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The Sexual Question
The creation of Lima’s red-light district in 1928 marked the culminating

achievement of the promoters of regulation who sought to control the
spread of venereal disease by medically policing female prostitutes. Its
closure in 1956 was arguably the high point of abolitionism, a trans-
national movement originating in the 1860s that advocated that regu-
lation was not only ineffective from a public health perspective, but also
morally wrong. The Sexual Question charts this cyclic process of regu-
lation and abolition in Peru, uncovering the ideas, policies, and actors
shaping the debates on prostitution in Lima and beyond. The history of
prostitution, Paulo Drinot shows, sheds light on the interplay of gender
and sexuality, medicine and public health, and nation-building and
state formation in Peru. With its compelling historical lens, this land-
mark study offers readers an engaging narrative and new perspectives
on Latin American studies, social policy, and Peruvian history.
  is Associate Professor of Latin American history at

University College London. He is the author of The Allure of Labor:
Workers, Race, and the Making of the Peruvian State (2011); editor of
Che’s Travels: The Making of a Revolutionary in 1950s Latin America
(2010), Peru in Theory (2014), and La Patria Nueva (2018); and co-
editor of Más allá de la dominación y la resistencia (2005), The Great
Depression in Latin America (2014), Comics and Memory in Latin
America (2017), and The Peculiar Revolution: Rethinking the Peruvian
Experiment under Military Rule (2017).
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Cambridge Latin American Studies
General Editors
KRIS LANE, Tulane University
MATTHEW RESTALL, Pennsylvania State University
Editor Emeritus
HERBERT S. KLEIN
Gouverneur Morris Emeritus Professor of History, Columbia University
and Hoover Research Fellow, Stanford University
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118. A Silver River in a Silver World: Dutch Trade in the Rio de la Plata,
1648–1678, David Freeman
117. Laboring for the State: Women, Family, and Work in Revolutionary Cuba,
1959–1971, Rachel Hynson
116. Violence and The Caste War of Yucatán, Wolfgang Gabbert
115. For Christ and Country: Militant Catholic Youth in Post-Revolutionary
Mexico, Robert Weis
114. The Mexican Mission: Indigenous Reconstruction and Mendicant
Enterprise in New Spain, 1521–1600, Ryan Dominic Crewe
113. Corruption and Justice in Colonial Mexico, 1650–1755, Christoph
Rosenmüller
112. Blacks of the Land: Indian Slavery, Settler Society, and the Portuguese
Colonial Enterprise in South America, Weinstein/Woodard/Montiero
111. The Street Is Ours: Community, the Car, and the Nature of Public Space in
Rio de Janeiro, Shawn William Miller
110. Laywomen and the Making of Colonial Catholicism in New Spain,
1630–1790, Jessica L. Delgado
109. Urban Slavery in Colonial Mexico: Puebla de los Ángeles, 1531–1706,
Pablo Miguel Sierra Silva
108. The Mexican Revolution’s Wake: The Making of a Political System,
1920–1929, Sarah Osten
107. Latin America’s Radical Left: Rebellion and Cold War in the Global 1960s,
Aldo Marchesi
106. Liberalism as Utopia: The Rise and Fall of Legal Rule in Post-Colonial
Mexico, 1820–1900, Timo H. Schaefer
105. Before Mestizaje: The Frontiers of Race and Caste in Colonial Mexico, Ben
VinsonIII
104. The Lords of Tetzcoco: The Transformation of Indigenous Rule in
Postconquest Central Mexico, Bradley Benton
Series list continues after index
The Sexual Question
A History of Prostitution in Peru, 1850s–1950s
PAULO DRINOT
University College London
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: Drinot, Paulo, author.
: The sexual question : a history of prostitution in Peru, 1850s–1950s /
Paulo Drinot, University College London.
: New York, NY : Cambridge University Press, 2020. | Series: Cambridge
Latin American studies | Includes bibliographical references and index.
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: : Prostitution–Peru–Lima–History. | Red-light districts–Peru–
Lima–History. | Lima (Peru)–Social conditions.
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Contents
List of Figures page ix

