Gynecocracy

VOLUME THREE
CHAPTER 1

Why had I not been allowed to go out with my cousins as usual? Why was I sent to Mademoiselle's boudoir! These were the questions which first suggested themselves to me; and then in a flutter partly agreeable and partly the contrary, I looked at the statues and at the pictures in a vague search of some assistance to determine Lord Alfred Ridlington's sex and my own!

At last my attention was caught and engrossed by a truly sumptuous edition of Theophile Gautier's Mademoiselle de Maupin, a work I then saw for the first time-one which has ever since fascinated me and which to my mind possesses a greater charm than the writings even of Rousseau himself.

The steel engravings were all that the most exacting imagination could desire, executed with consummate art, and possessing a still atmosphere of perfect luxury and voluptuousness which imparted itself as an additional delight to the letterpress.

Mademoiselle had with difficulty obtained the copy in Bond Street on our last visit to London and had paid?15 for it. She had it bound, at an additional charge of three guineas, in a rich chaste cover.

I threw myself down on the great divan with the volume in my hands, opening it at random. I arranged my skirts and myself comfortably, exactly with the feelings of any other girl, leaving my pretty ankles and shoes sufficiently visible for my own delectation, if for no one else's.

I opened my new acquaintance with avidity, intent upon the entertainment promised by the engravings. My thoughts, without any direction on my part, however, momentarily returned to Lord Alfred Ridlington. But only for a moment.

The fact is the puzzle had by this time become a bore.

It worried me; it excited positive neurosis, it set up neuralgia. Impatiently and petulantly, therefore, I dismissed the subject to stew in its own juice and to evolve itself as fate might ordain. As to a welcome refuge I turned to the volume between which and myself these intruders had ventured to insinuate themselves.

Then, with the scent of the glorious roses smiling in great bowls wherever within the little sanctuary, my eyes chanced to light, filling the atmosphere and my nostrils, I read.

The balmy air-soft, cool, and in gentle motion-gratefully fanned my cheeks and neck. A sense of deep rest, of intense peace, as distinctive of this apartment as of its mistress, settled itself upon me, leaving me free to concentrate my undisturbed attention upon a narrative which speedily absorbed it.

From the lawns and terraces of the gardens beneath the large window, shaded by an ample awning outside, came the sounds made by Juno's proud birds, wheeling themselves out with pride, expanding their blue, green, and gold tails to their utmost dimensions, stretching downwards their wings so that their rustle along the ground, as they strutted to and fro, rivalled the noise made by a modern belle and her garments. Then, with the burst peculiar to them, they allowed their pent-up magnificence to escape, only to recommence the performance, their discordant cries startling me from time to time with their dissonant harshness.

The hum and buzz of the myriad of summer insects were unceasing. More than one industrious and adventurous bee sailed about the window, and having reconnoitred the lady's apartment and the lady within, withdrew with polite reserve.

Amid these ideas and surroundings and under the potent spell exercised by them, one to which by temperament I was more than ordinarily susceptible, to which indeed my peculiar circumstances, my vesture, and what I had undergone, exposed me in a special manner, I opened the book of all others fitted for that place and time.

This the golden book of spirit and sense,

The holy writ of beauty.

The engravings did not retain me long. I desired to become acquainted with Mademoiselle de Maupin herself.

I felt satisfied as my eyes fell on the clear text and I read with slow rapture, in order to prolong the delicious impression made by my imaginative expectations and their gradual and entire realisation. Here is what I read.

"You know the eagerness with which I have sought for physical beauty, the importance I attach to outward form and how the world I am in love with is the world that the eyes can see; or, to put the matter in more conventional language, I am so corrupt and blase, that my faith in moral beauty is gone, and my power of striving after it also… I find that the earth is all as fair as heaven, and virtue for me is nothing but the perfection of form.

"Many a time and long have I paused in some cathedral under the shadow of the marble foliage, when the lights were quivering in through the stained windows, when the organ unbidden made a low murmuring of itself, and the wind was breathing amongst the pipes; and I have plunged my gaze far into the pale blue depths of the almond-shaped eyes of the Madonna. I have followed with a tender reverence the curves of that wasted figure of hers, and the arch of her eyebrows just visible, and no more than that.

