Icons of Aphrodite: Some More Illustrators of Pierre Louys

In the course of researching my recent posting on Sound and Vision and the art of illustrating literary texts, I turned up a handful of new artists who were not previously familiar to me; all worked on Pierre Louys’ second novel, Aphrodite, and deserve a mention.

Edmond Malassis was one of the earliest illustrators of the book (1896- reprinted 1898); for brightness of colour and sheer energy of his plates and headpieces, I prefer his work to that of Antoine Calbet or Edouard Zier. His street scene is alive with gossip, rumour and sly seductive looks; the episode in which Chrysis discovers Rhodis and Myrtocleia in her bed is accurately portrayed- the young courtesan initially forgetting that she has company because she is so obsessed with her own appearance.

Malassis, On the Jetty of Alexandria (Book 1, c.2)
Malassis, Chrsis neglects her guests (Book 1, c.7)

Perhaps the most interesting is Jean-Andre Cante (1912-77) who was a painter, sculptor, engraver and architect. He was a student at the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Bordeaux between 1927 and 1934 and then worked as an illustrator until 1948. After this time, he became a teacher at the school of Applied Arts in Paris, whilst also switching his attention to new techniques for integrating works of art into concrete architecture. As a technician and researcher, he developed new materials to achieve this, in particular synthetic resins combined with polystyrene or polyvinyl chloride. His illustrative work is very pleasing and pretty, as in the cover image for an edition of Louys’ Aphrodite (above), from 1949. Reverting to the discussion of that earlier post, we see here the Ephesian flute players, Rhodis and Myrtocleia, depicted exactly as the Pierre Louys must have imagined them.

Pierre Rousseau (1903-91) was an illustrator and official French army painter. Amongst the works he illustrated were various literary and ‘adult’ titles, such as Flaubert’s Madame Bovary in 1927, an edition of Restif de la Bretonne in 1928, Alphonse Daudet’s Sapho (1929), Baudelaire’s Spleen in 1947 and Prosper Merimee’s Les ames de purgatoire in 1946. He also worked on numerous children’s books. In 1941 Rousseau illustrated a life of Marshall Petain that was, essentially, propaganda for the French regime then ruling that part of France not occupied by the Germans. It has to be noted that several of the contemporary writers whose works Rousseau illustrated during this period collaborated with the Nazis. Nevertheless, his work on Louys’ Aphrodite in 1929 is beautiful, with its use of simple blocks of colour and bold design. As can be seen below, in the image heading chapter 7 of Book 1 of the novel, Rousseau appreciated that there was little difference in age between Chrysis and the two Ephesian musicians, Rhodis and Myrtocleia, and in his illustration, he was faithful to the text by Louys.

Rousseau, Aphrodite, showing Chrysis with Rhodis & Myrtocleia
Firmin Maglin, 1899

Firmin Maglin (1867-1946) was a French painter and lithographer. He trained at two drawing schools in Paris and began exhibiting his work at the Salon of French Artists in 1890, at the Salon des Indépendants in 1895 and at the Salon d’Automne in 1903 and 1904. His paintings are mainly landscapes in a post-impressionist style, but he also produced orientalist work (such as Le Harem in 1935 and Les Jardins du Serail– The Gardens of the Seraglio). Maglin also designed lithographed illustrations for works of literature, supplying twelve engravings for an edition of Aphrodite in 1930: as noted before, these are in a rather dated style, although with a certain lively charm. The artist was rather older than the other illustrators discussed here and I suspect that he depicted the women in the styles of his youth, their hair piled on their heads as would have been fashionable around the turn of the century. His nudes remind me of another French artist of the same generation, Georges Picard (1857-1946), whose nymphs and faeries likewise looked like society ladies accidentally naked in the wrong surroundings. The ‘orgy’ scene below is notable for several reasons: in the background you can just about spot Rhodis and Myrtocleia providing the music, whilst the krater full to the brim with red wine in the foreground indicates how wild things might get later… (They do- in several ways: the musician Rhodis’ sister Theano, who’s a dancer, is dipped head first in the wine before being seduced- and then a slave is crucified).

from Aphrodite: Chrysis at the party, by Maglin
Frontispiece of the 1931 edition by Ray
Plate by Ray, showing influence of art deco style and Walter Crane’s ‘Renaissance of Venus‘ (1877)

A further- and apparently very commercially successful- edition of Aphrodite was published in 1931 by Carteret. The illustrator was Maurice Ray (1863-1938), a successful painter and illustrator who worked in a variety of styles, most notably producing nude and semi-nude female figures in Neoclassical and Orientalist (Egyptian) settings. This ideally suited him to work on Louys’ second book and he captured the decadent atmosphere very well- although we may remark how he has raised the ages of Rhodis and Myrtocleia in the plate shown below. The success of this edition of the book may well be ascribed to its plentiful illustration, for it included 32 watercolours by Ray along with twenty-five woodcuts taken from his designs by a Madame Moro-Ruffe.

