Quite often, the woman only envisages prostitution as a temporary way of increasing her resources. But the way in which she then finds herself enslaved to it has been described many times. While cases of the “white slave trade,” where she is dragged into the spiral by violence, false promises, mystifications, and so on, are relatively rare, what happens more often is that she is kept in this career against her will. The capital necessary to get her started is provided by a pimp or a madam who acquires rights over her, who gets most of her profits, and from whom she is not able to free herself. Marie-Thérèse carried on a real fight for several years before succeeding:
I finally understood that Julot didn’t want anything but my dough, and I thought that far from him, I could save a bit of money … At home in the beginning, I was shy, I didn’t dare go up to clients and tell them “come on up.” The wife of one of Julot’s buddies watched me closely and even counted my tricks … So Julot writes to me that I should give my money every evening to the madam: “Like that, nobody will steal it from you.” When I wanted to buy a dress, the hotel manager told me that Julot had forbidden her to give my dough … I decided to get out of this trick house as fast as I could. When the boss lady found out I wanted to leave, she didn’t give me the tampon before the visit like the other times, and I was stopped and put into the hospital6 … I had to return to the brothel to earn some money for my trip … but I only stayed in the house for four weeks … I worked a few days in Barbès like before but I was too furious at Julot to stay in Paris: we fought, he beat me, once he almost threw me out of the window … I made an arrangement with a go-between to go to the provinces. When I realized he knew Julot, I didn’t show up at the rendezvous. The agent’s two broads met me on rue Belhomme and gave me a thrashing … The next day, I packed my bags and left alone for the isle of T.… Three weeks later I was fed up with the brothel, I wrote to the doctor to mark me as going out when he came for the visit … Julot saw me on Boulevard de Magenta and beat me … My face was scarred after the thrashing on Boulevard de Magenta. I was fed up with Julot. So I signed a contract to go to Germany.
Literature has popularized the character of the fancy man. He plays a protective role in the girl’s life. He advances her money to buy outfits, then he defends her against the competition of other women and the police—sometimes he himself is a policeman—and against the clients. They would like to be able to consume without paying; there are those who would readily satisfy their sadism on a woman. In Madrid a few years ago Fascist and gilded youth amused themselves by throwing prostitutes into the river on cold nights; in France students having fun sometimes brought women into the countryside and abandoned them, entirely naked, at night; in order to get her money and avoid bad treatment, the prostitute needs a man. He also provides her with moral support: “You work less well alone, you don’t have your heart in it, you let yourself go,” some say. She often feels love for him; she takes on this job or justifies it out of love; in this milieu, man’s superiority over woman is enormous: this distance favors love-religion, which explains some prostitutes’ passionate abnegation. They see in their male’s violence the sign of his virility and submit to him even more docilely. They experience jealousy and torment with him, but also the joys of the woman in love.
But sometimes they feel only hostility and resentment for him: it is out of fear, because he has a hold over them, that they remain under his thumb, as we just saw in the case of Marie-Thérèse. So sometimes they console themselves with a “fling” with one of their clients. Marie-Thérèse writes:
All the women have flings, me too, in addition to their Julot. He was a very handsome sailor. Even though he was a good lover, he didn’t turn me on, but we felt a lot of friendship for each other. Often he came up with me without making love, just to talk; he told me I should get out of this, that my place wasn’t here.
They also find consolation with women. Many prostitutes are homosexual. We saw that there was often a homosexual adventure at the beginning of their careers and that many continued to live with a woman. According to Anna Rueling, about 20 percent of prostitutes in Germany are homosexual. Faivre points out that in prison young women prisoners correspond with each other with pornographic and passionate letters that they sign “United for life.” These letters are similar to those schoolgirls write to each other, feeding the “flames” in their hearts; these girls are less aware, shyer; prisoners carry their feelings to the limit, both in their words and their actions. We can see in the life of Marie-Thérèse—who was launched into lovemaking by a woman—what special role the female “pal” plays in comparison to the despised male client or the authoritarian pimp:
Julot brought around a girl, a poor drudge who didn’t even have a pair of shoes to wear. At the flea market they buy what she needed, and then she comes to work with me. She was sweet, and in addition she liked women, so we got along well. She reminded me of everything I learned with the nurse. We had a lot of fun, and instead of working, we went to the movies. I was happy to have her with us.
