VICTORIAN'S SECRET: Now that you've thoroughly plumbed
the information in this week's feature story, we thought you'd
be interested in a little smut-perspective on days of yore.
While our own, terribly innocent age struggles with questions
about Internet porn and whether we want a President capable of
loving in the adult way, previous eras have not been so confused
about sexuality.
Take the Victorians: They had a great system. First, the "establishment"
would condemn all manner of sexual expression, then groovy Bohemian-types
could get it on in orgiastic excess while feeling like they were
being decadent and rebellious and romantically doomed by an oppressive,
asexual regime.
In the laudanum and absinthe parlors of the day, when the Rossettis
and Wildes needed a break from their debauchery, they could enjoy
the forbidden literature of love in the form of the monthly journal
The Pearl. Now available in several collected editions,
it's interesting not only from a prurient perspective, but also
in showing just how pornographic these supposedly repressed Victorians
could be.
The Pearl was published from 1879 to 1881, the height
of both Victorianism and the Decadent and Aestheticist movements
in England. Edited by the mysterious Anonymous (speculation
as to his or her identity at the time pointed towards an MP, a
certain Lord, or even the long-vanished poet Algernon Bedford
St. Suive), the magazine was a compendium of (as the subtitle
put it) "Facetive and Voluptuous Reading," by such obviously
pseudonymous authors as "Miss Coote" and "Lady
Pokingham."
Every manner of kink is covered, with an emphasis on "birchings"
and lesbian love. Many of the stories detail someone's initiation
into the delicate arts of the voluptuary. Complementing the stories
are jokes, satires and comic poetry, much of which remains funny
if only in being so paradoxically old-fashioned and smutty. For
example, the poem "How He Lost His Whiskers" has the
following bit of light rhyme:
And though mostly fit for a fucking game,
Yet it sometimes in mourning is decked.
Then beware how you go with the darling then,
Or perhaps sorely punished you'll be:
For cunt won't be the sport of men,
When it wants its privacy.
For caprice is part of cunt's own plan
To enhance its joys to an Englishman.
Some of the language is nicely dated, and yet could serve as a
model for our politically correct times. One frequently happens
upon the word "gamahuche," for example, which is a transitive
verb meaning "to perform oral sex upon," but it is entirely
gender neutral. One could just as easily gamahuche a man as a
woman (some will debate this question of ease in the material
world, but it holds semantically).
Other terms may provide solutions to that sticky problem of what
to call the genital region. For women's private, The Pearl
favors "pussey" and "cunny," both of which
roll off the tongue nicely. Men's organs of pleasure are generally
called "pricks," but in the context of the refined prose
of these anonymous tales, the term seems to acquire a quaintness
it never has in our modern impolite conversations.
Which is one of the great advantages of this fin-de-siecle smut:
Even though it's every bit as graphic and perverted as anything
available in modern adult entertainment, the late 19th-century
syntax and vocabulary give it an air of respectability, even in
the midst of a vivid description of bodice-free birchings and
gamahuching-oriented encounters.
--Lance Lyndon-Berry, Litt. D.
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