"I have admired her smooth and lustrous brow, her temples with her transparent chastity, and her cheeks shaped with a sober virginal colour, more tender than the colour of a peach-flower. I have counted one by one the fair and golden lashes that threw their tremulous shade upon it.

"I have traced out with care in the subdued tone that surrounds her, the evanescent lines of her throat so fragile and inclined so modestly. I have even lifted with an adventuring hand, the folds of her tunic, and have seen unveiled that bosom, maiden and full of milk, that has never been pressed by any except divine lips.

"I have traced out the rare clear veins of it even to their faintest branchings. I have laid my finger on it, to draw the white drops forth of the draught of heaven. I have so much as touched with my lips the very bud of the rosa mystica."

"Oh, Mademoiselle! Oh, Gertrude Stormont!" I exclaimed, and sighed involuntarily, and as I lingered in my contemplation of Mademoiselle's bosom, which the above lines exactly described, I sank into a soft transport, half closing my eyes and dwelling upon my recollection of the contact of my mystical rose, recalling the lilies and the roses of the exquisite mounds, out of which it grew and the azure veins which I too had traced with my eyes.

I had then no further opportunity of pursuing this train of thought, or of reading any more of the words of one who so fully understood and expressed my ideas.

I heard the portiere removed and someone took hold of the door handle. I hastily glanced at myself to ascertain whether my pose was satisfactory and my drapery as it should be. No doubt it was Mademoiselle, and yet perhaps-I kept my eyes down upon the book, I dared not raise them yet-perhaps it might be Lord Alfred Ridlington!

What if he should find me here alone in that turmoil of mind, in that little sanctuary at my devotions to Venus, carried away by her sacred inspirations? 278

The door opened and closed again. Someone came across the thick soft carpet towards the couch. With a blush, which must have been perceptible, I looked up. It was he, it was Lord Alfred Ridlington-and alone.

"Julia!" he said, gazing at me.

I returned the look in silence, not knowing what to say.

"At last," he murmured, a suppressed eagerness in his tone, and an earnestness too which startled me. I blushed afresh.

I was satisfied with my posture and my appearance and saw that it had produced all the effect that I could wish. A certain light came into his eyes as I unconsciously made room for him to sit himself beside me. His eyes, I noticed, rested on my ankles and seemed to travel up my legs. I knew intuitively he longed to see more than was exposed.

Approval of what he did see, however, was plainly expressed in his looks. He seated himself beside me and was very careful, I observed with secret amusement, not to terrify my obvious timidity. He instilled a wonderful gentleness and softness into his manner as for a few moments he silently sat at my side.

If I had done what I wanted, what I should have liked to do, I should have thrown myself upon him. I, however, let my eyes serve as the mirrors of a human form-his. But one man then existed for me in the universe. Many girls, I doubt not, have to make this confession.

Yes, I honestly avow and confess, that if I had done what I longed to do, what all the fierce passion surging in my breast prompted, I should have thrown myself upon him, gathered him in my arms, and scattered our clothing to the winds.

But something-my maiden coyness, my virginal modesty (your virginal modesty! Oh, Julia!)-withheld me. He was still silent but not from want of feeling. I was sensible of the passion radiating from him like the heat from a furnace. How could I encourage him?

He must make the first advance. Suppose (terrible idea!) he did not do so! What would become of me in that case? Suppose he had merely intended to propose a saunter or a ramble in the grounds?

He took my hand, jewelled with lady's rings.

I involuntarily glanced at the door.

"Oh!" he cried, in a reassuring way. "Mademoiselle has gone out-gone out in her phaeton, I think. She told me she was going to sketch some ruin or other, miles away. No one will disturb us."

I looked relieved.

He took my hand, and approached me more closely. His hot breath, which began to come with more rapidity, played about my cheeks.

I did not draw myself away. Why should I not take what the Gods provided? Why should I deprive myself of what I desired above all things? I did not draw myself away, nor did I repel him.

Now this is strange; for what I myself like in a woman is boldness, and an entire, imperious disregard of all les convenances; and how I enjoyed that embrace of Mademoiselle's after whipping Beatrice, because she had given the violence of her passion full scope, and had thrown herself upon me in headlong fury.

