with the wild trump of April: witchery
of sound and odour drives the wingless thing
man forth in the bright air, for now the red
leaps in the maple’s cheek, and suddenly
by shining hordes in sweet unserious dress
ascends the golden crocus from the dead.

On dappled dawn forth rides the pungent sun
with hooded day preening upon his hand
followed by gay untimid final flowers
(which dressed in various tremulous armour stun
the eyes of ragged earth who sees them pass)
while hunted from his kingdom winter cowers,
seeing green armies steadily expand
hearing the spear-song of the marching grass.

A silver sudden parody of snow
tickles the air to golden tears, and hark!
the flicker’s laughing yet, while on the hills
the pines deepen to whispers primeval and throw
backward their foreheads to the barbarous bright
sky, and suddenly from the valley thrills
the unimaginable upward lark
and drowns the earth and passes into light

(slowly in life’s serene perpetual round
a pale world gathers comfort to her soul,
hope richly scattered by the abundant sun
invades the new mosaic of the ground
– let but the incurious curtaining dusk be drawn
surpassing nets are sedulously spun
to snare the brutal dew,—the authentic scroll
of fairie hands and vanishing with the dawn).

Spring, that omits no mention of desire
in every curved and curling thing, yet holds
continuous ***** [intercourse?]through skies and trees
the lilac’s smoke, the poppy’s pompous fire,
the ****’s [?genital’s?] purple patience and the grave
frailty of daises—by what rare unease
revealed of teasingly transparent folds—
with man’s poor soul superlatively brave.

Surely from robes of particoloured peace
with mouth flower-faint and undiscovered eyes
and dim slow perfect body amorous
(whiter than lilies which are born and cease
for being whiter than this world) exhales
the hovering high perfume curious
of that one month for whom the whole years dies,
risen at length from palpitating veils.

O still miraculous May! O shining girl
of time untarnished! O small intimate
gently primeval hands, frivolous feet
divine! O singular and breathless pearl!
O indefinable frail ultimate pose!
O visible beatitude sweet, sweet
intolerable! silence immaculate
of god’s evasive audible great rose!

 3.

Lover, lead forth thy love unto that bed
prepared by whitest hands of waiting years,
curtained with wordless worship absolute,
unto the certain altar at whose head
stands that clear candle whose expecting breath
exults upon the tongue of flame half-mute,
(haste ere some thrush with silver several tears
complete the perfumed paraphrase of death).

Now is the time when all occasional things
close into silence, only one tree, one
svelte translation of eternity
unto the pale meaning of heaven clings,
(whose million leaves in winsome indolence
simmer upon thinking twilight momently)
as down the oblivious west’s numerous dun
magnificence conquers magnificence.

In heaven’s intolerable athanor *
inimitably tortured the base day
utters at length her soft intrinsic hour,
and from those tenuous fires which more and more
sink and are lost the divine alchemist,
the magus of creation, lifts a flower-
whence is the world’s insufferable clay
clothed with incognisable amethyst.

[* the athanor is an alchemical furnace]

Lady at whose imperishable smile
the amazed doves* flicker upon sunny wings
as if in terror of eternity,
(or seeming that they would mistrust a while
the moving of beauteous dead mouths throughout
that very proud transparent company
of quivering ghosts-of-love which scarcely sings
drifting in slow diaphanous faint rout),

[* doves are a common symbol of Aphrodite]

queen in the inconceivable embrace
of whose tremendous hair that blossom stands
whereof is most desire, yet less than those
twain perfect roses whose ambrosial grace,
goddess, thy crippled thunder-forging groom
or the loud lord of skipping maenads knows,
having Discordia’s apple in thy hands,
which the scared shepherd gave thee for his doom-

O thou within the chancel of whose charms
the tall boy god of everlasting war *
received the shuddering sacrament of sleep,
betwixt whose cool incorrigible arms
impaled upon delicious mystery,
with gaunt limbs reeking of the whispered deep,
deliberate groping ocean fondled o’er
the warm long flower of unchastity,

[* Mars]

imperial Cytherea, from frail foam
sprung with irrevocable nakedness
to strike the young world into smoking song- *
as the first star perfects the sensual dome
of darkness, and the sweet strong final bird
transcends the sight, O thou to whom belong
the hearts of lovers! I beseech thee bless
thy suppliant singer and his wandering word.

[* the goddess, born from the foam off the island of Cythera]

The potent mix of fecundity, fertility and sexuality is captured by the artist William Blake Richmond in his 1889 painting Venus and Anchises. The goddess arrives in a blizzard of blossoms, bringing the Spring with her, and discovering the frightened mortal whom she has selected to be her next conquest and lover.

William Blake Richmond, Venus & Anchises