One can see that the girlfriend plays approximately the same role that the best friend plays for the virtuous woman surrounded by women: she is the companion in pleasure, she is the one with whom she has free, gratuitous relations, that can thus be chosen; tired of men, disgusted by them, or wishing for a diversion, the prostitute will often seek relief and pleasure in the arms of another woman. In any case, the complicity I spoke of and that immediately unites women exists more strongly in this case than in any other. Because their relations with half of humanity are commercial, because the whole of society treats them as pariahs, there is great solidarity among prostitutes; they might be rivals, jealous of each other, insult each other, fight with each other; but they have a great need of each other to form a “counter-universe” in which they regain their human dignity; the friend is the confidante and the privileged witness; she is the one who approves of the dress and hairdo meant to seduce the man, but which are ends in themselves in other women’s envious or admiring gazes.
As for the prostitute’s relations with her clients, opinions vary and cases undoubtedly vary. It is often emphasized that she reserves kissing on the lips, the expression of real tenderness, for her true love, and she makes no connection between amorous embraces and professional ones. Men’s views are dubious because their vanity incites them to let themselves be duped by simulated orgasm. It must be said that the circumstances are very different when it is a question of a “mass turnover,” often physically exhausting, a quick trick, or regular relations with a familiar client. Marie-Thérèse generally did her job indifferently, but she mentions some nights of delights; she had “crushes” and says that all her friends did too; a woman might refuse to be paid by a client she liked, and sometimes, if he is in a difficult situation, she offers to help him. In general, however, the woman works “cold.” Some only feel indifference tinged with scorn for their clientele. “Oh! What saps men are! Women can put anything they want into men’s heads!” writes Marie-Thérèse. But many feel a disgusted resentment of men; they are sickened, for one thing, by their perversions, either because they go to the brothel to satisfy the perversions they do not dare to admit to their wives or mistresses or because being at a brothel incites them to invent perversions; many men demand “fantasies” from the woman. Marie-Thérèse complained in particular that the French have an insatiable imagination. The sick women treated by Dr. Bizard confided in him that “all men are more or less perverted.” One of my female friends spoke at great length at the Beaujon hospital with a young, very intelligent prostitute who started off as a servant and who lived with a pimp she adored. “All men are perverted,” she said, “except mine. That’s why I love him. If I ever discover he’s a pervert, I’ll leave him. The first time the client doesn’t always dare, he seems normal; but when he comes back, he begins to want things … You say your husband isn’t a pervert: you’ll see. They all are.” Because of these perversions she detested them. Another of my female f
riends, in 1943 in Fresnes, became intimate with a prostitute. She emphasized that 90 percent of her clients were perverts and about 50 percent were self-hating pederasts. Those who showed too much imagination terrified her. A German officer asked her to walk about the room naked with flowers in her arms while he imitated the flight of a bird; in spite of her courtesy and generosity, she ran away every time she caught sight of him. Marie-Thérèse hated “fantasy” even though it had a much higher rate than simple coitus, and was often less demanding for the woman. These three women were particularly intelligent and sensitive. They certainly understood that as soon as they were no longer protected by the routine of the job, as soon as man stopped being a client in general and became individualized, they were prey to consciousness, to a capricious freedom: it was no longer just a simple business transaction. Some prostitutes, though, specialize in “fantasy” because it brings in more money. In their hostility to the client there is often class resentment. Helene Deutsch speaks at great length about the story of Anna, a pretty blond prostitute, childlike, generally very gentle, but who had fierce fits of anger against some men. She was from a working-class family; her father drank, her mother was sickly: this unhappy household gave her such a horrible idea of family life that she rejected all proposals to marry, even though throughout her career she had many opportunities. The young men of the neighborhood debauched her; she liked her job well enough; but when, ill with tuberculosis, she was sent to the hospital, she developed a fierce hatred of doctors; “respectable” men were abhorrent to her; she could not stand gentility, her doctor’s solicitude. “Don’t we know better than anyone that these men easily drop their masks of gentility, self-control, and behave like brutes?” she said. Other than that, she was mentally perfectly well-balanced. She pretended to have a child that she left with a wet nurse, but otherwise she did not lie. She died of tuberculosis. Another young prostitute, Julia, who gave herself to every boy she met from the age of fifteen, only liked poor and weak men; she was gentle and nice with them; she considered the others “wicked beasts who deserved harsh treatment.” (She had an obvious complex that manifested an unsatisfied maternal vocation: she had fits as soon as “mother,” “child,” or similar-sounding words were uttered.)
