Decorum

Decorum (pronounced dih-kawr-uhm or dih-kohr-uhm)

(1) Dignified propriety of behavior, speech, dress, demeanour etc.

(2) The quality or state of being decorous, or exhibiting such dignified propriety; orderliness; regularity.

(3) The conventions of social behaviour; an observance or requirement of one’s social group (sometimes in the plural as “decorums” the use an allusion to the many rules of etiquette (the expectations or requirements defining “correct behaviour” which, although most associated with “polite society”, do vary between societal sub-sets, differing at the margins)).

1560–1570: A learned borrowing (in the sense of “that which is proper or fitting in a literary or artistic composition”) from the Latin decōrum, noun use of neuter of decōrus (proper, decent (ie decorous) from decor (beauty, elegance, charm, grace, ornament), probably from decus (an ornament; splendor, honor), the Proto-Italic dekos (dignity), from the primitive Indo-European déḱos (that which is proper), from deḱ- (take, perceive) (and used in the sense of “to accept” on the notion of “to add grace”).  By the 1580s the use of decorum has spread from its literary adoption from the Latin to the more generalized sense of “propriety of speech, behavior or dress; formal politeness”, a resurrection of the original sense in Latin (polite, correct in behaviour, that which is seemly).  Decorously (in a decorous manner) is an adverb, decorousness (the state or quality of being decorous; a behavior considered decorous) is a noun, indecorous (improper, immodest, or indecent) and undecorous (not decorous) are adjectives).  The adjective dedecorous (disgraceful; unbecoming) is extinct.  Decorum is a noun; the noun plural is decora or decorums.

Whether on rugby pitches, race tracks, in salons & drawing rooms or geo-politics, disagreements over matters of decorum have over millennia been the source of innumerable squabbles, schisms and slaughter but linguistically, the related adjective decorous (characterized by dignified propriety in conduct, manners, appearance, character, etc) has also not been trouble-free.  Decorous seems first to have appeared in the 1650s from the Latin decōrus and akin to both decēre (to be acceptable, be fitting) and docēre (to teach (in the sense of “to make fitting”) with the adjectival suffix –ōsus appended.  In Latin, the -ōsus suffix (full, full of) was a doublet of -ose in an unstressed position and was used to form adjectives from nouns, to denote possession or presence of a quality in any degree, commonly in abundance.  English picked this up from the Middle English -ous, from the Old French –ous & -eux, from the Latin -ōsus and it became productive.  In chemistry, it has a specific technical application, used in the nomenclature to name chemical compounds in which a specified chemical element has a lower oxidation number than in the equivalent compound whose name ends in the suffix -ic.  For example sulphuric acid (H₂SO₄) has more oxygen atoms per molecule than sulphurous acid (H₂SO₃).  Decorous is an adjective, decorousness is a noun and decorously is an adverb.

In use there are two difficulties with decorous: (1) the negative forms and (2) how it should be pronounced, both issues with which mercifully few will be troubled (or even see what the fuss is about) but to a pedantic subset, much noted.  The negative forms are undecorous & indecorous (both of which rarely are hyphenated) but the meanings are differences in the meaning.  Undecorous means simply “not decorous” which can be bad enough but indecorous is used to convey “improper, immodest, or indecent” which truly can be damning in some circles so the two carefully should be applied.  There’s also the negative nondecorous but it seems never to have been a bother.  The problem is made worse by the adjective dedecorous (disgraceful; unbecoming) being extinct; it would have been a handy sort of intermediate state between the “un-” & “in-” forms and the comparative (more dedecorous) & superlative (most dedecorous) would have provided all the nuance needed.  The related forms are the nouns nondecorousness, indecorous & indecorous and the adverbs nondecorously, undecorously & undecorously.

The matter of the pronunciation of decorous is one for the pedants but there’s a lot of them about and like décor, the use is treated as a class-identifier, the correlation between pedantry and class-identifiers probably high; the two schools of thought are  dek-er-uhs & dih-kawr-uhs (the second syllable -kohr- more of a regionalism) and in 1926 when the stern Henry Fowler (1858–1933) published his A Dictionary of Modern English Usage, he in his prescriptive way insisted on the former.  By 1965, when the volume was revised by Sir Ernest Gowers (1880–1966), he noted the “pronunciation has not yet settled down”, adding that “decorum pulls one way and decorate the other”.  In his revised edition, Sir Ernest distinguished still between right & wrong (a position from which, regrettably, subsequent editors felt inclined to retreat) but had become more descriptive than his predecessor of how things were done rather than how they “ought to be” done and added while “most authorities” had come to prefer dih-kawr-uhs, that other arbiter, the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) had listed dek-er-uhs first and it thus “may win”.  By the 2020s, impressionistically, it would seem it has.

Décor is another where the pronunciation can be a class-identifier and in this case it extend to the spelling, something directly related.  In English, the noun décor dates from 1897 in the sense of “scenery and furnishings” and was from the eighteenth century French décor, a back-formation from the fourteenth century décorer (to decorate), from the Latin decorare (to decorate, adorn, embellish, beautify), the modern word thus duplicating the Latin decor.  The original use in English was of theatre stages and such but the term “home décor” was in use late in the 1890s to described the technique of hanging copies of old masters as home decoration.  From this evolved the general use (decorations and furnishings of a room, building etc), well established by the mid 1920s and it’s been with us ever since.  Typically sensibly, the French l'accent aigu (acute accent) (the “é” pronounced ay in French) was abandoned by the Americans without corroding society but elsewhere, décor remained preferred by among certain interior decorators and their clients, the companion French pronunciation obligatory too.