List of Maps xi
Acknowledgments xiii
Introduction 1
1 Regulating Prostitution 24
2 Protecting Men 60
3 Policing Women 106
4 Medicalizing Sin 153
5 Combating Venereal Disease 191
6 Abolishing Vice 232
Conclusion 282
Bibliography 291
Index 309
vii
Figures*
2.1 “The Fruit is in the Cradle.” Illustrator unknown. page 64

3.1 “The Prefectural Campaign.” Illustration
by Jorge Vinatea Reinoso. 107
3.2 “Laws in Force.” Illustration by Pedro Challe. 130
3.3 “A Clothes Question.” Illustration by Carlos Romero. 136
3.4 “Shawl or Hat?” Illustration by Manuel Benavides Garate. 137
5.1 Antivenereal campaign poster. Illustrator unknown. 212
6.1 “In the Sad Neighborhood of Pleasure.”
Illustrator unknown. 241
* The author(s) and publisher acknowledge the following sources of copyright material and
are grateful for the permissions granted. While every effort has been made, it has not
always been possible to identify the sources of all the material used, or to trace all
copyright holders. If any omissions are brought to our notice, we will be happy to include
the appropriate acknowledgements on reprinting and in the next update to the digital
edition, as applicable.
ix
Maps
1 Location of brothels in 1909. Identified according to

“status.” page 93
2 Location of brothels in 1927. Size of circles indicates
number of brothels. 95
xi
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Acknowledgments
I have worked on this book for a very long time. I want to acknowledge
institutions and individuals who, thanks to their support, have prevented
this project from taking even longer to complete. The idea for the book
started to form when I was still working on my DPhil at the University of
Oxford. Although they will probably not want to hear this (they were
funding me to do doctoral and postdoctoral research on a completely
different topic), the support of the Economic and Social Research Council
and the Leverhulme Trust was essential to the early stages of this project.
I later received funding, for this project, from the British Academy and the
Wellcome Trust. I promised these august institutions that I would com-
plete the book in little to no time and more than a decade has elapsed
since then. During this long period of time, I have been fortunate to
receive institutional support from several universities, namely Oxford,
University of Leeds, University of Manchester, University of London,
and University College London. This support allowed me to edge the
book forward albeit at a glacial pace while I completed other projects.
The research for this book was conducted at several archives and
libraries in Peru and elsewhere. I would like to acknowledge the help
I received from librarians and archivists in Peru at the Archivo General de
la Nación, Biblioteca Nacional del Perú, Instituto Riva Agüero, the main
library and the social science library at the Pontificia Universidad Católica
del Perú, Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos (in particular the
archivists at the San Fernando medical school), the library of the Uni-
versidad Cayetano Heredia, the archive of the Sociedad de Beneficencia
Pública de Lima, and the Biblioteca Municipal de Lima. In the United
Kingdom, I was able to draw on the extensive collections of the Bodleian
xiii
xiv Acknowledgments
Library in Oxford, the Senate House Library of the University of London,

