It was almost too good to be true.

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In 1894 a mysterious collection of erotic poems was published in Paris. They were presented as work written by a courtesan of Ancient Greece - Bilitis. The translator, Pierre Louys, titled the collection, Les Chansons de Bilitis - in English, The Songs of Bilitis.

Parisians were enthralled by the sensuous grace of the writings, the shadowy antiquity of their providence, and the unabashed eroticism.

Pierre Louys explained in preface that the poems were discovered by the archaeologist, Herr G. Heim during the course of excavations in Cyprus. Herr Heim had uncovered a tomb from 600 BC. Inside the tomb, he found four walls covered with plaques of black amphibolite, and a sarcophagus carved with three epitaphs.

The plaques were inscribed with one hundred forty-three prose poems. The carved epitaphs were dedicated to a beautiful enigmatic poetess named, Bilitis.

The epitaphs divide the life of Bilitis into, bud, bloom, and wane.

Bilitis sings of her beginnings in the first epitaph, "In the land were the rivers are born from the sea, and the beds of the stream made of fine flakes of quartz, I, Bilitis, was born".

The stream she recalls is the Melas; which flows shallow and slow from the sea, across the land called Pamphylia. It's a land of dark forest and sun-lite meadows. Bilitis writes of bathing naked, pressing floating green tendrils to her breasts and calling, "Naiads! Naiads! Play with me, be nice".

Then she laments, "But the naiads are transparent, perhaps I caressed their lissome arms, unknowing".

Naiads, nymphs, and satyrs run through her poems, incorporeal, but real. Her world, is suffused with a gentle sexuality which she finds in flowers, milk, sweet breezes, and childish lovers - whether boy or girl.

When her dearest friend, Melissa is married, Bilitis imagines her own marriage, "Just as Melissa now, I shall disrobe myself before a man and taste of love by night, and later still, small babes will feed upon my swollen breasts".

Bilitis leaves Pamphylia and the man who raped, then married her, for the isle of Lesbos.

At Lesbos Bilitis met the poetess, Sappho. The poems of Sappho are now less considered than her love of young girls. Because of Sappho, the island's name, Lesbos, has been unfairly usurped as label for a sexual preference - Lesbian.

Sappho may have taught Bilitis the art of singing in rhythmic cadence, but Bilitis already knew the art of loving women. Bilitis and Sappho dwelt together, until Bilitis fell in love with Sappho's connubial girlfriend, Mnasidika.

Mnasidika became the sustaining love of Bilitis for all the days of the ten years she spent at Lesbos. Bilitis supported herself and Mnasidika by serving as courtesan at the temple of Amathus.

There was no shame in this. Courtesans of the Amathus temple were something like holy whores. Only the loveliest women from the best families were eligible to serve.

The love affair of Bilitis and Mnasidika ended with only hints for the reason. Perhaps Bilitis was too jealous of her beloved Mnasidika. Perhaps it was something else. Bilitis did not tell, except that she left the isle of Lesbos in sorrow because of losing lovely Mnasidika.

Thus ends the second epitaph.

The third epitaph tells of sailing to Cyprus where Bilitis ended her years in fading beauty and beautiful poems celebrating her sensuous life and her great love for Mnasidika.

In this last epitaph, Bilitis writes: " 'tis here I am resting forever; I who could weave verses together; I who could make kisses to bloom . . . Do not weep for me . . . the memories of my earthly existence are the joys of my underground life".

Publication of The Songs of Bilitis was an instant success. Pierre Louys was roundly praised for his classic scholarship as well as for the purity of his translation. Greek classicists poured over the original verses printed in Greek that accompanied the book, smiling in erudite approval.

The magnificence of it all was twofold; the beauty of the verses was wrapped in the archaeological triumph of recovered art.

It was almost too good to be true.

It wasn't true.

Pierre Louys had written the verses of Bilitis by himself, and invented the archeologist, Herr de Heim. Neither Bilitis nor Heim had ever lived.

It was all a fraud, perpetrated by the now disgraced, Pierre Louys.

After a time the disgrace was, not forgotten . . . but re-thought.

Something like this, "You know this stuff is pretty good. Who cares if it isn't true. We could explain the fraud in a couple of paragraphs up-front - then tell'em about the beauty of the writing - the mystery of ancient eroticism - and forbidden love". "Do we have to say, Lesbian"? "Yeah, have to say Lesbian".

The Songs of Bilitis is one of very few frauds to ever become, Art.

The artistry of Pierre Louys was beautiful on its own. He didn't need the imaginary Herr Heim and phony historical providence to help him out.

Why did he think he needed a fake history to make his excellent writing publishable? He could have presented the work as his own - a scholar's artistic homage to the life, loves, and writings of timeless, legendary Sappho.

I don’t know. I do know that Art and Fraud are both tiresomely complicated.

Why not just do the Art.

Nevertheless, a beautiful fraud.

I'm not surprised by any Artist's failure at fraud.

By K. L. Shipley

Website: https://www.eclecticessays.com