Courtoom decorum: Lindsay Lohan arriving at court, Los Angeles, 2011-2013.  All the world's a catwalk.

Top row; left to right: 9 Feb 2011; 23 Feb; 2011; 10 Mar 2011; 22 Apr 2011.
Centre row; left to right: 23 Jun 2011; 19 Oct 2011; 2 Nov 2011; 14 Dec 2011.
Bottom row; left to right: 17 Dec 2011; 30 Jan 2012; 22 Feb 2012; 28 Mar 2012.

In English, the original use of decorum was in the technical jargon of what word come to be called literary theory; decorum describing a structuralist adherence to formal convention.  It was applied especially to poetry where rules of construction abound and it was about consistency with the “canons of propriety” (in this context defined usually as “good taste, good manners & correctness” which in our age of cultural (and linguistic) relativism is something many would label as “problematic” but all are free to “plug-in” their own standards).  Less controversially perhaps, decorum was understood as the matter of behavior on the part of the poet qua ("in the capacity or character of; as being" and drawn from the Latin legal qua (acting in the capacity of, acting as, or in the manner of)) their poem and therefore what is proper and becoming in the relationship between form and substance.  That needs to be deconstructed: decorum was not about what the text described because the events variously could be thought most undecorous or indecorous but provided the author respected the character, thought and language appropriate to each, the literary demands of decorum were satisfied.  Just as one would use many different words to describe darkness compared to those used of sunlight, a work on a grand and profound theme should appear in a dignified and noble style while the trivial or humble might be earthier.

The tradition of decorum is noted as a theme in the works by the Classical authors from Antiquity but the problem there is that we have available only the extant texts and they would be but a fragment of everything created and it’s acknowledged there was much sifting and censoring undertaken in the Medieval period (notably by priests and monks who cut out “the dirty bits” and it’s not known how much was destroyed because it was thought “worthless” or worse “obscene”.  What has survived may be presumed to be something of the “best of” Antiquity and there’s no way of knowing if in Athens and Rome there were proto-post modernists who cared not a fig for literary decorum.  The Greek and Roman tradition certainly seems to have been influential however because decorum is obvious in Elizabethan plays.  In William Shakespeare’s (1564–1616) Much Ado About Nothing (circa 1598), the comic passages such as the badinage between Beatrice and Benedick appear for amusing effect in colloquial dramatic prose while the set-piece romantic episodes are in formal verse; the very moment Benedick and Beatrice realize they are in love, that rise in the emotional temperature is signified by them suddenly switched to poetic verse.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December, 2011.

By contrast, in rhetoric, the conventions of literary decorum were probably most useful when being flouted.  Winston Churchill’s (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) World War II (1939-1945) speeches are remembered now for their eloquence and grandeur but there’s much evidence that at the time many listeners regarded their form as an anachronism and preferred something punchier but what made them effective was the way he could mix light & dark, high and low to lend his words a life which transcended the essential artificiality of a speech.  Once, when discussing serious matter of international relations and legal relationships between formerly belligerent powers, he paused to suggest that while Germany might be treated harshly after all that had happened, the Italians “…might be allowed to work their passage back.” [to the community of the civilized world].  What the flouting of decorum could do was make something worthy but dull seem at least briefly interesting or at least amusing, avoiding what the British judge Lord Birkett (1883–1962) would have called listening to “the ‘refayned’ and precious accents of a decaying pontiff.”

In English literature, it was during the seventeenth & eighteenth centuries that decorum became what might now be called a fetish, a product of the reverence for what were thought to be the “Classical rules and tenets” although quite how much these owned to a widespread observance in Antiquity and how much to the rather idealized picture of the epoch painted by medieval and Renaissance scholars really isn’t clear.  Certainly, in the understanding of what decorum was there were influences ancient & modern, Dr Johnson (Samuel Johnson (1709-1784)) observing that while terms like “cow-keeper” or “hog-herd” would be thought too much the vulgar talk of the peasantry to appear in “high poetry”, to the Ancient Greeks there were no finer words in the language.  Some though interpolated the vulgarity of the vernacular just because of the shock value the odd discordant word or phrase could have, the English poet Alexander Pope (1688-1744) clearly enjoying mixing elegance, wit and grace with the “almost brutal forcefulness” of the “the crude, the corrupt and the repulsive” and it’s worth noting he made his living also as a satirist.  His example must have appealed to the Romantic poets because they sought to escape the confines imposed by the doctrines of Neoclassicism, William Wordsworth (1770–1850) writing in the preface to Lyrical Ballads (1798 and co-written with Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834)) that these poems were here to rebel against “false refinement” and “poetic diction”.  He may have had in mind the odd “decaying pontiff”.

Swagger

Swagger (pronounced swag-er)

(1) A manner, conduct, or gait thought an ostentatious display of arrogance and conceit.

(2) To walk or strut with a defiant or insolent air.

(3) To boast or brag noisily.

(4) To bring, drive, force, etc by means of bluster (now rare).

(5) Elegantly fashionable and confident (listed by some dictionaries as “rare” but in UK use it remains understood as a way of differentiating from “arrogant” and appears often in the form “a certain swagger” on the model of a phrase like “a certain grandeur”).

(6) In historic Australian (mostly rural) slang, an alternative name for a “swagman” or “swaggie” (an itinerant worker who carried a swag (a kind of roll-up bed) (archaic).  Swagman remains familiar in Australia because of the opening line of the bush ballad Waltzing Matilda: “Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong”.