And I know, too, there are some women who love to be outraged, who care only for "the ponderous weight of the steer, rushing to enjoyment." However, with Lord Alfred Ridlington, I felt it would be the greatest blunder I could commit and so I made no advances.

He held my hand imprisoned in both his. What soft, plump hands they were, for a man's! He looked at me.

"Julia," he said, tenderly, "you remember that happy evening in the conservatory?"

"Yes," I answered, affecting to wonder what was coming next.

I suppose there was a tell-tale tone about the monosyllable, for he bent over and warmly kissed my lips-a very different kind of kiss from that which he had in sport given me in the drawing room.

"Oh!" cried I. "Lord Alfred, you really must not."

And I grew hot all over, and red in the face.

"I love to make the roses bloom," said he.

And he gave me a second kiss.

How warm, how soft, how clinging his lips were! Their contact was like nectar to a thirsty soul! They thrilled me through and through. I felt a disturbance about the centre of my lap. Good gracious, if he should observe anything there!

"Julia," he pleaded, "kiss me back!"

I looked at him coyly and archly.

"Will you not love me one little bit?" he added. "I love you so much!"

His eyes rested on mine and shone with the strong but soft and subdued light of one in love; they were moist, and their lids drooped over them.

"Do you?" I said, innocently. "Well, then, if I must."

And I put my mouth up.

"You dear girl!" he cried, in a transport, throwing his arms about me and raining a perfect shower of kisses upon my lips, my eyes, my brow, my cheeks, and my lips again.

I yielded to the embrace. I was glad I had made no blunder.

I kissed his lips in return; and I must acknowledge that, catching fire from him, I inserted my dainty little tongue into his mouth in search of-

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" he cried, in ecstasy.

"Does that give you pleasure?" I asked, coquettishly, my maidenly reserve fast thawing and vanishing like a patch of snow that has lingered too long on some Alp below the snow line when the surprised sun espies it.

His hand slipped down to my feet.

A terrible dread came over me. Suppose, after all, Mademoiselle was wrong; suppose I was not an hermaphrodite; suppose I was altogether a boy!

I should be cheated of the happiness which seemed within my grasp; the cup of which I had already tasted the sweetness by anticipation would be dashed from my lips. I should be as disappointed-and more so, than that unfortunate child whom I could never forget, when Mademoiselle had so heartlessly refused to incarnate.

And yet-to become a mother! Should I become a mother?

I recollected I had wondered what I should do. I had wondered-when I had believed myself altogether a boy-what I should do with Lord Alfred Ridlington if he made hot love to me as there seemed every probability that he would.

Beatrice was to be my wife. Yet, how could I be another man's wife if I was to be somebody's husband? Beatrice must be in the dark. The reflection was a slight cloud upon my happiness.

He slipped his hand underneath my petticoats and I lay back across his other arm. He travelled upwards, and caressed my limbs. For a moment he played with Mons. Priapus, then his hand slipped to my back.

"Oh, Alfred, Alfred!" I cried. "Don't, don't!"

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Yes! Oh, yes! No, it-doesn't hurt-but don't put your hand there-it makes me so ashamed," and I hid my face in his bosom.

"You," he continued, "are like a girl there because that thing in front you know is abnormally large," and he continued to play with my buttocks and endeavoured to insert his finger.

"You have to wear petticoats because you are really a girl, Julia. Do not be deceived about it, and," he provokingly added, "Mademoiselle has told me you are such a naughty one, and I know how dear a one! Now, Julia, I cannot take off all your clothes, my dear, here; neither can I disrobe myself-you must wait until tonight for that happiness-but we can have something now. Lie on your face, my darling."

And he turned me over on the soft cushions. I knew he was undoing his own trousers and a moment later he turned up all my petticoats and uncovered my bottom.

"Oh! Oh!" I cried, and endeavoured to turn over but he prevented this. "If I am really a girl I do not mind; on the contrary I am so glad-but I hope I am."

He did not reply. He lay down upon me and I felt his weight with rapture. He pressed his hands round my waist, got them beneath my clothes, and played with what I understood was an unnaturally overgrown clitoris.