the Wellcome Library, and the British Library. In the United States, the
manuscript, book, and journal collections of the National Library of
Medicine in Bethesda proved invaluable.
I presented earlier versions of these chapters and received valuable
comments from audiences and discussants at numerous conferences,
including several meetings of the European Social Science History confer-
ence and of the Latin American Studies Association, and at the Inter-
national Congress of Americanists, the Segundo Congreso Internacional
de Peruanistas, the Society of Latin American Studies, and the American
Historical Association. I received equally helpful feedback following lec-
tures and seminar presentations at the following universities and research
centres: Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, University of Calgary, El
Colegio de México, University of California-Davis, University of Cam-
bridge, University College London, University of Leeds, University of
Sheffield, University of Manchester, University of Oxford, University
of Amsterdam, Universidad Nacional Francisco Villareal, and CENDOC-
Mujer in Lima. To everyone who made possible these presentations and to
everyone who listened to these papers, asked questions, and gave advice,
thank you.
I would also like to thank the following individuals for commenting on
earlier versions of these chapters, for help with specific issues, and more
generally for their help in bringing this book to fruition: Claudia Agos-
toni, Carlos Aguirre, Diego Armus, Ruth Borja, Ray Craib, Marcos
Cueto, Kim Clark, Lessie Jo Frazier, Jeff Gould, Gilberto Hochman,
Philip Howell, Walter Huamani, Alan Knight, Julia Laite, Stephen Legg,
Nísia Trindade Lima, David Nugent, Steven Palmer, Steven Pierce, Bianca
Premo, José Ragas, Raúl Necochea, Carlos Ramos Nuñez, Thom Rath,
Alexandra Minna Stern, Isabelle Tauzin, Charles Walker, and Adam
Warren. Special thanks go to Carlos Aguirre, Kim Clark, and Alan
Knight, who read the entire book manuscript and gave detailed sugges-
tions that helped me to improve the argument and prose. Thanks too to
Miles Irving, who drew the maps, to Natalia Majluf and Ricardo Kusu-
noki for help in identifying the illustrators of some of the images included
in the book, and to Stephan Gruber, Patricia Palma, Helga Baitenmann,
Joshua Savala, and, particularly, Simeon Newman and Elías Amaya
Nuñez for help in locating and procuring key documents. Parts of chap-
ters 3–5 draw on Paulo Drinot, “Moralidad, moda y sexualidad: El
contexto moral de la creación del barrio rojo de Lima,” in Scarlett
O’Phelan and Margarita Zegarra (eds.), Mujeres, Familia y Sociedad en
Acknowledgments xv
la Historia de América Latina, siglos XVIII–XXI (Lima: Instituto Riva

Agüero, 2006, pp. 333–354) and Paulo Drinot, “Venereal Diseases and
Race in Peru, c. 1900–1950,” Global South 6:3 (2010, pp. 54–63). I am
grateful to the editors and referees for feedback on these early attempts to
make sense of some of the material that is now part of this book.
In London, my colleagues at the Institute of the Americas at UCL and
the co-convenors and regular attendees of the Institute of Historical
Research Latin American History Seminar have created an intellectually
stimulating environment from which I benefit greatly. I am extremely
grateful to Deborah Gershenowitz at Cambridge University Press for
taking on this book and to Kris Lane and Matthew Restall for including
it in the legendary Cambridge Latin American Series they edit. Thanks too
to Rachel Blaifeder and Thomas Haynes at CUP, Divya Arjunan, Project
Manager at SPi Global, and, Paul Martin, the copyeditor, for shepherding
the book through production. I am grateful to Enrique Polanco, for
allowing me to use his painting Eros y Thanatos for the cover of this
book, and to Herman Schwarz, who took the photograph of the painting.
The painting illustrates well a key theme of this book: the central, but
rarely acknowledged, role that prostitution has played in the history of
Lima. Finally, I would like to thank my family. My parents and my
extended family in Peru have supported the research that has led to this
book in numerous ways, including reading and commenting, but, in
particular, by being always loving and caring. After so many years living
together, Jelke Boesten continues to tolerate my obsession with music
“with too many notes” and my many other faults. Jelke read every word
that made it into the final version and many, many, others that did not.
Both she and Seba have had to put up with this book for far too long and,
so, to them I must say sorry but also thank you.
Introduction
Alberto talked about Golden Toes as much as anyone else in the section. No
one suspected that he knew about Huatica and its environs only by hearsay,
because he repeated anecdotes he had been told and invented all kinds of
lurid stories. But he could not overcome a certain inner discontent. The
more he talked about sexual adventures to his friends, who either laughed
or shamelessly thrust their hands into their pockets, the more certain he was
that he would never go to bed with a woman except in his dreams, and this
depressed him so much that he swore he would go to Huatica Street on his
very next pass, even if he had to steal twenty soles, even if he got syphilis.
Mario Vargas Llosa, The Time of the Hero.
For just under 30 years, between its creation in 1928 and its closure in
1956, the barrio rojo, or red-light district, around Huatica Street, origin-
ally known as 20 September Street, in La Victoria district, was the centre
of brothel prostitution in the Peruvian capital, a place where many
thousands of men, like Mario Vargas Llosa’s character Alberto and,
indeed, Vargas Llosa himself, went in search of Golden Toes and others
like her.1 The creation of Lima’s barrio rojo in 1928 was the culminating
1
As Vargas Llosa explains in his memoir, A Fish in the Water, Alberto’s experiences in
Lima’s barrio rojo were based on his own: “The majority of the characters in my novel La
ciudad y los perros [The Time of the Hero], written using memories of my years at Leoncio
Prado as a basis, are very free, distorted versions of real models, while others are
completely imaginary. But the elusive ‘Goldifeet’ is there as my memory preserves her;
self-assured, attractive, vulgar, facing up to her humiliating job with indomitable good
humor and giving me, on those Saturdays, for twenty soles, ten minutes of bliss.” Vargas
Llosa, A Fish in the Water, p. 105. On Vargas Llosa’s La ciudad y los perros, see Aguirre,
La ciudad y los perros.
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2 The Sexual Question
achievement of the promoters of regulation, the attempt to control the