1580–1590: The construct was swag + -er and it was a frequentative form of swag (in the sense of “to sway”), an early use of which appears in William Shakespeare’s (1564–1616) A Midsummer Night's Dream (1595): “What hempen homespuns have we swaggering here?” (Puck in Act III, Scene 1) and it appears also in Henry IV, Part 2 (circa 1598) & King Lear (circa1605).  The verb swag (in the Shakespearian sense of “to strut in a defiant or insolent manner” (which then could also mean “a gait with a sway or lurch”) was from the Middle English swaggen, swagen & swoggen, probably from the Old Norse sveggja (to swing, sway) and may be compared with the dialectal Norwegian svaga (to sway, swing, stagger).  The meaning “to boast or brag” was in use by the 1590s to describe the antics of the concurrent agent-noun swaggerer (blusterer; bully; boastful, noisy fellow), the noun appearing in the early eighteenth century in the sense of “an insolent strut; a piece of bluster; a boastful manner”.  The –er suffix was from the Middle English –er & -ere, from the Old English -ere, from the Proto-Germanic -ārijaz, thought most likely to have been borrowed from the Latin –ārius where, as a suffix, it was used to form adjectives from nouns or numerals.  In English, the –er suffix, when added to a verb, created an agent noun: the person or thing that doing the action indicated by the root verb.   The use in English was reinforced by the synonymous but unrelated Old French –or & -eor (the Anglo-Norman variant -our), from the Latin -ātor & -tor, from the primitive Indo-European -tōr.  When appended to a noun, it created the noun denoting an occupation or describing the person whose occupation is the noun.  Swagger is a noun & verb, swaggerer is a noun, swaggering is an adjective and swaggeringly is an adverb; the noun plural is swaggers.  The verb (used with object) out-swagger was used as a kind of “loaded” superlative, suggesting someone’s swagger had been “topped” by that of another.

Swaggering: Lindsay Lohan in swagger coat, New York City, March 2024.

A swagger coat was a (usually) calf-length overcoat with a distinctive cut which flared out below the knee.  They became fashionable in the early decades of the twentieth century, the wide, roomy silhouette, often without a belt, allowing for a “swaggering” or flowing appearance when worn.  The relaxed fit lent the garment a casual elegance and they often were worn, cloak-like, cast over the shoulders.  Swagger coats were commonly made from heavier fabrics like wool or tweed, making them ideal for outerwear in cooler weather and their air of “quiet sophistication” has made them a timeless classic.  A swagger stick was a short stick carried by a military officer as a symbol of authority but should not be confused with a field-marshal’s baton which was a symbol of the highest military rank.  Swagger sticks were shorter than a walking-cane, tended to be made from rattan or bamboo and adorned with a polished metal tip or cap.  A symbol rather than a practical tool, they are still seen during formal parades or other ceremonial events.  A “swagger-jack” was someone who copied or imitated the actions, sayings or personal habits of another.  The word “swagger” often carries a negative connotation but there’s a long tradition in the UK of it being used to distinguish for someone thought “arrogant”.  When one reviewer wrote of the Rolling Stones album Beggars Banquet (1968) as being the band “at their most swaggeringly debauched”, he really was giving them a compliment.  Much can context influence meaning.

The Swagger Portrait

A swagger portrait is a grand, usually large and often ostentatious portrait, typically commissioned by wealthy or influential individuals to display their status, power and prestige.  The term came into use in the late nineteenth century at the height of the British Empire when countless generals, admirals, politicians, governors, viceroys and others less exalted (though perhaps more deserving) decided it was something they deserved.  The distinguishing characteristics were (1) an imposing dimensionality, larger than life renditions not uncommon, (2) elaborate staging and poses, (3) an attention to detail, something of significance to the subjects often were dripping with decorations or precious jewels which demanded to be captured with precision and (4) a certain grandeur, something at which some artists excelled.  An exemplar of the breed was John Singer Sargent (1856-1925).

Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903; left), oil on canvas by Théobald Chartran (1849–1907) and Portrait of Theodore Roosevelt (1903; right), oil on canvas by John Singer Sargent.

Nobel Peace Prize laureate Theodore Roosevelt (1858–1919; US President 1901-1909), famous also for waging war and shooting wildlife, after being impressed by Théobald Chartran’s portrait of his wife, invited the French artist to paint him too.  He was so displeased with the result, which he thought made him look effete, he refused to hang the work and later supervised its destruction.  Roosevelt then turned instead to expatriate US artist John Singer Sargent.  The relationship didn’t start well as the two couldn’t agree on a setting and during one heated argument, the president suddenly, hand on hip, took on a defiant air while making a point and Sargent had his pose, imploring his subject not to move.  This one delighted Roosevelt and was hung in the White House.

Portrait of Madame X (1884), oil on canvas by John Singer Sargent, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan.

A controversial work in its time, Madame X was Virginie Amélie Avegno Gautreau (née Avegno; 1859–1915) a banker's wife.  Unusually in the tradition of swagger portraits, Madam X was not a commission but undertaken on the painter's initiative and he understood the critics as well as he knew his subjects, knowing the juxtaposition of a black satin gown and porcelain-white skin would create a sensation.  However he understood the Parisian bourgeoisie less well and after being exhibited at the Paris Salon of 1884, the public reception was such that Singer was just about run out of town.  However, the painting made his reputation and it remains his best known work.

The Duke of Wellington (1812), oil on canvas by Francisco Goya (1812-1814), The National Gallery, London.

Arthur Wellesley (1769-1852; First Duke of Wellington was a British military hero and a less successful Tory politician although he remains remembered as a classic “Ultra”, a calling which is a hallmark of twenty-first century ideology.  Goya’s work is a typical military swagger portrait and it was for his battlefield exploits rather than in parliament which saw him granted the rare distinction of a state funeral.