He removed one hand to insert something behind. It felt like the tube Mademoiselle had pushed in there. It burnt me, but delightfully. In a few minutes it throbbed with violence and I felt deluged with warm moisture. My clitoris also responded.

He sank upon me without reply, for his passion was too intense, pressing me closely to him.

"Oh, Alfred! Alfred! Oh, my dear Alfred!" I gasped.

In a few minutes he said: "Again, Julia."

"If-if you like."

He made the attempt, he replaced the weapon, but he was unsuccessful in the accomplishment to the end. It did not throb. He excited me however into a second paroxysm which he appeared to delight in.

He withdrew himself, let me turn round and repose in his arms.

Presently I kissed him.

"Do you think, Alfred, do you think I shall have a-a baby?"

He smiled curiously and enquired whether I should like one.

"Above all things," I promptly answered.

He laughed. "Oh, Julia! What a confession."

"And do you know, Alfred," I continued, "I–I-really thought once-just for a short time, that you might be Lady Alfred Ridlington dressed in your husband's clothes! Wasn't that absurd?"

"Yes; what on earth put such an idea into your silly little head?" he asked, with a look of deep affection.

"Oh! I don't know except that you have such a beautiful well-formed figure which would be a credit to any girl or woman, and because Mademoiselle-"

"Well?"

"Mademoiselle said she would, when I thought I was a boy, get Lady Alfred Ridlington to discipline me because I wanted to make too much love to her. And-"

"And what more?"

"Oh! Because she said that Lady Alfred Ridlington thrashed her husband and-wore his breeches. There!" Looking curiously at him with depreciation of my own credulity.

"Indeed, I am extremely obliged to Mademoiselle," he replied. "Lady Alfred does not thrash me and does not wear my breeches. And I think I have proved to you-"

"Yes, indeed you have, that you are a dear, delicious, naughty man! Would you like to do that again?"

"Not now, dear, thank you-it would be too exhausting for you."

To my surprise before many minutes were over, I felt very "unwell." I at once knew why Mademoiselle had endeavoured to show and to teach me how to contain myself. I felt I was going to be "unwell."

Mademoiselle had injected much more into my womb than Lord Alfred had and I had had to wait twenty minutes, so that I might easily wait a little longer now. But I could not-I had no towel on-the quantity of the injection did not affect the matter. I looked terrified. He saw something was up. What could I say or do?

"Hallo, Ju!" he cried, springing up. "I declare I hear the girls' voices on the lawn, let's have some tennis-you will come and join us presently, won't you?"

"Yes," I said, looking fondly at him as he stood before me; and as, giving and receiving a kiss, he disappeared, I rushed to my room. What a narrow, what a fortunate escape!

I leisurely put my things on before the glass, a hat, a pair of tennis shoes, and changed my skirt for a tennis one. I looked at myself, and thought: "Now, Julia, thank goodness! You know you are a girl, and are, perhaps, going to have a baby."

I recollected my rude, hobbledehoy, hoydenish days, when I believed I was a boy and wondered at the change so surprising, so far reaching, so complete, that had overtaken me.

My former rudeness and roughness and violence positively shocked and astounded me. I felt ashamed of them and blushed deeply. They were so disgraceful in one who all the time should have been in petticoats.

So thorough was this system of discipline that to this day when I know all about it and understand how I was mystified, the impression is still strong upon me and exercises a most wonderfully taming and domesticating effect.

On the way down I met Mademoiselle.

"May I congratulate you, Julia dear?"

"Oh, Mademoiselle!" I cried.

"Am I cut out?" she asked, with that playfulness which she never lost.

"Oh, Mademoiselle, no!" I answered, a little indignantly.

"But how about Alfred? I suppose he is now-?"

I blushed deeply. My wits came to my rescue.

"You know," I said, in very low, hushed tones, "you said I was an hermaphrodite. I belong to you just as much as to him."

"You are a dear boy-girl, I mean, Julia." And she kissed me. "Never mind the tennis. Come with me to my boudoir and tell me all about it. We'll have some tea or chocolate or what you like."

And how delighted I was to obey.