spread of venereal disease through the medical policing of female prosti-
tutes. As they did in most of Latin America (and parts of Europe, Africa,
and Asia) at this time, elites in Peru also argued that the regulation of
prostitution was not only imperative from a moral and public health
perspective; it was also the “modern” way to deal with prostitution and
venereal disease, and particularly with syphilis, a disease that affected the
health of the individual and, because of its presumed hereditary effects,
the vitality of the nation as a whole. By the 1950s, however, few held such
views. Lima’s red-light district was now seen as a source of moral and
epidemiological danger. This book examines what both the creation and
closure of Lima’s barrio rojo tells us about Peruvian society in the first
half of the twentieth century.
Although doctors and others had begun to put forward proposals to
regulate prostitution in the mid-nineteenth century, little progress was
made, in contrast to several other Latin American countries such as
Mexico, Argentina, or Cuba, where regulation was introduced in the
second half of the century. In the early twentieth century, however, Lima’s
authorities finally introduced regulation. The implementation of regula-
tion to manage prostitution in Lima reflected, and contributed to, two
connected developments that characterized the so-called medicalization of
Latin American societies, or the process whereby “biological and medical
metaphors organized the way modern nations and states were
imagined.”2 On the one hand, these societies were increasingly patholo-
gized, i.e. perceived and represented by “experts,” particularly lawyers
and doctors, but also increasingly social scientists, as fundamentally
unhealthy, both physically and morally, if not fully degenerate, a condi-
tion often associated, in a period when European racial thought influ-
enced Latin American elites’ views of themselves, to perceived national
racial deficiencies.3 In Peru such a diagnosis was reinforced by explan-
ations of Peru’s defeat in the War of the Pacific (1879–1883), which
stressed the weakness of the Peruvian “race” and the treachery of the
country’s elites. Although a minority of observers blamed defeat on the
failure of elites to integrate the nation and to incorporate the Indian,
others concluded that defeat in the war, and more generally Peru’s back-
wardness, were consequences of the country’s racial configuration and in
2
Cueto and Palmer, Medicine and Public Health in Latin America, p. 58.
3
See, among others, Armus (ed.), Disease in the History of Modern Latin America; Hoch-
man, di Liscia and Palmer (eds.), Patologías de la Patria.
Introduction 3
particular of the backward cultural and racial characteristics of its indi-