Portrait of Empress Eugénie (1854), oil on canvas by Franz Xaver Winterhalter (1805-1873), Metropolitan Museum of Art, Manhattan.

The Empress Eugénie (Eugénie de Montijo, 1826–1920, Condesa de Teba) was the wife of Napoleon III (Charles-Louis Napoléon Bonaparte, 1808–1873; first president of France (1848-1852) and the last monarch as Emperor (1852-1870)) and it wasn't an easy gig for her so she deserved a swagger portrait more than many, Winterhalter painting several.  They have many the elements of the swagger portraiture of royalty, lavish fabrics, the subject in regal attire, as much an almost as much an installation as any of the sumptuous surrounds, the message conveyed one of status, power and beauty.

Psyche

Psyche (pronounced sahyk or sahy-kee)

(1) In the mythology of Ancient Greece and Classical Rome, the personification of the soul.  The beautiful nymph was originally a mortal princess who later married Eros (Cupid, the god of love), was deified and bore him a daughter Hedone (Voluptas).

(2) In the popular imagination, the human soul, spirit, or mind.

(3) In psychology & psychoanalysis, the mental or psychological structure of a person, especially as a motive force (as opposed to the pure physicality of the body).  The psyche is the centre of thought, feeling, and motivation, consciously & unconsciously directing the body's reactions to external influences (the social and physical environment).

(4) In philosophy (in neo-Platonism), the second emanation of the One, regarded as a universal consciousness and as the animating principle of the world.

(5) A variant of the noun, verb & adjective psych (mostly in colloquial use as a clipping of psych(ology)).

(6) In cosmology, a main belt asteroid.

(7) A female given name.

(8) A small white butterfly, Leptosia nina, family Pieridae, of Asia and Australasia; a taxonomic genus within the family Psychidae (bagworm moths).  The butterfly was the symbol of the waif Psykhē, thus the frequency with which depictions of a “departed soul, spirit, ghost” were rendered as winged creatures with some resemblance to butterfly.

(9) As “psyche knot”, a technique of knotting up a woman's hair, said to be imitative of the style used in Ancient Greece but because so many of these notions were based on depictions by Medieval and Renaissance artists, the historical efficacy is dubious (known also as the Grecian knot).

(10) As “psyche mirror”, a tall (originally free-standing, framed & mounted between two posts which allowed vertically to pivot) mirror.  Psyche mirrors are still used as decorative pieces although most full-length mirrors are now wall-mounted or function also a wardrobe doors.  The name was gained from the idea that because it reflected the whole body, it symbolized introspection.  The alternative name is “cheval glass”.

1650s: The seventeenth century adoption of “psyche” as an expression of the notion of “animating spirit, the human spirit or mind” reflected the understanding of the time of what was described as “the soul, mind, spirit; life, one's life, the invisible animating principle or entity which occupies and directs the physical body; understanding, the mind (as the seat of thought), faculty of reason”; something which inhabited and controlled the body yet was something separate.  It was used also of the “ghost, spirit of a dead person” although there were differences in interpretation between the religious and secular.  What has long been a puzzle is the extent of the influence of psȳ́chein (to blow, breathe; to cool, to make dry”.  The Ancient Greek ψυχή (psukhḗ) (“soul, spirit” and literally “breath”) was a derivative of psȳ́chein (thus the uses connected with “to live”), the construct being ψῡ́χω (psū́khō) (I blow) +‎ -η (-ē) but the problem is this seems ever to have enjoyed the meaning “breath”, even in the writings of Homer.  More than one etymologist has been recorded as being “tempted” by the long documented connection with the primitive Indo-European root bhes- (to blow, to breathe) which was the source of the Sanskrit bhas- (thought probably imitative).  However, all admit the existence of a link is scant and the theory is thus a conjecture.  Psyche is a noun & verb, psyched is a verb & adjective and psyching is a verb; the noun plural is psyches.

Psych (never psyche) was used as US student slang for the academic study of “psychology” (later extended to references in various senses) by 1895.  Psychology was from the French psychologie, from the Renaissance Latin psychologia, emulating the Greek construct ψυχή (psukhḗ) + -λογία (-logía) (study of), thus in English as psych(o)- +‎ -ology.  The suffix -ology was formed from -o- (as an interconsonantal vowel) +‎ -logy.  The origin in English of the -logy suffix lies with loanwords from the Ancient Greek, usually via Latin and French, where the suffix (-λογία) is an integral part of the word loaned (eg astrology from astrologia) since the sixteenth century.  French picked up -logie from the Latin -logia, from the Ancient Greek -λογία (-logía).  Within Greek, the suffix is an -ία (-ía) abstract from λόγος (lógos) (account, explanation, narrative), and that a verbal noun from λέγω (légō) (I say, speak, converse, tell a story).  In English the suffix became extraordinarily productive, used notably to form names of sciences or disciplines of study, analogous to the names traditionally borrowed from the Latin (eg astrology from astrologia; geology from geologia) and by the late eighteenth century, the practice (despite the disapproval of the pedants) extended to terms with no connection to Greek or Latin such as those building on French or German bases (eg insectology (1766) after the French insectologie; terminology (1801) after the German Terminologie).  Within a few decades of the intrusion of modern languages, combinations emerged using English terms (eg undergroundology (1820); hatology (1837)).  In this evolution, the development may be though similar to the latter-day proliferation of “-isms” (fascism; feminism et al).

