IN PRAISE OF COSMETICSI REMEMBER a song, so worthless and silly that it seems hardly properto quote from it in a work ·which has some rretension; to seriousness,but which nevertheless expresses very well, ih its vatfdti.illem. anner, theaesthetic creed of people who do not think: 'Nature embellishes Beauty',it runs. It i~ of course to be presumed that, had he known how to write• in French, the poet would rather have said 'S~-t;y .. _~bellishesBeauty', which is equivalent. to the following startling new -truism:'l'1othemmb£e llishes iomething.•' ·--•• -The maj6:rity of errors in the field of aesthetics spring from the .,/ejghteenth c;entury)f. alst! premiss in the 1ield of ethics.1 'A.(. i li;~ ___: •~atur.e_w.a.s.t aken -as ground, soruce and .typeo t.all.p.os:Si~od.".ad ii d • -Beauty. The negation of original sin played no small pan in the general •• ,blindness of that period. But if we are p.repared to refer simply to the~.-'.·facts, which are manifest to the experience of all ages no less than tothe readers of the Law Reports, wo ~~ t..lJ.~.Nt ature_teaches...ns~. nothing, or praajcallj nothing. I admit that sne compelsm an to sleep, -•• to-ea~-toru:fuk, and to arm himself as well as he may against the inclemenciesof the weather: but it .is she too who incites matno murder~:.:-•. 1 Here is following the ideas expressed by Joseph de ¥aistte in Le.rSoirees de Sai11t-Pitmbourg. On Baud~laire's g=al debt to the .ideas of de Maistre,• see Gilman, pp. 63-66.32 The Painter of Modem Life-his brother, to eat him, to lock him up and to torture him; for no soonerdo we take leave of the domain of needs and necessities to enter that ofpleasures and luxury than we see that Nature can counsel nothing but  <-------;;annibalism, and a thousand other abominations that both shame and '-•. •· _ ~odesty prevent us from naming. On the_ other hand it is philosophy (I speak of good philosophy) and 1religion which ·commmd us to look .after our parents wp.en they are poor and infirm. Nature, being none / other than the voice of out own self-interest; would have us slau,ghter 'i them_I ask you to ·review and scrotfnfze-whatever.is natural-alftli  \£rightfulness. Everything beautiful and noble is the result of reaSOll_Jmd 'calculation. Crime, of which the human animal has learned the tast~ i his mother~s womb, ·is natural by origin. Virtue, on the other hand, is artificial, supernatural, since at all times and in all places gods ana·prophets have .been needed to teach it to animalized humanity, nian' being powetl~ss to discover it by himself/Evil happens without effort, naturally! fatally; Good is always the product of some art/ All that I am saying about Nature as a bad counsellor in moral _!113.tterasn, d aboutRe.asona s truer·e deemer.and :reformer, can be applied to the rhlm of Bea-;_tyI: an:tih us led to :regard external finery as one of the signs of the .P!~~::e·n <:>bilitoyf the :hum~n s?.1::-T1h· ose races which out corififsed• and perverted civilization is pleased to treat as savage, with an _altogether ludicrous pride and complacency, understand, just as the child under- • ~ stands. the lofty spiritual significance of the toilet. In their naif adoration (, of what is b:tillfant-:many-cc5loured feathers, iridescent fabrics, the \' incomparable m1jesty of artificial forms-:the. baby and the savage· bear 1) witness to their disgust of the real, ·and thus give proof, without knowing \ it, of the immateriality of their soul. Woe to him who, like Louis XV (the product not of a true civilization but of a .recrudescence of barbar_ ism), carries his degeneracy to the point of no longer having a 'taste for anything but nature unadomed.* .Fashion should thus be considered as a symptom of the taste for the ideal which floats on the surface of all the crude, terrestrial and loath~ • * We know that when she wished.0to avoid receiving the king, Mme Dubarcy made a point of putting on rouge. It was quite enough; it.was her way of closing the door. ;I, It = in fact by beautifying hei:self that she used to frig~~ away her royal discipleof nature. (CB.) . . _ • - . \· ' The Painter of 1Vfodm1 Lif~ H some bric-a-brac that the natural life accumulates in the hu!Il;iU brain: as a sublime deformation of Nature, or-rather a penrument :ind repeated attempt at herrcjormatio1A1.n d so it has been sensiblyp ointed out (though the reason has not been discovered) that every fashion is .charming, relatively speaking, each one being a new and more or less happy effort : in the: direction of Beauty, some kind of approximation to an ideal for •. which the restless hum.an mind feels a constant, titillating hunger. But ': if one wants to appreciate them properly, fashions should never be 1 considere·d as dead things; you migh~ just as well admire the tattered , old rags hung up, as