genous population.4
At the same time, the pathologization of Peruvian society nevertheless
allowed for the possibility of regeneration and “civilization.” Particularly
during the so-called Aristocratic Republic (1895–1919) and the “Once-
nio” of President Augusto B. Leguía (1919–1930), elites argued that
material progress, to be gained through a growing insertion into the
world economy and the exploitation of the region’s natural resources,
would enable national progress. In some countries, elites sought to
redeem their populations through the racial “improvement” that, they
believed, would result from the immigration of “superior” Europeans. In
others, elites pursued a discursive revalorization of a national mestizo
identity, even embracing, in name if not in deed, “racial democracy.”5 In
all countries, elites sought, albeit often half-heartedly and with limited
success, to re-mold their populations by developing projects of “improve-
ment” in education, public health, housing, and labor policy, as well as
through military conscription. In Peru, as elsewhere in Latin America,
such projects were highly racialized. Once the promise of mass European
migration as a source of national regeneration proved unworkable, elites
split on whether the Indian was redeemable and could, once improved
(i.e. once de-indianized), become an agent of progress for the nation.6
Such projects reflected a new (often racialized) understanding of “the
social” and of the state and of how the latter might act upon the former.
In the nineteenth century, Latin American elites typically viewed the
city as the space of progress and the countryside as the space of back-
wardness. Particularly after the mid-nineteenth century, when many
countries achieved greater political stability and began to experience
faster economic growth, elites conceived of progress as irradiating from
the civilized cities to the barbaric countryside, where both nature and the
population, idle and untamed, were to be mastered and made productive
through injections of capital (at first national, later increasingly trans-
national), technology and science (including medical science), and the
4
For the intellectual history of this period, see among others, Rochabrún, “Sociología y
pensamiento social.”
5
See, for example, Graham (ed.), The Idea of Race in Latin America; Appelbaum, Mac-
pherson and Rosemblatt (eds.), Race and Nation in Modern Latin America; Earle, The
Return of the Native; Gotkowitz (ed.), Histories of Race and Racism; Foote and Goebel
(eds.), Immigration and National Identities in Latin America.
6
See Poole, Vision, Race and Modernity; de la Cadena, Indigenous Mestizos; Larson, Trials
of Nation Making; Drinot, The Allure of Labor.
imposition of new regimes of free and, where necessary, coerced labor. In

Cuba and Brazil, of course, such processes occurred in the context of,
indeed were made possible by, slave labor systems. Networks of commu-
nication, railways and the telegraph first, automobiles, planes, the radio,
and the telephone later, would link the modern space of the city with these
new archipelagos of modernity, connecting the wealth produced in the
“chimneys in the desert” with the cities that served as gateways to the
world’s markets.7 However, by the late nineteenth century, problems
arising from growing urbanization, class stratification, racial mixing,
and contentious politics, as well as crime and disease, particularly epi-
demic disease, resulted in the growing perception that Latin America’s
“ailing” cities too were in desperate need of “civilizing.”8
Peruvian elites conceived of Lima as whiter and therefore less patho-
logized than the rest of the country, and particularly the highlands and the
Amazon.9 However, by the late nineteenth century, Lima too was deemed
in need of “civilizing.” In his detailed study of the city of Lima and its
population published in 1895, Joaquín Capelo, an engineer and polit-
ician, concluded that “Peru is today a sick man close to death,” but he
believed that he and others like him could save the patient.10 Subject to
contestation and less coherent than is sometimes assumed, the twinned
pathologization and “improvement” of Lima in the late nineteenth and
early twentieth centuries, its modernization perhaps, had a visible effect
on the city.11 In a context of limited if symbolically significant industri-
alization, this twin process was imagined and implemented by a new
cohort of hygienists, architects, engineers, urban planners, and property
developers, with support from diverse governments, from oligarchic
Civilistas (1895–1919) to the military regime of Manuel Odría
(1948–1956). It resulted in an evident physical transformation of the city,
which grew in size, from 1,292 hectares in 1908 to 2,037 hectares in
1931 to 5,630 hectares in 1940, and in population, from 140,884
7
Rocchi, Chimneys in the Desert.
8
See, for example, Pineo and Baer, Cities of Hope; Meade, “Civilizing” Rio; Rodríguez,
Civilizing Argentina; Armus, The Ailing City.
9
On the social and “racial” structure of nineteenth-century Lima, see Cosamalón Aguilar,
El juego de las apariencias.
10
Capelo, Sociología de Lima. Vol. 3, p. 333.
11
Of course, attempts to sanitize the city were not entirely new. As Adam Warren and Jorge
Lossio have shown, municipal authorities and doctors attempted to address Lima’s
unsanitary conditions at different times in the colonial and early republican periods with
varying levels of success. See Warren, Medicine and Politics in Colonial Peru; and Lossio,
Acequias y gallinazos.
Introduction 5
inhabitants in 1908 to 273,016 in 1931 to 645,172 in 1940.12 This was a