Ray- Chrysis, Rhodis & Myrtocleia
Cover of the 1931 edition- woodcut by Moro-Ruffe
A E Marty

In 1936 the artist Andre-Edouard Marty (1882-1974) worked on a further edition of Aphrodite. He was also later to produce some striking illustrations to Les Chansons de Bilitis. His work on Louys’ second novel is characterised by its bold art deco style and beautiful colouring. His strong lines and bright tones doubtless explain why Marty was also commissioned to design posters for the London Underground in 1933.

A E Marty
Renée Ringel’s edition, 1944

The Second World War caused a hiatus in a lot of publishing for obvious reasons, although I suspect that in occupied Europe the book trade discovered that the Wehrmacht offered an active market for some products- both the fine art and more trashy erotica. This may partly explain why in 1944 a new edition of Aphrodite appeared in Brussels, with an illustrated and coloured title page and fifteen plates designed by Renée Ringel. She was a prolific illustrator of books, from children’s works (Les plaisirs et les jeux, 1940) through to adult texts (such as Collette’s Claudine books and Ovid’s L’Art d’Aimer, ‘The Art of Love,’ also 1950- a title notable for featuring a lesbian couple on its title page). Ringel had an extremely attractive style, highly reminiscent of Mariette Lydis, or perhaps Suzanne Ballivet; sadly, I’ve been unable even to discover dates for her, although she was active during the 1940s and ’50s. The similarity between women Ringel drew and those of Lydis- as well as her focus upon the female characters in the book, lead me to suspect that she too was lesbian or bisexual. For example, the feast and bacchanal staged in part three of the book is, in the text, a mixed affair, but Ringel makes it look like a solely female orgia.

Ringel, Collette

There’s also some indication that (like Edouard Zier before her), Ringel was influenced by Antoine Calbet’s 1896 edition of the book. We are told by Louys, very much in passing, that part of the reason that the story’s heroine, Chrysis, ran away from home aged twelve, and became a courtesan in Alexandria, is because her mother had been so protective of her, shutting up inside whilst other “little girls bathed in a limpid brook [near the house] where one found red shells under the tufts of laurel blossom.” Calbet turned this tiny mention into an illustration in the text; Ringel chose the same minor biographical detail and produced a very similar image. As with Zier’s image of Melitta with her mother, this seems to me to be more than just a coincidence but a deliberate homage.

Calbet, Aphrodite, 1896
Ringel, Aphrodite, 1944

Lastly, the artist calling himself Morin-Jean (1877-1940) also worked on an edition of Aphrodite in 1947. Morin-Jean initially studied law but switched to become an artist in 1911. Amongst his other illustrative work was an edition of Flaubert’s Salammbo (1931). His woodblock engravings are highly distinctive, their bold outlines being appropriate to the ‘antique’ subject matter, and the colour covers are simple but striking.

Once again, I feel that these designs indicate how good illustrations can enhance and add additional layers of meaning to the text that they complement. They are, in their own small way, a gesamtkunstwerk, a complete work of art in which media are combined to create a single, cohesive whole (one of the earliest literary examples might be the Almanac of the Blaue Reiter (Blue Rider) group in 1912). Theory aside, the pleasure of a beautifully designed volume hardly needs to be described or proved; there have been numerous illustrated editions of Aphrodite, one of the most popular popular books that Louys wrote, and these continue to be highly sought after by collectors (as most of my illustrations here show, as they are taken from various dealers’ websites). Books like these have to be appreciated as a whole, experiencing the plates alongside the story and enjoying their interaction in the imagination.

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.

Symbolist Nightmares- the art of Giulio Sartorio

Giulio Aristide Sartorio (1860-1932) was an Italian painter and film director. He received his artistic training at the Rome Institute of Fine Arts and launched his career by exhibiting a Symbolist work at the 1883 International Exposition of Rome. His influences included not only the symbolism of Giovanni Segantini but the Italian neo-classical school of painting (such as Luigi Bazzani), British Pre-Raphaelite and Arts and Crafts artists, contemporary rural painters and writers and poets such as Gabriele D’Annunzio, and associated with the painters and photographers of the Roman countryside. Sartori won many awards for his work and was widely renowned during his life. He has since fallen from popular favour- in part, no doubt, because of his associations with Mussolini and the Fascists.