Most prostitutes are morally adapted to their condition; that does not mean they are hereditarily or congenitally immoral, but they rightly feel integrated into a society that demands their services. They know well that the edifying lecture of the policeman who puts them through an inspection is pure verbiage, and the lofty principles their clients pronounce outside the brothel do little to intimidate them. Marie-Thérèse explains to the baker woman with whom she lives in Berlin:
Myself, I like everyone. When it’s a question of dough, madame … Yes, because sleeping with a man for free, for nothing, says the same thing about you, that one’s a whore; if you get paid, they call you a whore, yes, but a smart one; because when you ask a man for money, you can be sure that he’ll tell you right off: “Oh! I didn’t know you did that kind of work,” or “Do you have a man?” There you are. Paid or not, for me it’s the same thing. “Ah yes!” she answers. “You’re right.” Because, I tell her, you’re going to stand in line for a half hour to have a ticket for shoes. Myself, for a half hour, I’ll turn a trick. I get the shoes without paying, and on the contrary, if I do my thing right, I’m paid as well. So you see, I’m right.
It is not their moral and psychological situation that makes prostitutes’ existence miserable. It is their material condition that is deplorable for the most part. Exploited by their pimps and hotel keepers, they have no security, and three-quarters of them are penniless. After five years in the trade, around 75 percent of them have syphilis, says Dr. Bizard, who has treated thousands; among others, inexperienced minors are frighteningly susceptible to contamination; close to 25 percent must be operated on for complications resulting from gonorrhea. One in twenty has tuberculosis; 60 percent become alcoholics or drug addicts; 40 percent die before forty. It must be added that in spite of precautions, they do become pregnant from time to time, and they are generally operated on in bad conditions. Common prostitution is a hard job where the sexually and economically oppressed woman—subjected to the arbitrariness of the police, humiliating medical checkups, the whims of her clients, and the prospect of germs, sickness, and misery—is really reduced to the level of a thing.7
There are many degrees between the common prostitute and the grand hetaera. The main difference is that the former trades in her pure generality, so that competition keeps her at a miserable level of living, while the latter tries to be recognized in her singularity: if she succeeds, she can aspire to a lofty future. Beauty, charm, and sex appeal are necessary for this, but they are not sufficient: the woman must be considered distinguished. Her value will often be revealed through a man’s desire: but she will be “launched” only when the man declares her price to the eyes of the world. In the last century, it was the town house, carriage and pair, and pearls that proved the influence of the cocotte on her protector and that raised her to the rank of demimondaine; her worth was confirmed as long as men continued to ruin themselves for her. Social and economic changes abolished the Blanche d’Antigny types. There is no longer a demimonde in which a reputation can be established. An ambitious woman has to try to attain fame in other ways. The most recent incarnation of the hetaera is the movie star. Flanked by her husband or serious male friend—rigorously required by Hollywood—she is no less related to Phryne, Imperia, or Casque d’Or. She delivers Woman to the dreams of men who give her fortune and glory in exchange.