slack and lifeless as the skin of St. Bartholomew, : in an old-clothes dealer's cupboard. Rather they should be thought of as : vitalized and animated by the_b eauri-fulw omen who wore t.1-iemO. nly :, in this way can their sense and meaning be understood. If therefore the -: aphorism 'Allfashions are dunning' upsets you as being too absolute, - say, if you prefer, 'All were once justifiably channing'. y OU can be sure ~ of being right. _ . tvom an is quite wit!;unh er rights, in.deed she is even accomplishing ~ a Rind of duty, when she devotes herself to appearing magical and super- • natural; she has to astonish and cha.rm us; a; an idol, she is obliged to adorn herself in order to be adored, Thus she has to lay all the arts under contribution for the means of lifting herself above Nature, the better • to conquer.hearts and rivet attention. It matters but little that rlie artifice and.trickery are known to all, so long as their success is assured and their • ~ct al"':ays i.rresi~tib:e)By refl.ectln~ in this way the philosopher-~st will :find 1t ea,sy to Justify all the practices adopted by women at all tunes to consolidate and as it were to make divine their fragile beauty. To enu_me.ratteh em would be an endless task: but to confine ourselves to- . what today is vulgarly called •maquillage', anyone can see that the use of rice-powder, so stupidly anathematized. by our Arcadian philosophers, is successfully designed to rid the completion of those blemishes that Nature~ outrageously strewn ther~ and ~1:1st< >c.i eate an abstract Ufllty in the colour and texture of the s~ au.city, which, like-that _._ pr;du'cecr by the tights of a dancer, immeaiately approximates the V human being to the s~e, that is to something superior and divin<!. • . As for Jh~ artifi~ial black mth whichth e ey1es ·outlinedan, d th~ ;~;:gel ___ __.,/ with which the upper part of the cheek is painted, although their use • derives f:i;omt he same princfapJe4, 2:~.:e.e d to !UE?~~N ~~re, the result is calculated to satisfy an absolutely opposite need. Red and b~ck • .. ~ .-~ i·;•r,.· 34 The Painter of Modem Life represent life, a supernatural and excessive life: its black frame renders the glance more penetrating and individual, and gives the eye a more decisive appearance of a window open upon the infinite; and the rouge which sets fire to the cheek-bone o~y goes to increase the brightness of the pupil and adds to the face of a beautiful woman the mysterious passion of the priestess. • • Thus, jf you will understand me ari_ght, face-painting should not be used with the vulgar, unavowable object of imitating fair Nature and of entering into competition with youth. It has ·moreover been remarked that artifice cannot lend charm to ugliness and can only serve _beauty. \Vho would dare to assign to art the sterile function of imitating Nature? Maquillage has rio need to hide itself or to shrink from being suspected; on the contrary., let it display itself, at least if it does so with frankness. and honesty. I am perfectly happy for' .those whose owlish gravity prevents them . from seeking Beauty in its most minute manifestations to laugh ~t these reflections of mine and to accuse them ·of a childish self-iinportance; -a;-their austere verdict leaves me quite unmoved; I content myself wit..li. ,' appealing to true artists as well as to those women themselves who, ( having received at birth a spark of that sacred flame, would t~d it so ..1:...t hat their whole beings were on fire with it XII. WOMEN AND PROSTITUTES HA v ING taken upon himself the task of seeking out and expounding the beauty in modernityM, onsieur G. is thus particuktly giv~ to portraymg woi:μenw. ho are elaborately dressed and embellished by all the rites of artifice, to whatever social station they may belong. Moreover in • the complete assemblage of his works, no less than in the. Swarming ant-hill of human life itself, differences of class and breed· are made immediately obvious to the spectator's : eye; in whatever lu."rurious trappings the subjects may l:,e decked. . At one moment, bathed in the diffused brightness of an auditorium, • it is young women of~ ;most fashionable society, receiving and re- . fleeting the light with their eyes, their jewelry and their snowy, white - shoulders, as glorious as !)Ortraitsf ramed in the.ir.:boxesS. ome are grave The Painter of Modem Life 55 and serious, others blonde and brainless. Some flaunt precocio.us bosoms with an aristocratic unconcern, others frankly display the chests of young boys. They tap their teeth with their fans, while their gaze is vacant or set; they are as solemn and stagey as the play or opera that they are pretending to follow . Next we watch elegant families strolling at leisure in the walks of a public garden, the wives leaning