by Stanlegh Meresith
The actual identity of the woman referred to in this monograph as 'Lydia' has only recently come to light as a result of continuing research. However, in order to protect the privacy of her family, her full name will not be revealed here. Suffice it to say that she was born into wealth, the daughter of a knight of the realm, and it is for that very reason that the career she chose to follow in the 1870's, as outlined in the pages that follow, is so remarkable.
Lydia was a submissive who performed in houses and small theatres given over to the perceived pleasures of flagellation. Unlike many of her fellow submissives, whose origins were to be found almost exclusively in lower classes of society, there is no evidence at all that Lydia was a prostitute (if by that term we mean 'one who engages in sexual activity for pay'). She was paid for most of her performances, but these involved solely the submission on her part to various forms of flagellation.
Houses and brothels catering to a broad range of sexual proclivities became ubiquitous in London throughout the 1860's and onwards, despite the apparent contradiction posed by the commonly-held view of the Victorian era as being excessively prudish about sexual matters. Such establishments were frequented by many of the highest-ranking officials and aristocrats, and houses specialising in flagellation were among the most popular. Estimates suggest that as many as three to four thousand such places existed in various locations around London, though their existence was often fragile and transitory.
Evidence for research into this subject is of necessity restricted to a range of private and often elusive sources. Flagellation as a source of sexual stimulation and pleasure is to this day regarded with a mixture of condemnation and mockery. It is taboo, and will no doubt continue to be so. In the absence, therefore, of any official documentation (beyond occasional police or court papers detailing charges of 'lewdness' and the like), I have had to draw on the letters, journals, notices and sundry writings of a number of contemporary participants. I have also been fortunate enough to gather the spoken testimony of some witnesses yet living.
Before we turn to the outline of Lydia's career that is the main purpose of this monograph, a brief explanation of the titles of the three parts is required. They are explained by reference to Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, from which Lydia chose to borrow her stage names. In the play, a young woman (Viola) is shipwrecked on the shores of the fictitious country of Illyria, ruled by one Duke Orsino. Fearing for her safety, she adopts the disguise of a young man, taking the name Cesario. After many plot twists, she reveals herself as Viola, and marries the Duke Orsino.
The first reference to Lydia's appearance as the performer Cesario is to be found in the journal of Henry Warren, a wealthy, retired timber merchant of Southwark, who was an enthusiastic frequenter of Albert Spink's Theatre of Swish in Covent Garden, which flourished between 1868 and 1872. It was here that Lydia worked exclusively over an eighteen month period, before moving on and adopting her second stage name.
Spink was an impresario involved in many projects in the 1860's and 70's, all catering to the tastes of flagellophiles. His 'shows' consisted of the enactment of a series of scenes involving corporal punishment, those at the Theatre of Swish being largely typical of his style - one in which the actors were, it was often noted, guilty of excessive melodrama.
In his journal entry for March 14th 1871, Henry Warren writes:
Saw a delightful variation on the usual opening feature at ToS (Theatre of Swish) last night. They invariably start with a school scene involving boys (for those so inclined, though the 'boys' of course tend to be lads of eighteen or more, made up to look younger) before they get on to the interesting parts with the girls. But yesterday was the first time I can honestly claim to have found this first section of the evening to my taste; the reason was the introduction of a young woman who goes by the stage name of Cesario. It was an ingenious idea.
The old rogue, Spink, gave his usual unctuous introduction, at the end of which he promised a 'delectable surprise' in the opening sketch. Tom (Thomas Medlicott, a friend and correspondent with whom Warren often attended the Theatre of Swish) turned to me and remarked that this sounded like bad news, to which I readily agreed! For once, we were both wrong.
(Journal of Henry Warren, Vol.3, page 21)
He goes on to describe the context of the scene, involving a boy at a second-rate public school who is to be caned by the Headmaster for the absurdly minor infraction of sneezing in chapel (to their credit, it seems ToS productions did on occasion incorporate elements of satire). The boy meets a girl from the town who offers (for a fee) to take his place (the Headmaster being notorious for his scant familiarity with any of the pupils in his school). The girl, whose appearance is conveniently already somewhat boyish, dons the schoolboy's clothes and duly reports to the Headmaster's study.