Diana of Ephesus & the Slaves (1893-8)

Despite this professional esteem and commercial success, much of Sartorio’s work can be surprisingly odd and disturbingly erotic. The tangle of bodies and streams of blood (human and animal) of victims apparently sacrificed to the Great Mother Goddess in Diana of Ephesus & the Slaves (above) are macabre and distressing. His mythical scenes, meanwhile, suggest the mixed allure and latent threat of many of the sea beings he depicts.

La Sirena (The Siren or The Green Abyss) 1893
Pico, Re del Lazio e Circe di Tessaglia,1904 (Pico, King of Latium and Circe of Thessaly

The Pico/ Picus of the above picture was one of the kings of the ancient Latium in central Italy and an ancestor of Romulus and Remus, putative founders of Rome. He was married to a nymph. One day, whilst hunting in the woods, he was seen by the sorceress Circe, who changed herself into a boar so as to be able to approach him. As soon as he was close to her, she resumed her female form and tried to seduce him; Picus rejected her and, in revenge, she turned him into a green woodpecker. As we can see from Sartori’s painting, his rendering of this story has transformed Circe into a slender, young Aphrodite-like figure, gliding across the waves in a manner very much like images of the Birth of Venus by Botticelli or Walter Crane– though she also looks troubling like William Stott‘s picture of the same scene.

Frieze

Sartorio’s Payment to Youth, shown below, seems to be another image of the goddess. She relaxes rather wantonly on a grassy bank, with Cupid perhaps asking her for instructions as to whom he should ensnare in love with his arrows. The next illustration, taken from the 1919 edition of The Sibyl, offers another side of the goddess- an altogether darker one. Titled Thalia, Eros, Thanatos, Astarte, this brings together Love, Death, the muse of poetry and comedy and Astarte/ Ishtar, the great mother goddess of the Middle East (in strangely headless form). It reminds us of the sacrificial, life, death and rebirth aspects of many ancient cults.

Payment to Youth
from The Sibyl, 1919

Many of Sartorio’s canvasses are a mass of writhing bodies: the mood is frequently one of pain and mental anguish. Even The Re-Awakening, although it portrays some young people yawning and waking after sleep, has an undertone of torture. The source of this disquiet and suffering afflicting his subjects isn’t always apparent, but in some canvases the cause is clear- it is some malign and fatal goddess or enchantress (as with Medusa below, who literally tramples her victims into submission).

The Re-Awakening
Medusa the Gorgon

Medusa tramples the vanquished men beneath her feet, whilst a second representation of Diana of Ephesus shows the goddess as an impassively cruel- but lovely- young female. There aren’t the heaped up corpses of the earlier depiction, but there still seems, to me, to be a veiled and unsettling menace. It’s the same combination of attraction and fear that we might find in the Venus in Furs of the Velvet Underground: the junior dominatrix whose love is not given lightly.

Diana di Efeso
From The Sibyl, 1919
From The Sibyl, 1919

Sartorio’s art isn’t wholly bleak. He also painted some lovely landscapes and a number of very peaceful scenes of families enjoying themselves in the sunshine on the beach or in the Roman countryside. Overall, though, his work reflects the decadent and disturbed sexuality of the Symbolist period.

La Famiglia

Symbolist Venus

The Renaissance of Venus (1877) Walter Crane Tate Gallery

The painters of the Symbolist movement were particularly keen upon classical mythological scenes and made good use of the many gods, goddesses and other beings. Aphrodite and her sisters appear quite frequently in pictures. The Birth of Venus is a common scene, sometimes presented in slavish imitation of Botticelli, as is the case with Walter Crane’s canvas of 1877, The Renaissance of Venus. Doves flutter past, myrtle (a plant sacred to Aphrodite) sprouts on the shore and the naked goddess tries to control her billowing hair, whilst looking down demurely to one side. Venus is an attractive young woman, but with quite a muscular frame. We might suppose that Crane wished to represent the intersex aspect of the goddess, but in fact the story goes that his wife objected to him working from naked female models, so he painted instead from an Italian called Alessandro di Marco, a young man popular with many London artists. Allegedly Lord Leighton spotted Alessandro’s physique adapted to become Aphrodite when the picture was first exhibited at the Grosvenor Gallery. Far less inspired is the image of Venus’ Mirror included below, in which Crane’s goddess seems no more than a Victorian lady admiring herself- though admittedly she may be suffering something of a wardrobe malfunction.