calmly on the arms of their husbands, whose solid and c:omplacent air tells of a fortune made and their resulting self-esteem. Proud distinction has given way to a comfortable affiuenc~. Meanwhile skinny little girls w.ith billowing petticoats, who by their :figures and gestures put one in mind of little women, are skipping, playing with hoops or gravely paying social calls in the open air, thus • :rehearsing the comedy performed at home by their parents.1 Now for a moment we move to a lowlier theatricai world where th~ • little dancers, frail, • slender, hardly more than children, but proud o~ appearing at last in the blaze of.the limelight, are s~ing upon their virginal, puny shoulders absurd fancy-dresses which belong to no period, and are their joy and their delight. Or at a cafe door, as he lounges against the windows lit from within and without, we watch the display of one 9f q:hose half-wit peacocks whose elegance is the creation ofhis tailor and whose head of his barber. Beside him, her feet supported on the inevitable footstool, sits hiq; mistress, a great baggage who lacks practically nothing to make .he:r into a great lady-that 'practically nothing' being in fact 'practically everything>, for it is distinctionL~ ike her dainty companion, she has an enormous cigar entirely fillip.g the ·aperture of her tiny mouth. These two beings have not a single thought in their heads. Is it even certain that · they qin see? Unless, like Narcissuses of imbecility, they are gazing at the crowd_ as at a river which ref!~cts their own image. In truth, they exist very much more for the pleasure of the observer than for their own. And now. the doors are being thrown open· at Valentino's, at the ·Prado, or the Casino (whexe formerly it would have been the Tivoli, the Idalie, the Foiles and the Paphos)-those Bedlams where the exuberance of idle youth is given free rein. Women who have exag- • gerated the fashion to the extent of perverting its charm and totally destroymg_.j.ts aims, are ostentatiously sweeping the :floor with their • trains and the fringes qf their shawls; they come and go, pass and repass, • 1•8ee pL 14- ~, ;6 The Painter of lJfodern Life opening an astonished eye like animals, giving an impression of totai • • blindness, but missing nothing. . Against a background of hellish ligh~ or if you prefer, an cmrora 'borealis-red,o range, sulphur-yellow, pink (to ~'Pres_sa n idea of ecsta~y amid·frivolity),a nd sometimesp u.;:ple( thefavouxite colour of canonesses, like dying embers seen through a blue curtain)-against magical.backgrounds such as these, which remind one of varie_P.-tedB' engal Lights, • . there arises the Protean image of wanton beauty{~OW she is majestic,r \ now playful; now slender, even to the point of skinniness, now cyclo-, pean; now tiny and sparkling, now heavy and monumental. She has ·J . discove.red for herself a .provocative and barbaric sort 9f elegance, or \ •· else she-aspires, with more or less success, towards the simplicity which • is customary fua. better world. She advances towards us, glide:,, dances, . or moves about with her butden of embroidered petticoats, which play \ the part at once of pedestal and balancing-rod; her eye fl.asheso ut from i _.un der her hat, like ~ portta~t in its ~~- _Sh~i s a p5=rfecitm age of the / . ••~ vagery that lurks m the m1dst of c1vilizat1on,;..Shhea s her own sort of"\ • :'beauty, ":"hich comes to her from Evil )always • devoid of spiritu- • ality, but sometimes tinged with a weariness which im4tates true ' • melancholy. She directs her gaze at the horizon, like a beast of prey; the same wildness, the same lazy absent-mindedness, and also, at times, the same :fixityo f attenti<:_mS.h. e is a ·s9rt of gipsy wandering on the ,..fringeso f a regular society;?nd the triviality of her life, which is one of i warfar~ and·cunning, fat~! ~s through its envel?pe of sho'9.The.l.. follow1ng words of that .tny:p1tablem aster, La Bruyere, may be Justly applied to her: 'Some women possess an artificial nobility which is \~· associated with a movement of the eye, a tilt of the head; a manner of deportment, and which goes no further.' 1 . . • • These reflections concerning the courtesan are applicable within certain limits to the actress also; for she too is a ~eatui:e of show, an object of public pleasure._H ere however the conquest and the prize are of a nobler and more spiritual kind. With hex it is a questkn of winning the heart of the public not only by means of sheer physical beauty, but also through talents of the rarest order. If in one aspect the actress is akin to th~,courtes~,)n another she comes close to the poet .. We/ must never forget that quite apart frotn natural, and even artificial, .beauty, each hu,man being bears the distin1-:t.i yes tamp of his trade, a

