Anonymous - Gynecocracy

How I loathed the notion; and under its influence the red-gold and sparkling stones for a few seconds appeared to be a badge of servitude. Was I a prostitute?

After all, the gift was made to me in accordance with custom, for I was a girl and should have all the trouble of the baby.

How should I, and I looked at myself in the glass when asking the question, feel with a great card on these swelling breasts of mine with the word "prostitute" inscribed in enormous letters upon it?

Poor Beatrice! She had accused Maud of prostitution because she had bought me from Elise and had herself to suffer as though she were the criminal. How delicious to consider Beatrice in that light!

What a strange qualm, strange thrill, shot through me, as I recollected the exquisite happiness she would sell. Those soft, warm, yielding thighs opened wide to the shower of gold as were Danae's to her god! My imagination faithfully depicted the well-stockinged calves, the daintily perfumed underclothing, the glimpses of pink flesh, the alluring posture, as she reclined with outspread arms and inviting looks, the drooping lids, the languishing air. Verily, as Agnes said, she would have made a splendid one, hence no doubt the sting of the observation. What a scrutinizing piercing glance she had thrown at me, as Agnes had added, "how I wish I were a man." Did Beatrice after all know the secret and the truth? Was I a man and did she long for me?

I wondered what Mademoiselle would do, for what use could a prostitute be amongst women?

I had helped to dress Mademoiselle that evening and she had never looked more stately nor more queenly than when in the drawing room upon that occasion.

She, of course, noticed Beatrice directly, and looked at her with well-feigned surprise as she observed Beatrice's carnation hue and shamefaced appearance.

"Well, Miss," she exclaimed, "what is there about the word that so disturbs you? Pro, before and statuo, I place," mimicking Beatrice's tone; "if it were cunnus or pellex, or scrotum, or-or meretrix, did you not say?"

"Oh, Mademoiselle!"

"Perhaps you have been round to the OEdiles and announced your intention of joining the ranks of the pro-fessce, and this card announces-until a tailor has provided you with a toga."

"Oh, Mademoiselle! You know no free woman-"

"No free woman could become a harlot. True-but as you have carefully explained, it is not harlot or-or-or a worse name that you bear; it is only prostitute."

"It is too bad, it is too shameful," cried Beatrice, beside herself with anger, "to label me prostitute!" and she tore at the card. But before she could rid herself of it Mademoiselle stopped her. "I forbid you to take it off. I cannot suppose," with delicate scorn, "your excuses for the use of the word were insincere-so you will please keep it on. And who knows, after dinner we may find some one anxious to fill your lap with gold. Julia, for instance," added Mademoiselle. Then slyly to me, "Julia, what pocket money have you left?"

"Julia is a girl," retorted Beatrice scornfully; in her turn scanning Mademoiselle very closely.

"Julia is an hermaphrodite," replied Mademoiselle, calmly. "We shall see."

"Never!" shouted Beatrice, reddening to her forehead.

"Or if you do not think her sufficiently powerful, I dare say we can find someone else. There's the gong. Julia, take in Madam Beatrice. Maud, give me your arm-run along, Agnes."

During this passage of arms, we had stood open-eyed and open-mouthed, wondering what the end of it would be. Even the sedate Maud had relinquished her book and I would have given a great deal to learn what was passing in her little head.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" I cried, for my excitement had occasioned a growth, and I got myself unmercifully bitten. I blushed painfully; in fact the pain was so severe that I thought I should faint.

Mademoiselle stopped, really astonished.

"It is that wedding ring of his, hers I mean," said Maud.

"Oh! I had forgotten. There, Beatrice, already," observed Mademoiselle. "I fear his remaining guineas are in serious jeopardy."

"Julia," said Beatrice, in desperate tones, as she took my arm, "if you don't take care, if you don't look out, I–I-I will tear the thing off you."

"I really could not help it, Beatrice," I expostulated.

"You must help it," she replied, giving my arm a vicious pinch.

So we marched off to the dining room.

The maids who waited at table looked at Beatrice and looked very significantly at each other. They were too well trained to give any other sign but I am sure I heard tittering behind the screen, and the one who handed me my soup gave me an intelligent although almost imperceptible nudge.

There was Beatrice next me, that great card in her way, unable to lift her spoon to her mouth without sprinkling it, to such an extent did she tremble, to such unusual nervousness was she reduced; and all because there was that word upon it.

During the meal Beatrice was unusually silent, almost sullen. What she was thinking of I puzzled myself very much to imagine. I was too much occupied with my own thoughts to take much part in the conversation always dominated by Beatrice's flaring announcement; for whatever subject was broached it seemed to be very quickly exhausted and attention returned to the placard.

I noticed that Beatrice drank much more than she ate. Glass after glass of red wine disappeared, until, at length, I observed Mademoiselle noticing the frequency with which it was emptied and refilled.

In these matters we were always left to our own devices. Mademoiselle never condescended to interfere in them, although she was ready enough to amuse herself with the consequences of any indiscretion.

It soon became plain to me that a spirit of perversity had seized Beatrice and that she was resolved to do justice to the character which had been ascribed to her. She had been made to declare herself a prostitute; she intended, evidently, to fill the part.

I knew the quantity of wine she was imbibing would make her utterly reckless. She drank and drank and her air and demeanour soon gave her the appearance of being so.

Before dinner was over she sat bolt upright resting against the back of the chair, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wild, her hair slightly disarranged. The naughtiness of the word seemed to have entered into her; and her legs were well apart, her eyelids drooped, and her gestures were very free.

The two other girls looked very much astonished, Mademoiselle looked amused, and I was frightened. I did not want Beatrice to make an exhibition of herself and she was evidently on the high-road to it.

In my solicitude, without exactly intending it, I involuntarily took an opportunity of pushing her glass from her, when I thought no one but herself would observe me, by way of giving her a gentle hint.

"You little ass!" she at once exclaimed, looking angrily at me, and quite loud. "Are you going to spill it over me again? Do you want me to slap your face for you as I did the other day? Leave my glass alone!"

I gave up in despair. I felt quite sad at the failure of my well-meant interference, and rather small at the notion of having my face slapped by one who was herself evidently more in need of control than able to exercise it.

"Julia," said Mademoiselle, "take care! Beatrice, I expect, will slap you somewhere else next time."

"That I shall! I shall put him across my lap, and warm his other end!"

And she pushed her chair back and appeared ready there and then to execute her threat.

The result was that I had recourse to the anodyne myself; for Mademoiselle, noticing Beatrice's condition, merely smiled and bit her lip-that dangerous smile which I knew betokened mischief.

In the drawing room Beatrice sank into a low, easy chair with a review on her lap, which, for some ten minutes or so, she attempted to read. Maud and Agnes went to the piano and Mademoiselle made me sit on a stool at her knee and talk to her. Beatrice soon began to nod and Mademoiselle to tire of inaction.