Just as Eros (Cupid) was smitten, the word “psyche” seems to have seduced all whoc wrote on the subject of the soul (however understood).  There was much sense development in Platonic philosophy theological writing, especially that written under Jewish influence; in Biblical use the Greek word was used of (1) “the soul as the seat of feelings, desires, affections etc”, (2) “the soul regarded as a moral being designed for everlasting life” and (3) “the soul as an essence which differs from the body and is not dissolved by death.”  In English, the meaning “human soul” dates from the mid-seventeenth century while the modern sense in psychology of “mind” is said only to have some into use after 1910 which seems surprisingly late.  By 1914 the profession was using the verb “psych” to mean “to subject to psychoanalysis” (ie a shortened form of to “psychoanalyse” and the jargon entered general use, from 1934 used as the term “psych out” (to to outsmart) in baseball, (US) football and also in commerce.  In 1952 it was documented in the card game bridge as meaning “to make a bid meant to deceive an opponent” (bridge players thinking their game too complex for the poker player’s mere “bluff”.  By the early 1960s “psych out” had the general meaning “to unnerve” while to “psych (oneself) up” emerged a decade later, building on “psyched up” (stimulate (oneself), prepare mentally for a special effort) first appeared in newspapers in the US in 1968.

The psyche knot

The Hairdo Handbook: A Complete Guide to Hair Beauty (1964) by Dorothea Zack Hanle (1918-1999); the psyche knot was discussed in Chapter XVIII: Handling and Styling Long Hair.  It would be a different, more difficult, world without the "invisible hairpin".

Although Dorothea Zack Hanle was for some time editor of HairDo magazine, she’s remains best remembered for her food writing, her career including a long tenure as an editor at Bon Appetit, several cookbooks and being one of the founders of Les Dames d'Escoffier, an international women's organization that promotes fine dining and wine.  Ms Hanle had quite a journalistic range, he publications including The Surfer's Handbook (1968), Cooking With Flowers (1971), Cooking Wild Game (1974) and the co-authored children's cookbook, The Golden Ladle (1945).  Additionally, she published also on subjects as diverse as gardening, diet and exercise.

The psyche knot (known also as the Grecian knot) was said to be imitative of the style used in Ancient Greece but because so many of these notions were based on depictions by Medieval and Renaissance artists, the historical efficacy is dubious.  Psyche (alone or with Eros (Cupid), her sisters or others) was a popular subject and while in many paintings her hair is stacked high, it was also not unusual for her tresses to be shown flowing as the German illustrator and painter Friedrich Paul Thumann (1834-1908, Berlin) chose for Cupid and Psyche (1900, left).  In Psyche showing her Sisters her Gifts from Cupid, (circa 1753 (centre)) Jean-Honoré Fragonard, (1732–1806) even showed her “having her hair styled”, presumably with an eponymous knot.  In his Expressionist Cupid and Psyche (1907, right), Edvard Munch (1863-1944) decided she deserved a knot.  Now hung in the Munch Museum in Oslo, it’s of interest because it was painted early in the period when Munch had begun to paint human figures, something which would later make him famous, Cupid and Psyche one of 22 works in his collection called The Frieze of Life.  Ominously, the painting was loaned to Musée d'Orsay (Museum d’Orsay) in Paris where it was part of the Crime and Punishment exhibition, organized to emphasize to the population those crimes attracting a death sentence.

The technique used to tie the psyche know wasn’t new in the 1920s but it was then it became a thing.  At that time, the “bob” had become a popular style among bright young things and their many imitators, part of a trend which was both an aesthetic call and a marker of first-wave feminism, a reaction to previous fashions in which clothing had been constricting and voluminous.  Then, called the “garçonne” (a feminized version of the French garçon (boy)), it now remembered as the “flapper style”, distinguished by an angular, slender silhouette, the irony of the look (for all but the genetically lucky) that having abandoned corsets during World War I (1914-1918), most were compelled to seek the help of girdles, garments rather less comfortable than modern shapewear.  Short hairstyles (the bob or the shingle) were an essential part of the “boyish look”, albeit offset by the deliberately obvious application of rouge, eyeliner and lipstick which was famously red.  Some women however wanted “a bob each way” (as it were), liking the short-hair look but wanting to retain the flexibility to display a mane when circumstances demanded or an opportunity was presented.  The solution can be thought of as the “faux bob” and while there were a number of ways to achieve this (including the famous “side-pods”), the psyche know was the simplest to execute and, done properly, would survive an evening’s dancing without the dreaded, annoying “flyaway bits”

The psyche mirror

La Psyché (known in English as The Psyche Mirror, 1876, left), oil on canvas by the French artist Berthe Morisot (1841-1895), Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum, Madrid, Spain shows a woman before a classic “psyche mirror” (known originally as a “psyche glass” (looking-glass still the preferred form among a certain subset (the one in which at cards a jack is called a knave)).  Lindsay Lohan (right) illustrates this generation’s use of the psyche mirror for full-length selfies.  Ms Lohan was with child when this selfie was snapped in New York during 2022 (note the comfortable shoes).  The original psyche mirrors were tall, free-standing, framed & mounted between two posts which allowed them vertically to pivot), the advantage being it made it possible for the subject to view herself in a greater aspect range.  The free-standing designs are still sometimes used as decorative pieces but most full-length mirrors are now wall-mounted or function also a wardrobe doors.  The name was gained from the idea that because it reflected the whole body, it symbolized introspection.  The alternative name is “cheval glass”, from the French form chevel glace (mirror).  Chevel was from the French cheval (horse, supporting frame), from the Middle French cheval, from the Old French cheval, from the Late Latin caballus (horse), from the Classical Latin caballus (pack horse) of uncertain origin.  The term thus deconstructs as glass (mirror) mounted in a supporting frame.

