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.

Woman & Puppet- a story of misogyny and frustrated desire

Philippe Swyncop, 1936

‘Woman and Puppet’ (La Femme et le pantin) was the third major novel published by writer Pierre Louys during his decade of creativity, before he slipped into addiction and illness and fell silent. Published in 1898, it drew its inspiration from Carmen by Prosper Mérimée (1847), which was itself inspired by an episode in the life of Casanova. The novella is an accomplished work, with a lean, tense narrative and a fast pace, but many modern readers will find the author’s presentation of the central female character, Conchita Perez, highly problematic.

Mariette Lydis, 1934

There are two primary themes to the book. Firstly, there is an older man’s desire for a younger female. In this case, Mateo Diaz, who is in his mid-thirties, develops a passionate desire for Conchita, who is fifteen when he first sees her. He has had many lovers; she is a virgin with “budding breasts” and a “little brown belly.” Conchita is presented consistently as an object of lust: asleep on a train, she is “so childish and sensual that I doubted sometimes whether, in her dreams, the movements of her lips sought a nurse’s breast or the lips of a lover.” Barely a year later, though, she is depicted dancing the flamenco- naked except for her stockings- in a bar in Cadiz, displaying her “supple body and muscular loins.”

Antoine Calbet, In the Fabrica 1899

Simultaneously, Louys’ entire presentation of Conchita’s character is deeply misogynist. She is portrayed as a cynical and calculating tease: she continually offers Mateo her love and her body, but then postpones consummation whilst at the same time taking considerable sums of his money and receiving many goods from him as presents for herself and others. Her torture of him appears vindictive and dramatic, yet the story is told from the perspective of a man who asks “Why should we consider refusals, disdain or even delays? We ask and women give themselves”- and who later warns “There are two kinds of women who should be avoided at all costs: the first are those who do not love you, and then those who do love you.” Mateo Diaz is plainly used to seeing women as attractive chattels and, although Conchita’s manipulating behaviour is portrayed as unforgivably cruel, had he achieved his aim of seducing her at the outset, it is highly likely she would have been treated even more poorly once he had tired of her. Mateo’s exploitative character is revealed in a reference he makes to an Italian girlfriend he had for a while: Giulia was a dancer, “a large girl with muscular legs who would have been a pretty animal in the confines of a harem,” but he was unable to care for her, despite her passion and affection.

Armand Coussens, In the Fabrica, 1933

The most distasteful scene of all in the book is when Mateo beats Conchita and she thanks him: “How well you have beaten me, my heart! How sweet it was! How good it felt… Forgive me for all I have done to you!” Conchita then finally consents to have sex with him, suggesting that being punched repeatedly was really what she wanted (and needed) all along. The chauvinist masculine attitudes displayed in the book are doubtless of their time, but they are deeply depressing and unattractive now.

Lydis, In the Fabrica, 1934

Whilst modern readers may have problems with the story, it was much respected in its time, to the extent of being turned into an opera in 1921. In addition, between the date of first publication and the late 1950s, over twenty illustrated editions were released, three quarters of these being designed by artists whom we have not previously encountered in our discussions of the books of Louys. This is an impressive indication of the book’s popularity, and it takes to over one hundred the total number of illustrated editions of his works that were produced last century.

Paul-Emile Becat, In the Fabrica, 1945

Being set in Spain, the novel offered plenty of colourful, if cliched, opportunities to depict women in traditional dress, performing wild and erotic dances; also popular with the many illustrators was the episode in which Mateo visits the Fabrica, the cigarette factory in Seville, to ogle the female employees- the place is so hot in summer that most strip off to their skirts. His misogynist attitudes are on full display: the workplace, for him is “an immense harem of four thousand eight hundred women.” “The spectacle was diverse.  There were women of all ages, childish and old, young or less young… Some were not even nubile.  There was everything in that naked crowd, except virgins, probably.  There were even pretty girls.”

Some of the artists commissioned to work on this book are known to us already: Edouard Chimot, Mariette Lydis, Antoine Calbet, Paul-Emile Becat and Jean Traynier. I especially like Chimot’s frontispiece (see below), which reminds me strongly of pictures by Gustav Klimt.

Edouard Chimot, 1937

Amongst the other editions are two featuring portraits of the author (by Pierre-Eugene Vibert in 1912 and Galanis in 1958). Vibert (1875-1937) was Swiss but travelled to Paris in 1893 to complete his studies. He established himself amongst the artistic community of the French capital and got to know many writers as well, which led to many commissions to work on books, which included texts by Maeterlinck, Verhaeren, Anatole France and Heinrich Heine. He was particularly known for his literary portraits- hence the picture of Louys forming the frontispiece to the 1912 edition- but he also engraved Stendahl, France, Verhaeren and Remy de Gourmont. Nevertheless, when the Vibert edition was reissued in 1919, it was much enhanced by the addition of eleven watercolour designs by Swiss artist John Graz. Editions with simple black and white woodcuts of characters and dancers were created by Achille Ouvré in 1922 and, in the next year, with Iberian street scenes cut by C-J. Hallo (who was mainly known for his fabric designs).