transformation that combined the construction of new structures, such as
boulevards and public buildings, as well as general transport, communi-
cations, and public health infrastructural development (from new hos-
pitals to medical inspectors to sewage works) with the destruction of
those structures, such as, most famously, the Callejón Otaiza (a street
inhabited by Chinese immigrants destroyed by municipal authorities in
1909), which were considered to be sources of biological and moral
infection.13
At the same time, but less evidently achieved, the process involved the
“moral” transformation of the city’s inhabitants, as exemplified by the
attempts of hygienists, or medical social reformers, and other experts to
inculcate “civilized” values in the city’s population and to eradicate
unsanitary practices and behaviors perceived as expressive of uncivilized
traits.14 As in other cities in Latin America, this was a process that
combined the encouragement of certain habits and practices, linked to
leisure and sport for example, and the prohibition of others, such as
gambling and alcohol consumption. The construction of this “city of
hygienists,” as Mannarelli has called it, was a process informed by specific
understandings of class, gender, and race, but also by more general
concerns regarding public order, health, and morality.15 Although the
population as a whole was deemed amenable to civilizing, different
groups were subjected to different treatment. The intellectual architects
of this process viewed the poor generally as sources of political threat,
epidemiological danger, and immorality. However, in their campaigns to
eradicate what they came to understand as social ills (criminality, alco-
holism, gambling, vice, etc.), they typically targeted, through policies that
sought ostensibly to address issues such as inadequate housing or poor
nutrition, specific groups such as Chinese or Japanese men and women,
12
The period from 1940 to 1960, moreover, saw an exponential expansion of the city. By
1960 it had reached an extension of 20,612 hectares and a population of 1,845,910. See
Calderón Cockburn, La ciudad ilegal, p. 65.
13
See Rodríguez Pastor, “La Calle del Capón, el Callejón Otaiza y el Barrio Chino;” and
Ramón Joffré, La muralla y los callejones; Ramón Joffré, “El guión de la cirugía urbana,
1850–1940.”
14
See Cueto, El regreso de las epidemias; Parker, “Civilizing the City of Kings;” Mannarelli,
Limpias y modernas; Muñoz Cabrejo, Diversiones públicas.
15
See Mannarelli, Limpias y modernas, chapter 1. On public order, and attempts to address
criminality, see Carlos Aguirre, The Criminals of Lima and their Worlds; and Huertas,
“Imagining Criminality.”
Afro-Peruvians, and, poor, usually non-white, women, such as market