There has always been a vague connection between prostitution and art, because beauty and sexuality are ambiguously associated with each other. In fact, it is not Beauty that arouses desire: but the Platonic theory of love suggests hypocritical justifications for lust. Phryne baring her breast offers Areopagus the contemplation of a pure idea. Exhibiting an unveiled body becomes an art show; American burlesque has turned undressing into a stage show. “Nudity is chaste,” proclaim those old gentlemen who collect obscene photographs in the name of “artistic nudes.” In the brothel, the moment of choice begins as a display; if choosing is more complicated, tableaux vivants and “artistic poses” are offered to the client. The prostitute who wishes to acquire a singular distinction does not limit herself to showing her flesh passively; she tries to have her own talents. Greek flute-playing women charmed men with their music and dances. The Ouled Nails performing belly dances and Spanish women dancing and singing in the Barrio Chino are simply offering themselves in a refined manner to enthusiasts. Nana goes onstage to find herself a “protector.” Some music halls, like some concert cafés before them, are simply brothels. All occupations where a woman displays herself can be used for amatory purposes. Of course there are showgirls, taxi dancers, nude dancers, escorts, pinups, models, singers, and actresses who do not let their sexual lives interfere with their occupations; the more skill and invention involved in their work, the more it can be taken as a goal in itself; but a woman who “goes onstage” to earn a living is often tempted to use her charms for more intimate commercial ends. Inversely, the courtesan wishes to have an occupation that will serve as her alibi. Rare are those like Colette’s Léa who, addressed by a friend as “Dear artist,” would respond: “Artist? My lovers are truly most indiscreet.” We have said that her reputation confers a market value on her: the stage or screen where she makes a “name” for herself will become her capital.
Cinderella does not always dream of Prince Charming: husband or lover, she fears he may change into a tyrant; she prefers to dream of her own smiling face on a movie theater marquee. But it is more often thanks to her masculine “protection” that she will attain her goal; and it is men—husbands, lovers, suitors—who confirm her triumph by letting her share their fortune or their fame. It is this need to please another or a crowd that connects the movie star to the hetaera. They play a similar role in society: I will use the word “hetaer
a” to designate women who use not only their bodies but also their entire person as exploitable capital. Their attitude is very different from that of a creator who, transcending himself in a work, goes beyond the given and appeals to a freedom in others to whom he opens up the future; the hetaera does not uncover the world, she opens no road to human transcendence:8 on the contrary, she seeks to take possession of it for her profit; offering herself for the approval of her admirers, she does not disavow this passive femininity that dooms her to man: she endows it with a magic power that allows her to take males into the trap of her presence, and to feed herself on them; she engulfs them with herself in immanence.
In this way, woman succeeds in acquiring a certain independence. Giving herself to many men, she belongs to none definitively; the money she accumulates, the name she “launches” as one launches a product, ensure her economic autonomy. The freest women in ancient Greece were neither matrons nor common prostitutes but hetaeras. Renaissance courtesans and Japanese geishas enjoy an infinitely greater freedom than their contemporaries. In France, the woman who seems to be the most virile and independent is perhaps Ninon de Lenclos. Paradoxically, those women who exploit their femininity to the extreme create a situation for themselves nearly equal to that of a man; moving from this sex that delivers them to men as objects, they become subjects. They not only earn their living like men but also live in nearly exclusively masculine company; free in their mores and speech, they can rise to the rarest intellectual freedom—like Ninon de Lenclos. The most distinguished among them are often surrounded with artists and writers who find “virtuous women” boring. Masculine myths find their most seductive incarnation in the hetaera; more than any other woman, she is flesh and consciousness, idol, inspiration, muse; painters and sculptors want her as their model; she will nourish poets’ dreams; it is in her that the intellectual will explore the treasures of feminine “intuition”; she is more readily intelligent than the matron, because she is less set in hypocrisy. Women who are extremely talented will not readily settle for the role of Egeria; they will feel the need to show autonomously the value that the admiration of others confers on them; they will try to transform their passive virtues into activities. Emerging in the world as sovereign subjects, they write poems, prose; they paint and compose music. Thus Imperia became famous among Italian courtesans. A woman might also use man as an instrument, so as to practice through him masculine functions: the “favorite royal mistresses” participated in the government of the world through their powerful lovers.9
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