John Graz, 1919

Many other artists were much more adventurous and colourful, including Jean Virolle and Jean-Paul Tillac in 1930, Armand Coussens in 1933 and the Belgian Philippe Swyncop in 1936. Swyncop (1878-1949) was mainly a portrait painter, but he had supplied lively illustrations for magazines and books; this, plus the fact that he had lived in Spain for a while, doubtless recommended him for the commission. The same applied to Tillac (1880-1969), a painter, engraver, sculptor and illustrator who had travelled widely before settling in the Pyrenees, from which he regularly visited the Basque country and Spain. Coussens (1881-1935) was a Provencal artist who specialised in etching everyday scenes and also had experience illustrating humorous and satirical periodicals (like so many of the artists who worked on Louys’ books).

In the Fabrica, Virolle, 1930

J-P Tillac, 1930

Sex and sexuality are powerful themes in the book, as exemplified by the scene in which Mateo sees Conchita performing nearly naked in a private bar in Cadiz. Very readily, though, this spills over into sexism, most notably in the ways Louys has her torture Mateo with promises of consummation which are continually withheld or which seem to be granted to others but denied to him. This depiction of the girl as a calculating tease has already been criticised, but it did make for highly dramatic illustrations. Coussens captured the older man’s desperate obsession in his frontispiece, whilst Virolle dramatised her ability to mock and torment.

Jean Virolle

Following the end of the Second World War, there was a rush of new editions of the book, rather as we have seen with other works by Louys. Amongst these were striking designs by illustrators Louis Clauss and Andre-Jo Veilhan, both in 1946 and by the Swiss artist Roger Wild (1894-1987) in 1947. Wild’s commission seems especially apt when we learn that he founded a publishing house in Paris in the 1920s, the Fanfare de Montparnasse, specifically to publish the illustrative work of his friend Jules Pascin.

L. Clauss, 1946

Andre-Jo Veilhan, 1946

Roger Wild, 1947

Pablo Roig, 1903

Lastly, several Spanish artists worked on the text. The plates supplied by Carlos Vasquez in 1909 are rather straightforward etchings; by way of contrast, in 1903 Pablo Roig produced some much more striking colour illustrations, which were further enhanced by page designs by Riom. The painter and illustrator Pau Roig i Cisa (1879-1955) lived in Barcelona and produced portraits, landscapes and figure studies; his cover, showing Concha with an actual puppet, may be rather literal but it’s effective. Gustave Riom (1839-1898) was a French graphic artist who worked in an Art Nouveau style and specialised in floral designs. Their collaborative work is an example of the fruitful interaction between art work and text, a gesamtkunstwerk, that I have discussed previously.

Finally, in 1951 Emilio Grau-Sala (1911-75) provided illustrations for one of the last illustrated editions of Femme et pantin. Born and trained in Barcelona, he began to exhibit in and visit Paris in the early ’30s, before moving there permanently in 1936. He was influenced by the paintings of Jules Pascin, but made his living decorating restaurants and cruise liners, designing theatrical sets and costumes, and illustrating books. As well as Louys, he worked on titles by Flaubert, de Maupassant, Colette, Proust, Rimbaud, Verlaine and Baudelaire.

Grau-Sala, 1951

Several English translations appeared, the first in 1903 not long after the original publication, but illustrated editions had to wait a few more decades. The first was part of the series produced by the Pierre Louys Society in the USA: as with the other titles the Society issued, Clara Tice was the illustrator. As we can see from her frontispiece for the 1927 volume (reissued in 1932), she went for the imagery of a literal puppet. Tice was also attracted by the scene involving plentiful nudes in the Fabrica, as we can see.

At the Fabrica, Tice

Yunge

Other illustrated versions of ‘Woman and Puppet’ appeared in 1930, illustrated by the prolific US painter and illustrator William Siegel (1905-90) and in 1935, with plates by British illustrator John Yunge-Bateman (1897-1971), who seemed to specialise in quite erotic imagery. The plate by ‘Yunge’ that I reproduce underlines the tendency of Conchita to reveal herself to Mateo, and yet to be inaccessible to him; other artists depicted this scene. As for Siegel’s illustration, what strikes me most is that the pose was copied in 1946 by the Austrian painter Richard Müller: the similarities are so astonishingly close we must assume that Müller possessed a copy of the American version of Louys’ book (surprising as that may sound).

William Siegel, 1935

Kind mit puppe, Müller, 1946

For more on the works of Pierre Louys, see my bibliography for the writer. See as well my books page for details of my other writing on him. For a complete discussion of the illustrated editions of the works of Pierre Louys in their wider context, see my book In the Garden of Eros, available as a paperback and Kindle e-book from Amazon.

Jean Traynier- illustrator of Carmen & Pierre Louys

Carmen

Jean Traynier was a French illustrator who flourished during the 1940s and ’50s. Almost nothing is known about him, other than through his surviving published work. He was evidently one of a pool of illustrators working in Paris from the 1930s, drawn there by the employment opportunities offered by the booming luxury book trade, especially- as I’ve described previously- the thriving market for erotica, such as much of the material by Pierre Louys that was discovered and published after his death. As we’ll see shortly, this business continued throughout the Second World War- perhaps surprisingly.