Cupid, Psyche and the Nectar of the Gods

In Greek mythology, Psyche was the youngest and loveliest of a king’s three daughters.  So haunting was Psyche’s beauty that people travelled from afar to pay homage, neglecting the worship of Venus (Aphrodite), the goddess of love and beauty, instead venerating the nymph.  Venus became enraged at finding her altars deserted, men instead turning their devotions to the young virgin, watching as she passed, singing her praises and strewing her way with chaplets and flowers.

Indignant at the exaltation of a mortal, Venus began her righteous rant.  "Am I then to be eclipsed in my honors by a mere mortal girl?  In vain then did that royal shepherd, whose judgment was approved by Jove himself, give me the palm of beauty over my illustrious rivals, Pallas and Juno. But she shall not so quietly usurp my honors. I will give her cause to repent of so unlawful a beauty."  Venus summoned her winged son, the mischievous Cupid and telling him of Psyche, ordered her revenge.  "My dear son, punish that contumacious beauty; give your mother a revenge as sweet as her injuries are great; infuse into the bosom of that haughty girl a passion for some low, mean, unworthy being, so that she may reap a mortification as great as her present exultation and triumph."

Obediently, Cupid set to his task.  In the garden of Venus lay two fountains, one of sweet waters, the other of bitter.  Cupid filled two amber phials, one from each fountain and suspending them from the top of his quiver, hastened to the chamber of Psyche, finding her asleep.  He shed a few drops from the bitter fountain over her lips and although though the sight of her moved him almost to pity, touched her side with the point of his arrow.  At the touch she awoke and her eyes gazed upon the invisible Cupid which so enchanted him he became confused and pricked himself with his own arrow.  Helplessly in love, his only thought now was to repair the mischief he had done and he poured the balmy drops of joy over all her silken blonde ringlets.

Psyche, henceforth frowned upon by Venus, gained no benefit from her charms.  While all cast covetous eyes upon her and all spoke her praises, not prince, plebeian or peasant ever asked for her hand in marriage.  Her two sisters had become betrothed to princes but Psyche sat in solitude, feeling cursed by the beauty which had failed to awaken love.  The king and queen, thinking they had incurred the wrath of the gods turned for guidance to the oracle of Apollo who answered: “The virgin is destined for the bride of no mortal lover. Her future husband awaits her on the top of the mountain. He is a monster whom neither gods nor men can resist."

Her parents, distraught, abandoned themselves to grief but Psyche was fatalistic, saying "Why, my dear parents, do you now lament me? You should rather have grieved when the people showered upon me undeserved honors, and with one voice called me a Venus. I now perceive I am victim to that name.  I submit.  Lead me to that rock to which my unhappy fate has destined me."  Accordingly, amid the lamentations of all, she was taken to the peak of the mountain and there left alone.  When the tearful girl stood at the summit, the gentle Zephyr raised her from the earth and carried her on the breeze, bringing her to rest in a flowery dale where she laid down to sleep.  When she awoke, refreshed, she looked around and beheld nearby a grove of tall and stately trees.  Entering the forest, she discovered in its midst a fountain from which bubbled crystal-clear waters and nearby, a splendid palace, so magnificent she knew it the work not of mortal hands, but the retreat of some god.  Drawn by admiration and wonder, she ventured to enter the door.  Amazed at what she saw, she walked along a marble floor so polished it shimmered, golden pillars supported a vaulted roof, walls were enriched with carvings and paintings of fantastic beasts.  Everything upon which her eye fell delighted her.

Soon, although she saw no one, she heard a voice.  "Sovereign lady, all that you see is yours. We whose voices you hear are your servants and shall obey all your commands with utmost care.  Retire, should you please, to your chamber, recline upon your bed of down and when you see fit, repair to the bath.  Your supper awaits in the alcove”.  Psyche took her bath and seated herself in the alcove, whereupon a table appeared laden with extraordinary delicacies of food and nectarous wines.   While she ate, she heard the playing of lute and harp and the harmony of song.

That night she met he husband but he came only in the darkness, fleeing before the dawn, but his words and caresses were of love and inspired in her a like passion.  Often she would beg him to stay so she might behold him in the light but he refused, telling her never to attempt to see him, for no good would come of it and that he would rather have her love him as a man than adore him as a god.  This, Psyche accepted but the days grew long and lonely and she began to feel she was living in a gilded cage.  One night, when her husband came, she told him of her distress, her charms enough to coax from him his unwilling acquiescence that her sisters could visit.  Delighted, she summoned the obedient Zephyr who brought them to the mountain and in happiness, they embraced.

The splendor and celestial delights of Psyche’s palace astonished her sisters but also aroused their envy and they began to pepper her with questions about her husband and she told them he was a beautiful youth who spent his days hunting in the mountains.  Unconvinced, the soon drew from her that she had never seen him and they began to fill her mind with dark suspicions, recalling the Pythian oracle had declared her doomed to marry a direful and tremendous monster.  Psyche protested but they told her the folk living in the valley say the husband is a terrible and monstrous serpent, amusing himself while nourishing her with dainties that he may by and by devour her.  They told to one night to take with her a lamp and sharp blade so that when he slept she might light the lamp and see his true form.  If truly he is a monster they told her, "hesitate not and cut off its head".