1 See pl. IS.

The Pahrter of Modern Life 37 • : characteristic which can be translated into physical ugliness, but also· L into a sort of 'professional' beauty. ln that vast picture-gallery which is life in London-or Paris, we shall meet with all the various types of fallen wom:mhood-of woman in revolt against society-at all levels. First we see the courtesan in her prime, striving after patrician airs, proud at once of her youth and the   uses two :fingers to tuck in a wide ·panel of silk, satin or velvet which billows around her, or points a toe whose over-ornate shoe would be enough to betray her for wrui.t she is, if the somewhat un.riecessary _ e.mavagance of her whole toilette had not done so already. Descending the scale, we come down. to the poor slaves of those filthy stews which are often, howezer, decorated like cafes; hapless wretches, subject to the most_ extortionate restraint, possessing nothing of their own, not even the eccentric :finery which serves.as sp.icea. nd setting to their beauty. l Some, of these, examples of an innocent and monstrous self-conceit, express in their faces and their bold, uplifted glances an obvious joy at ( being alive { and indeed, tine wo~ders .why). Sometimes, quite by chance, ·/ they achieve poses of a daring and nobility to enchant the :most sensitive of sculptors, if the sculptors of today were sufpcie.ntly bold and imagin\ ative to seize upon nobility wherever it was to be found, even in the }mire; at other times they display themselves in ·hopeless attitudes of ~redom, iti bouts of tap-room apathy, almost masculine in their brazenness, killing time with cigarettes, orientally resigned-stretched out, sprawling on settees, their skirts hooped up in front and behind like a double-Jan, or else precariouslj balanced on. stools and chairs; sluggish,g lum, stupid, extravagantt,h eir eyesg lazedw ith brandya nd their foreheads swelling with obstina,te pride. \"i'e. l have climbed down to the last lap of the spiral, down to the femina simplex of the Roman satirist.1 •And now, sketched against an atmospheric background in which both tobacco and alcohol have :rpingled their fumes, we see the emaciated flush of consumption or the rounded contours of obesity, • that hideous health of the slothful. In a foggy, gilded chaos, whose very existence is unsuspected by . the chaste and the poor,_ we assist at the Dervish dances of macabre nymphs and living dolls whose childish eyes bettiy a_ sinister glitter, while behind a bottle-laden counter there lolls in state an enormous Xanthippe whose head,_ wrapped in a dirty ~ Jmnal, Satire VI. .,. t,r . . ,x'.),',: ' _i, ~- :t,' _.,-/; ./ l'/v • ;,· 38 The Painter of Modem Life . ,,. .,· i:\ I.' 1kerchief, casts upon the wall a sata.nicilly pointed shadow, thus reminding us that everything thll,t is consecrated to Evil is condemned to wear Horns.1 Please do not think that it was in order to gratify the reader, any more than to scandalize him, that I have spread before his eyes pictures such as these; in either case this would have been to treat him with less than due respect. What in fact gives these works their value an!i,. :i.s-it were, ·sanctifies them is the wealth of thoughts to which they give 'rise- • thoughts however which are generally solemn and dark. 1f by chance anyone should be so ill-advised as to seek here an opponunity of satisfying bis unhealthy curiosity, I must in all charity warn hin;i that he will . fud nothing whatever to stimulate the sickness of his imagination. He . will :find nothing but the inevitable ·image of_ vig::, the demon's eye'. ambushed in the shadows or Messalina's shoulder gleaming under ·the 1 gas; ~o~g-~ut pure ~'--~ ~~:=h1.I}1 eant he spedal _b~9.:~o f evil,/' the beautiful ruiii.criheJ:1.QgibIlen. fact, if I may repeat myself in passing,1 • the general feeling which emanates from a:μth is chaos partakes more of: gloom than of gaiety. It is their mor~ fecundity which gives these!·  cruel, • bfil:sh suggestion which my pen, accustomed though ~t is to [ grappling with the plastic arts, has perhaps interpreted only too in-:adequately. _ •

 • XIII. CARRIAGES ' .. --t