sellers and washerwomen, and, of course, prostitutes.16
In Lima as elsewhere, urban and social reformers and particularly
medical doctors singled out prostitutes for particular attention. Prosti-
tutes, as the perceived primary source of venereal disease, were thought to
embody one of the main contributors to the unhealthy city, and therefore
were central to the pathologization of Peru’s capital. In turn, as “fallen”
women, they were considered to be one of the key groups in need of
redemption or “civilization.” Gradually, in the first two decades of the
twentieth century, a medico-legal apparatus, part of a broader expanding
“sanitary state” or “republic of health,” was put in place to oversee the
registration of brothels and prostitutes, levy licenses, medically inspect
prostitutes, impose fines when the regulations were flouted, and generally
police prostitution in the city, a process that resulted, as part of a broader
process of spatial reordering of prostitution that began in the 1900s, in
the establishment of the barrio rojo in La Victoria in 1928.17 At the same
time, treatment centers were set up where prostitutes, and their male
clients, could be treated for their venereal ailments. By the 1950s, such
centers existed in most major cities in the country as part of a national
venereal disease program. During this period, moreover, venereal
diseases, such as syphilis, gonorrhea and soft chancre, and their epidemi-
ological and social consequences, became a major concern for Peru’s
biomedical establishment, who helped shape public debate on prostitu-
tion and its public health impact.
In 1956, however, Lima’s municipal authorities closed down the barrio
rojo in La Victoria on the grounds that its existence did nothing to
address either the social or epidemiological effects of prostitution and
created other types of problems. “Even if he got syphilis,” Vargas Llosa’s
character Alberto was willing to risk a visit to Huatica, a place that had
been created as part of a strategy to control the spread of venereal disease.
If the establishment of the barrio rojo in 1928 was the high point of
regulation, its closure in 1956 was arguably the high point of abolition-
ism, a transnational movement inspired by Josephine Butler’s campaigns
against the Contagious Diseases Acts in 1860s Britain, that argued that
regulation was not only ineffective from a public health perspective but
16
On the Chinese as a source of moral and biological corruption, see the discussion on
Chinese eateries, or chifas, in Drinot, The Allure of Labor, chapter 5.
17
On the idea of a sanitary state, see Cueto and Palmer, Medicine and Public Health in
Latin America. On the republic of health, see Araya, República de la salud.
Introduction 7
also morally and politically wrong. In Peru, this campaign was led by a
group of doctors, lawyers, and feminists, influenced by eugenic ideas,
with limited success in the 1930s and 1940s. However, when the cam-
paign was embraced, in the late 1940s, by “popular” newspapers that
catered to an expanded public sphere, it finally gained traction. Like other
Latin American countries, Peru too experienced a familiar cycle in the
way it sought to address female prostitution, though it adopted regulation
relatively late by regional standards, and, similarly switched to abolition
much later than, say, Argentina or Cuba.18 Why regulation was adopted
and why it was eventually seemingly abandoned, and what this tells us
about the history of Lima and Peru more generally, is the subject of
this book.
  

As Elizabeth Clement notes, “prostitution raises larger issues than just the
treatment of the women involved, indicting patriarchy, the class structure,
conditions caused by capitalism, and new understandings of the role of
the state in people’s lives and health.”19 Although the narrative arc of this
book follows the rise and decline of regulation and the apparent triumph
of abolition as paradigms governing the management of prostitution, my
goal is to explore a broader set of issues. In particular, I am interested in
what the management of prostitution tells us about, in the very broadest
sense, the interplay of sexuality, society, and the state in Peru in the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and more specifically what it can tell
us about “the sexual question.” Like the social question, a term that came
to encompass the (perceived) social issues that stood in the way of the
flourishing of industrial society (in particular, the problems that arose as a
consequence of the unequal distribution of the gains of industrial capital-
ism) and the solutions that were devised to address those problems, the
sexual question refers to the sexual issues that stood in the way of the
18
In fact, in some ways, regulation was never fully abandoned. Today, women over 18 who
pay a license and have a health certificate can work legally as prostitutes. Brothels
regulated by the state continue to operate in the Peruvian capital. Most prostitution is
illegal or clandestine both in Lima and elsewhere. Of late, the trafficking of women and
children for sex work in parts of the Amazon has received growing attention from the
press and campaigners.
19
Clement, “Prostitution,” p. 219.
flourishing of the population and the solutions that were devised to