Traynier’s work included illustrations for Albert Samain’s collection of poetry Au Jardin de l’enfant and Prosper Merimee’s Carmen (both 1943), The Song of Songs (1945), Robert Gilsoul’s Quinze Joies de mariage ‘The Fifteen Pleasures of Marriage,’ L’Idylle Venitienne (‘Venetian Idyll) by Gabriel Soulages and Henri de Montherlant’s La vie amoureuse de Monsieur de Guiscart ‘The love Life of Monsieur de Guiscart’ (all three in 1946), Flaubert’s Sentimental Education and Beroul’s Romance of Tristan & Isolde (both 1947), Rousseau’s Social Contract (1953) and Point de Lendemain, ou la nuit merveilleuse (No Tomorrow, Or the Wonderful Night) by Dominique-Vivant Denon (1957).

The illustrations for the biblical Song of Songs are as proper as we would anticipate, but as the titles of some of these books may suggest, their content was racy and the plates mirrored the text- from the slightly saucy (Carmen) through images of topless women in silk knickers (Guiscart), to the predictably erotic Fifteen Pleasures of Marriage.

Traynier was especially daring with Denon’s No Tomorrow, which is illustrated with twenty highly explicit plates, showing couples in eighteenth century wigs engaged in some highly acrobatic intercourse, including one passionate couple with a strap-on. In fact, the style of these illustrations is familiar, for Traynier had already employed it eight years earlier when designing the plates for Pierre Louys‘ collection of erotic verse, Cydalise (1949). The title is simply a female name, although Louys’ inspiration may have come from the ballet, Cydalise et le chèvre-pied (‘Cydalise and the goat-foot’ or, preferably, ‘Cydalise and the satyr’). Composed by Léo Staats to a score by Gabriel Pierné, it was written in 1914-15 but, because of the First World War, was not performed until January 1923 at the Paris Opera. Louys is very likely to have been aware of the production and its premier and may have considered the name suitable for his book, given his heroine’s profession and the priapic propensities of satyrs.

from Les Quinzes joies

The manuscript of the poetry collection was (like many) undiscovered until after poet’s death in 1925. Many of these texts were rushed into print over the next couple of years. This was not the case with Cydalise, which may indicate that the original buyer purchased the document out of personal interest alone and that it was only later, perhaps because of changed circumstances or inheritance by an heir, that the decision was made to publish the work. It’s interesting to note that the preface is at pains to stress the authenticity of the text, given the tendency of imitators to cash in upon Louys’ name; at the same time, it compares the book’s rather belated appearance to a forgotten bottle of vintage wine being discovered in a cellar behind a bundle of sticks.

The book has only ever been issued in this one limited edition run of 265 copies, issued in a case and with sixteen plates by the artist. It is therefore very rare: for example, there is no copy in a library in the UK; I would have to go to Bibilotheque nationale de France in Paris to be able to consult the nearest accessible volume. The book is, consequently, the highly collectible, although copies seem to appear often enough on auction house websites.

Cydalise (so far as I can judge from the verses I have seen on page images displayed online by auction rooms and book dealers) concerns the training and work of a young prostitute by an older woman in the business. As Louys described in another of his books, L’Île aux dames (The Island of Women), it was typical for a sex worker to employ a maid, a younger female who was possibly her daughter, to assist her. This gosse (kid) would solicit business, deal with clients and gradually get more involved in the provision of sexual services before setting up on her own. The author seems to have been pretty familiar with these arrangements, but then his own journals and letters reveal that he was a regular visitor to brothels, at least early in his life.

The book is written in a style familiar with Louys, a sort of working class/ street slang, coarse and direct, which certainly appears to be authentic to the subject. Traynier’s plates are the same style of pen and ink design that he was to use again for No Tomorrow, except that in the case of Cydalise he has chosen a fin-de-siecle setting for the pictures, rather than pre-Revolutionary France. The plates are both realistic- depicting sexual activity- and fantastic, for instance showing a woman surrounded by gigantic phalli. Because of this content, I don’t think it’s suitable to feature images from either book here, but you can easily find them online if you wish. Nevertheless, I hope it may be clear that Traynier must have seemed like a very suitable artist to commission for the Louys title, having a track record in this kind of book, a readiness to produce images that matched the content and tone of the text they would sit beside and, as well, a clear and simple style with strong lines and bold designs.

In the same year, 1949, Traynier also supplied illustrations for an edition of Louys’ La Femme et le pantin (The Woman & the Puppet). This was one of a five volume set of the author’s works issued by Albin Michel. The story tells of a middle aged man who falls for a girl in her teens and is tormented by her, giving her money and gifts and never having his love requited. It is set in Spain, as Traynier’s illustrations make clear.

For more on the many works of Pierre Louys, see my bibliography of his available books. For details of my essays on the French interwar illustrators, and other areas of art history, see my books page. For more discussion of the work of Traynier and of illustrated editions of the works of Pierre Louys in their wider context, see my book In the Garden of Eros, available as a paperback and Kindle e-book from Amazon.

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