Psyche tried to resist her sisters’ persuasions but knew she was curious and that night she took to bed a lamp and a long, sharp knife.  When he had fallen to sleep, silently she arose and lit her lamp, beholding but the most beautiful of the gods, his golden ringlets falling over his snowy neck, two dewy wings on his shoulders whiter than snow, with shining feathers like the tender blossoms of spring.  Entranced, as she moved her lamp better to see his face, a drop of hot oil fell on the shoulder of the god and startled, he opened his eyes and fixed them upon her.  They both were frozen for a few seconds, then suddenly and without a word, he spread his wings and flew out of the window.  Psyche, crying in despair, in vain endeavored to follow but fell from the window to the ground below.

Hearing her fall, Cupid for a moment paused in his flight and turned to her saying, "Oh faithless Psyche, is it thus you repay my love? After I disobeyed my mother's commands and made you my wife, will you think me a monster and would cut off my head?  Go, return to your sisters, who you trust more than me.  I punish you no more than to forever leave you for love cannot dwell with suspicion."  With those words, he flew off, leaving poor Psyche crying into the earth.  For hours she sobbed and then looked around, but her palace and gardens had vanished and she found herself in a field in the city where her sisters dwelt.  She repaired thither and told them her story at which, though pretending to grieve with her, the two evil sisters inwardly rejoiced for both thought as one: that Cupid might now choose one of them.  Both the next morning silently arose and snuck secretly to the mountain where each called upon Zephyr to bear them to his lord but leaping up, there was no Zephyr to carry them on the breeze and each fell down the precipice to their deaths.

The devastated Psyche meanwhile wandered.  Day and night, without food or rest, she searched for her husband and one evening saw in the distance a magnificent temple atop a lofty mountain and she felt her heart beat, wondering if perhaps there was Cupid.  She walked to the temple and there saw heaps of corn, some in loose ears and some in sheaves, mingled with ears of barley.  Scattered about, lay sickles and rakes, the instruments of harvest, without order, as if thrown carelessly from the weary reapers' hands in the sultry hours of the day.  This unseemly confusion disturbed the neat and tidy Psyche and she put herself to work, separating and sorting everything and putting all in its proper place, believing she ought to neglect none of the gods, but prove by her piety to prove she was worthy of their help.  The holy Ceres, whose temple it was, finding her so religiously employed, thus spoke to her, "Oh Psyche, truly your are worthy of our pity, though I cannot shield you from the frowns of Venus, I can teach you how best to allay her displeasure. Go, then, and voluntarily surrender yourself to your lady and sovereign, and try by modesty and submission to win her forgiveness, and perhaps her favor will restore you the husband you have lost."  Filled with both fear and hope, Psyche made her way to the temple of Venus.

Venus met her with anger.  "Most undutiful and faithless of servants," said she, "do you at last remember you have a mistress or have you come to see your sick husband, the one injured by the wound given him by his worthless wife?  You are so ill favored you can be worthy of your lover only by showing industry and diligence.  I shall put you to work".  She led Psyche to temple’s storehouse in which sat vast piles of wheat, barley, vetches, beans and lentils, the food for her birds.  “Separate these grains, put them all in sacks and have it done by night” she commanded, leaving her to the task.  Shocked, Psyche sat silent, moving not a finger.  While she despaired, Cupid ordered an ant, a native of the fields, to bring all ants from the anthill and they gathered on the piles.  Quickly and with the efficiency of their breed, they took grain by grain, making perfect parcels of each and when done, vanished from sight.  As twilight fell, Venus returned from a banquet of the gods and seeing the sacks neatly stacked, became enraged.  "This is no work of yours, wicked one, but his, whom to your own and his misfortune you have enticed."  So saying, she threw her a piece of black bread for her supper and stormed off.

Next morning Venus ordered Psyche to be called and said to her, "Behold yonder grove which stretches along the margin of the water.  There you will find sheep feeding without a shepherd, with golden-shining fleeces on their backs.  Go now, fetch me some of that precious wool gathered from every one of their fleeces."  Standing on the riverbank, wondering at the difficulty of her task, Psyche was about to cross but river god made the reeds speak, telling her "Oh maiden, tempt not the dangerous flood, nor venture among those rams for as long as the sun shines, they burn with a cruel rage to destroy mortals with their sharp horns or rude teeth.  But when the noontide sun has driven them to the shade, and the serene spirit of the flood has lulled them to rest, you may then cross in safety, and you will find the woolly gold sticking to the bushes and the trunks of the trees."  Psyche did as they said and returned with her arms full of the golden fleece but Venus was not pleased.  "Well I know it is by none of your own doings that you have succeeded I do not believe you are of use but I have another task for you.  Here, take this box and go your way to the infernal shades, and give this box to Proserpine and say, 'my mistress Venus desires you to send her a little of your beauty, for in tending her sick son she has lost some of her own'.  Be not too long on your errand, for I must paint myself with it to appear this evening at the circle of the gods."

Psyche now believed her own destruction was at hand and, with no wish to delay what was not to be avoided, dashed to the top of a high tower, preparing to cast herself headlong, thus to descend the shortest way to the shades below.  But then, a voice from the tower said to her, "Why, poor unlucky girl, do you design to put an end to your days in so dreadful a manner? And what cowardice makes you sink under this last danger when you have been so miraculously supported in all your former?"  Then the voice told her how by a certain cave she might reach the realms of Pluto, and how to avoid all the dangers of the road, to pass by Cerberus, the three-headed dog, and prevail on Charon, the ferryman, to take her across the black river and bring her back again. But the voice also cautioned, "When Proserpine has given you the box filled with her beauty, you must never once open or look into the box nor allow your curiosity to pry into the treasure of the beauty of the goddesses."