Crane, The Mirror of Venus (or, Art and Life)

French painter Gustave Moreau created some comparably conventional pictures: in his Birth of Venus (Venus Appearing to Fishermen) a similar long-haired, slender and youthful blonde emerges from the waves to receive the fishermen’s obeisance, whilst The Birth of Venus/ Naissance de Venus is an even more slavish copy of Botticelli and others. More original is his Venus Rising from the Sea (1866), in which the goddess appears, arms outstretched to support her voluminous locks, whilst attendants offer her pearls and coral. Moreau’s vision of the goddess is always rather pallid and insipid, though, lacking Aphrodite’s energy and power.

Moreau

In contrast, Odilon Redon offers several sensually glowing visions of the same divine birth. The bright pink body of the goddess is revealed within a rosy heart of a shell, as if emerging from a womb (1866 and two from 1912). In a third canvas, dating from 1910, she sits at ease in a deep red shell, watching the breaking waves. In a fourth scene, also from 1912, she floats ashore in a giant nautilus shell. Redon’s images, with their flesh pink tones and the emphasis upon the oyster-like shell, are expressly sensual. One of the ancient symbols of the goddess was the scallop shell, a reference to her birth from the shell as we see in Botticelli and in Moreau’s Naissance, but it also signified the female genitalia and emphasised the goddess’ sexual nature. Indeed, in the play Rudens by Roman author Plautus, two girls who are devoted to the goddess are described as conchas, shells: this term seems to have a double meaning.

Redon, Birth of Venus, 1912
Redon, Birth of Venus, 1912

Swiss Arnold Böcklin is known for his classical scenes, in which he regularly portrayed mythical beings such as sirens, nymphs, centaurs and fauns. He also tackled Venus’ birth several times. His Venus Anadyomene (born of the waves), painted in 1872, is carried across the sea by a monstrous dolphin (another animal closely linked to the goddess in her marine aspects), whilst little cupids with butterfly wings flutter above her head, holding gauzy draperies around her. A Birth of Venus from 1869 rehearses the same scene, but with only a couple of cupids and the goddess’ robes merging into what resembles a waterspout arising from the waves. Another such picture, also called the Green Venus, portrays the goddess walking on water.

Böcklin, Venus Anadyomene

Nearly all of Böcklin’s goddesses seem to be the same staid-looking Germanic matron, who is largely devoid of sexual frisson. This is especially the case with his triptych Venus Genitrix (the mother of the (Roman) people ) of 1895. This version of the goddess attracted official worship under the Caesars in Rome in order to promote maternal qualities and, in addition, to underline Julian family claims to descent from her. Böcklin’s Venus is a respectable wife- who plays a triangle (?)- and is seen with her husband and her children (although the bare bottomed Eros/ Cupid is- admittedly- somewhat at odds with this overall tone. I assume he’s there to bring the two young lovers together). If so, Böcklin’s Venus Dispatching Love of 1901 depicts a slightly earlier episode from this love story. In this image, a rather more voluptuous and wanton Venus is seen reclining beneath a myrtle, sending her son to bring trouble in mortals’ lives.

Venus Dispatching Love, 1901

Sexuality was never far from the work of Aubrey Beardsley (1872-98). His Venus Between Two Terminal Gods (1895) depicts the goddess wearing a long, off-the-shoulder dress, with dark, tousled hair. She faces the viewer impassively, sternly even, as a dove glides in front of her. The statues on either side hold pan-pipes and carry baskets overflowing with fruit on their heads. This is a respectable, slightly intimidating deity, whereas in Eros and Aphrodite, she is blatantly the harlot queen of physical love. We see her from behind, wearing only knee length stockings and reaching between her legs. Eros powders between her buttocks and thighs with a large soft brush, at the same time sporting a large erection; it appears as though they are both getting rather excited by the titivations. The indications of incest- and of a prostitute preparing herself for a client- are typical of Beardsley’s taste. Nonetheless, they are very much in the tradition of Bronzino and the mythology as well.

Symbolist style was adopted by society portraitist John Singer Sargent when he was asked to provide murals for Boston public library. His cycle, titled The Triumph of Religion, covers Egyptian and Assyrian religion as well Bible scenes portraying Judaism and Christianity. The work on the cylce, which is still to be found on the hallway of the third floor of the McKim Building, occupied Sargent between 1890 and 1919.

Astarte, John Singer Sargent

Amongst the pagan gods the artist portrayed is a striking Astarte, painted in 1895, who wears a blue robe and stands upon a crescent moon. She is encrusted with beads and gold ornamentation highly reminiscent of Gustav Klimt. Naked attendants surround her, their hands raised in worship. Her eyes are closed and her lips bear a beatific smile. She is serene and powerful, sparkling with light, and is arguably a great deal more attractive a figure than the rather worthy ‘Mysteries of the Rosary,’ ‘Dogma of Redemption,’ ‘Israelites Oppressed’ or ‘Prophets.’