.. Let us consider some
of the ways in which this monstrous reality has been approached by
various writers. There is, first, the purely sentimental:
Prevost's Manon Les caut. Then there is the slobberingly
sentimental: Dumas' Dame aux Camelias. A third is the
necrophilically romantic: Louys' Aphrodite. The fertile Balzac has
given us no less than two: the purely romantic, in his fascinating
portraits of the Fair Imperia; and the romantically realistic, in
his Splendeurs et Miseres des Courtisanes. Reade's Peg Woffington
may be called the literary parallel of the costume drama; Defoe's
Moll Flanders is honestly realistic; Zola's Nana is rabidly so.
There is one singular fact that must be noted in connection with
the vast majority of such depictions. Punk or bona roba, lorette
or drab--put her before an artist in letters, and, lo and behold
ye! such is the strange allure emanating from the hussy, that the
resultant portrait is either that of a martyred Magdalene, or, at
the very least, has all the enigmatic piquancy of a Monna Lisa...
Not a slut, but what is a hetaera; and not a hetaera, but what is
well-nigh Kypris herself! I know of but one depiction in all
literature that possesses the splendour of implacable veracity as
well as undiminished artistry; where the portrait is that of a
prostitute, despite all her tirings and trappings; a depiction
truly deserving to be designated a portrait: the portrait supreme
of the harlot eternal--Shakespeare's Cleopatra.
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