: AND so they run on, those endless galleries of high and low life,! brmching off at· intervals into mnumerable tributaries and backwaters.! For the few minutes that remain, let us leave .them for a world which; if · not ~ctly: pure, is at any rate more refined; a wotlcl.'-wherew e shall ----breathpee rfumes not perhaps more healthful, but at least more delicate. 1 have already remarked that the .brush of Monsieur G., like that of Eugene Lami, is marvellously skilled at portraying the rites of d.andyism and the elegance of f~ppery. The.pgy§ical attitudes of the rich are familiar· _to him; with a light ·'siroke of the pen and a sureness of touch which. never desert!\. him, he is able to give us ~t assuranceco f glance, gesture ~· 1 See pl. 19. • 39 2nd pose which is ~-re:!suoltf a life of monotony .i!}g ood fortune. In the particular series of drawings of which I am thinking ,ve are shown athousand aspects and episodes of the outdoor life-racing, hunting, drives in the woods, proud 'ladies' and frail 'misses' expertly controlling their e.xquisitely graceful steeds, themselves no less dazzling and dainty than their mistresses. For Monsieur G. is not only a connoisseur of horses in general, but has also a happy gift for expressing the personalbeauty of the individual horse. At one moment it is wayside halts, bivouacs, as it were, of mnumerable carriages, from which slim young men and women garbed in the eccentric costumes authorized by the season,_h oisted up on cushions, on seats, or on t;he roof, are assisting at some ceremony of the turf which is going on in the distance; at another, a rider is seen galloping gracefully alongside an open barouche, and even his horse seems, by his prancing curtseys, to be paying his respects in his own way. The carriage drives off at a b.ti~k trot along a pathway zebra'd with light and shade, carrying its freight of beauties couche_d as though in a gond()Ia, lying back idly, only· half listening to the gallantries _which are .being whispered in their ears, and lazily giving themselves up to the gentle breeze of the drive, 
The Paintero f 11iodemL ife •
 Fur or muslin lap around their chins, billbwing in waves over the carriage-doors. Their servants are stiff and erect, motionless and all alike. It is always the_ same monotonous and self-effacing ll!iage of servility, punctual and disciplined; its di_stinctiveq.u ality is to have none. The :-·cods in the background are green or russet, dusty or gloomy, depending upon the time of day and the season. Their glades are filled with autumnal. mists, blue shadows, golden shafts of light, effulgences of pink, or suddenf lashesw hich cut across the darkness like rapierthrusts. ·If :Monsieur G.'s powexs as a landscape-painter had not already been revealed to us in his couptless water-colours dealing with the Eastern War, these would P:J.O?t,certa.iclbye enough to do SO, Here however we are no longer concemed with the butchered countryside of the Crimea.or the operatic shores of the Bosphorus; instead we are back in those intinlate, familiar landscapes which fringe the skirts of a great city, where the light creates effects which no truly Romantic artist could disregard. .,. • Another merit which deserves to be noticed at this point is our artist's remarkable understanding of •harness and ·coachwork. He draws and … .:};I i:;; :;J I.: F R ~-40 The Paintero f ModernL ife
paints each and every ]cip_do f carriage with the same care and ease as anexpert marine-painter all sorts of ships. His. coachwork is always consummately accurate; each detail is in its place, and no fault can be found with it. In whatever attitude it may be caught, at whatever speed it may be .tunning, a carriage, like a ship, j:\erives from its movement a roysterioi, is and complex grace which is ver:'j difficult to note down in shorthand. The pleasure which it affords the artist's eye would seem to spring from the series· of geometrical shapes which this object, already so intricate, whether it be ship o.i: ca.triage, cu.ts swiftly and successively in space. I am convinced that in a few years' time Monsieu.iG: .'s drawings will have taken their place as precious archives of civilized life. His works •w ill be sought after by collecto.i:sa ,s much as those of the Debucourts, • the Moreaus, the Saint-Aubins, the Carle Vernets, the Deverias, the Gavarni$, and all those other delightful artists who, though depicting nothlng but the familiar and the cb.anning, are in their own way ·no less of serious histo.i:ian.s. A few of them have even sacrificedt oo much to charm, and have sometimes introdnced into their compositions a classic style alien to the subject; some have deliberately .rounded their angles, smoothed the rough edges of life and toned down its fl.ashing highlights. Less skilful than they, Monsieur G. retains a term+kable excellence which is all his own; he has deliberately fulfilled a function, which other artists have sc-orned and which it needed above all a man . of the world to fulfilJ.: !e_h as everywhe.i:es ought after the fugitive, . fleeting beauty of present-day life, t,he distinguishing character of that quality. which, with the ;~der's kind permission, we ha,;e called ~modernity'. Often weird, violent and excessive, he has -contrived to concentrate in his drawings the acrid. or heady bouquet of the wine of life.
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Text above gathered from a heavily annotated scan of “The Painter of Modern Life” by Charles Baudelaire with an image to text conversion program