Unless she had previously made use of another stage name of which we are unaware (which seems unlikely), we can fairly safely assume that this performance, of March 13th 1871, was, as it were, Lydia's stage debut. Warren makes clear in the following passage just how impressive a debut it was:
With her soft, feminine skin, cropped hair and svelte figure enabling her to make a very passable imitation of a lad of 15, this Cesario was the picture of innocence as the girl-dressed-as-a-boy, which I must say excited me no end. The breeches she wore accentuated the delightful swell of her bottom, which was clearly visible below her short jacket.
Whilst our old friend Mr W. Simpson played the Headmaster with his usual overweening and rather tiresome pomposity, the young woman's performance was well-nigh perfect. Her accent, for a start, was spot on (oh, how we tire of Spink's endless supply of Cockney 'aristocrats'!), and she conveyed a genuine meekness that had us all spellbound. In fact, I was so impressed that I am moved to describe the scene:
Simpson berated her in stock terms and she replied, 'Yes, sir' and 'No, sir' with head bowed, whilst her fingers twisted around each other in a most realistic portrayal of the awful nervousness that precedes a beating.
Ordered to bend over the leather-topped desk (with her backside towards us), she hesitated before obeying reluctantly, turning to look at her prospective tormentor with doe-like eyes and a last minute plea of "Please, sir, please don't cane me," which was of course gruffly dismissed. So pitifully moving was her attempt to soften his heart that I confess she had me feeling somewhat guilty at my desire to see her suffer. But suffer, of course, she did, and how nobly!
Simpson, for all his faults as a ham, can certainly swish a cane with relish and accuracy.
The girl cried out piteously at the very first stroke, which was laid on ferociously, thwacking loudly and deeply into the material of her seat. Most unusually for the opening sketch, there was almost complete silence and absorption amongst us, and Tom had to whisper when he asked me if I thought she'd be able to take a Simpson swishing right through to the end. I told him I doubted it, having seen many a young woman run off stage in tears after Simpson had been at them. Of course, Spink never hires them again if they do, and we both rather assumed that the same fate would, sadly, befall this new Cesario girl.
But not a bit of it! Even though Simpson took his time letting her feel every stroke to its fullest, she stayed down to the very last of two dozen absolute stingers. But, my god, how she writhed and squirmed, thrusting out and twisting that superb arse of hers! And the way she squealed and moaned, and then fell to begging him for mercy, cannot have been anything but genuine, unlike so many of the well-practiced girls we see.
When Simpson stood back and went to replace the cane with that ridiculous flourish of his, every man jack of us burst into spontaneous applause, a response the opening sketch had certainly never elicited before.
As for the girl, the manner in which she rose so painfully from her prone position, and reached behind to place her fingers delicately on her battered rear, before wiping the tears from her cheeks, brought a renewed fervour of clapping and even some cheers. Simpson had to frown at us to hush, for the denouement was yet to come. He told her he needed to inspect his handiwork and made her stand under the lights at the side of the stage and lower her breeches and undergarment - still with her back to us - whereupon we were treated to the dark red glory of the criss-crossing stripes that adorned her pert bottom.
At this point Simpson pretended to discover her sex, demanded of her the whole story, and the lad who'd paid her was duly brought in and given two dozen of his own. Throughout this second swishing, she stood with her breeches about her knees and her hands on her shoulders, bottom on show, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. I noticed several gentlemen who, like me, ignored the other action, choosing rather to feast our eyes on the girl's recently thrashed buttocks, especially when, now and again, they twitched involuntarily.
At the end of the scene, Tom and I both stood in rapturous applause (as did all but the most hardened roués), eager to show our approval of this young woman's exceptional performance. She took her bow elegantly, gazing boldly out over us, her clear eyes shining after her recent tears. One sensed it had been as much of a catharsis for her as it had been for the majority of those of us in the audience. I felt myself instantly in love, and lay awake till the small hours bemoaning the fact that I am old enough to be her grandfather.
(Journal of Henry Warren, Vol.3, page 23 ff)
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