Encouraged, Psyche obeyed the advice and travelled safely to the kingdom of Pluto. Admitted to the palace of Proserpine, she delivered her message from Venus and soon, she was handed the box, shut and filled with the precious commodity. Then she returned the way she came, glad once more to be in the light of day.  But as she walked along the path, a longing desire overcame her, an urge to look into the box for, as she imagined, a touch of the divine beauty would make her more desired by Cupid so, delicately, she opened the box.  But in there was nothing of beauty but only an infernal and truly Stygian sleep which, being set free from its prison, took possession of her, and she fell in the road where she stood, plunged into a deep sleep, lying there without sense or motion.

But Cupid was now recovered and could no longer bear the absence of his beloved Psyche and slipping through a crack in the window, he flew to where Psyche lay.  He gathered up the sleep from her and closed it again in the box, waking her with the gentlest touch of one of his arrows. "Again," said he, "have you almost perished by the same curiosity.  But now perform exactly the task imposed on you by my mother, and I will take care of the rest."  Then Cupid, as swift as lightning, presented himself before Jupiter with his supplication.  Jupiter was impressed and so earnestly did he plead the cause of the lovers that he won the consent of Venus and on hearing this, sent Mercury to bring Psyche up to the heavenly assembly, and when she arrived, he handed her a goblet ambrosia saying, "Drink this, Psyche, and be immortal; nor shall Cupid ever break away from the knot in which he is tied, but these nuptials shall be perpetual."  Thus Psyche became at last united to Cupid, and in time, born to them was a daughter whose name was Pleasure.

Wedding Banquet of Cupid and Psyche (circa 1517) by Raphael (1483–1520).

The story of Cupid and the OCD Psyche is told by the Roman writer Apuleius (circa 124-circa 170) in three chapters in his rather risqué picaresque novel, The Metamorphoses of Apuleius (which Saint Augustine dubbed Asinus aureus (The Golden Ass (by which it’s today known)).  The Golden Ass is notable as the only full-length work of fiction in Classical Latin to have survived in its entirety and is a work with aspects which would be regarded as novel centuries later, including fantastical imagery, passages like fairy tales and elements which would now be called magic realism.  Like many modern fairy tales, there is a moral to the story and for Apuleius it was that it is love which makes to soul immortal and there was no need for subtlety, Cupid the son of the goddess of desire and Psyche's name originally meant soul.

With the re-discovery (and some re-invention) of much of antiquity during the Renaissance, the story gained much popularity and attracted the interest of artists and from Raphael’s (Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino, 1483–1520) studio came the best known evocation.  One of the scenes is the wedding feast, painted in the form of a hanging tapestry.  Psyche’s guest list was a roll-call of the gods, Ganymede, Apollo, Bacchus and Jupiter are all at the table, the Graces and the Hours in attendance.  The artists (for some the work was executed by professional painters under Raphael’s guidance) do have some fun, very much in the spirit of Apuleius for above the flying Mercury sits, artfully arranged, a suggestive conjunction of certain vegetables and fruits.

The Wedding Feast of Cupid and Psyche (1532) by Giulio Romano.

The romance of Cupid and Psyche drew other artists including the Italian Giulio Romano (Giulio Pippi, circa 1499-1546), a student of Raphael whose influence permeates.  While not highly regarded by critics and better remembered as an architect, Romano is of note because he was among the earliest of the artists whose work can be called Mannerist and certainly his wedding feast painting includes the mythological, a staged and theatrical setting, eroticism and an unusual sense of perspective; all characteristic of Mannerist art although he remained entirely naturalistic in the callipygian rendering of Psyche’s buttocks.

In Shakespeare's late drama The Winter's Tale there’s an allusion to Romano as “that rare Italian master” but despite the bard’s apparent admiration, historians of art treat him as little more than a footnote; the shadow Raphael cast was long.  Some critics seem determined to devalue his work, the Catholic Encyclopaedia (1913) noting it was “prolific and workmanlike, always competent…” but with “…no originality; as a painter, he is merely a temperament, a prodigious worker. His manual dexterity is unaccompanied by any greatness of conception or high moral principle.  His lively but superficial fancy, incapable of deep emotion, of religious feeling, or even of observation, attracted him to neutral subjects, to mythological paintings, and imaginary scenes from the world of fable. Therein under the cloak of humanism, he gave expression to a sensualism rather libertine than poetical, an epicureanism unredeemed by any elevated or noble quality.  It is this which wins for Giulio his distinctive place in art.  His conception of form was never quite original; it was always a clever and bookish compromise between Raphael and Michelangelo.  His sense of color grows ever louder and uglier, his ideas are void of finesse, whatever brilliancy they show is second-hand. His single distinctive characteristic is the doubtful ease with which he played with the commonplaces of pagandom.  In this respect at least, paintings like those of the Hall of Psyche (1532) are historical landmarks.  It is the first time that an appeal is made to the senses with all the brutal frankness of a modern work”. 

Damning with faint praise perhaps.  Grudgingly, the editors did concede that despite being “…distinguished by such characteristics and marked by such defects, Romano occupies nevertheless an important place in the history of art. More than any other, he aided in propagating the pseudo-classical, half-pagan style of art so fashionable during the seventeenth century. It’s mainly through his influence that after the year 1600 we find so few religious painters in Europe”.

One could hardly expect The Catholic Encyclopedia (sub-titled An International work of reference on the constitution, doctrine, discipline and history of the Catholic Church), to find much worthy in a mannerist (or perhaps anything modern).  Mannerism, novel in some ways as it was, was rarely original in form or content.  It was a reaction against the perceived perfection of the neo-classicism of the High Renaissance and artists from Romano on were drawn to Greek mythology, characters like Psyche and Echo able simply and unambiguously to represent the psychological problems muddied by Christian theology.