address those problems.20
The sexual question, as turn-of-the-twentieth-century sexologists such
as August Forel argued, “is of fundamental importance for humanity,
whose happiness and well-being depend largely on the best solution of
this important problem.” For Forel, “the fundamental axiom of the
sexual question” was as follows: “With man, as with all living beings,
the constant object of all sexual function, and consequently of sexual love,
is the reproduction of the species.” Forel argued that sexual instinct and
sentiment “had their roots in life itself.” However, social life had per-
verted instinct and sentiment. It had therefore become necessary to act
upon human sexuality: “human society has guided them [instinct and
sentiment] into false and pernicious ways. It is important to turn them
from these in order to tranquilize and regulate their course by damming
them up and canalizing them.”21 Experts concerned with the labor ques-
tion sought to codify the biological, social, and political pathologies that
resulted from industrialization in order to channel workers’ efforts away
from militancy. Similarly, sexologists sought to codify sexual behavior in
order to channel men and women away from sexual pathology. As Lucy
Bland and Laura Doan have noted, sexologists like Forel were concerned
with labeling bodies and desires (as normal or pathological), but they
were equally concerned “with populations as an object of study and set
about delineating the criteria for human and ‘racial’ betterment through
the regulation of procreation and biological heredity.”22
Concretely, then, the sexual question evokes the ways in which sexual-
ity became a political issue in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, a
matter for government in the Foucauldian sense.23 As Foucault noted in
the first volume of The History of Sexuality, published in 1976, from the
eighteenth century, “the sexual conduct of the population was taken both
as an object of analysis and as target of intervention [. . .] It was essential
20
I use here the term population in the sense given to it by Foucault in his governmentality
lectures. See Foucault, Security, Territory, Population.
21
Forel, The Sexual Question, pp. 3–5. On the development of sexology in this period, see
among, others, Bland and Doan, Sexology Uncensored; Waters, “Sexology;” Fuechtner,
Haynes, and Jones (eds.), A Global History of Sexual Science, 1880–1960. See also Porter
and Hall, The Facts of Life.
22
Bland and Doan, “General Introduction,” p. 2.
23
As Foucault states, “What can the end of government be? Certainly not just to govern,
but to improve the condition of the population, to increase its wealth, its longevity, its
health.” Foucault, Security, Territory, Population, p. 105.
Introduction 9
that the state know what was happening with its citizens’ sex, and the use
they made of it, but also that each individual be capable of controlling the
use he made of it. Between the state and the individual, sex became an
issue, and a public issue no less; a whole web of discourses, special
knowledges, analyses and injunctions settled upon it.”24 Drawing inspir-
ation from Foucault’s approach to the study of sexuality, while being
attentive to the limitations of such an approach, historians such as María
Emma Mannarelli, Lissell Quiroz, and Raúl Necochea have examined the
sexual question in Peru in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries from
the perspective of discourses on, and policies toward, motherhood and
the construction of femininity, and the development of family planning
policies.25
This study builds on such perspectives but focuses specifically on
prostitution and venereal disease and their government. In particular,
I explore how ideas about male and female sexuality informed attempts
to govern prostitution and venereal disease. The regulation of
prostitution, as a paradigm adopted by state actors to address the public
order and public health effects of prostitution, reflected but also con-
structed understandings of normal and abnormal or desirable and
undesirable male and female sexuality and of the role of the state in
regulating sexuality and channeling it for the purposes of nation building
and national progress. Scientific, and specifically medical, knowledge on
venereal disease proved central to elite support for regulation in the
nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, since it served to identify prosti-
tutes as the primary vector of venereal disease and male clients as its
primary victim. Doctors believed that, because men found it difficult to
marry, and because of the dangers posed by the lure of sexual perversions
such as homosexuality and masturbation, it was imperative that prosti-
tutes satisfy male sexual needs. It followed that prostitutes needed to be
made safe for men. In turn, the shift away from regulation toward
abolition, and the eventual closure of Lima’s barrio rojo that resulted
from this shift, expressed different understandings of male and female
sexuality, as well as new biomedical understandings of how venereal
disease spread, understandings that shifted focus away from prostitutes
as the main vector of contagion to the population as a whole.
24
Foucault, The Will to Knowledge, p. 26.
25
Mannarelli, Limpias y modernas; Necochea López, A History of Family Planning in
Twentieth-Century Peru; Quiroz, “Mettre au monde.”
Historians who have studied prostitution in contexts as different as

imperial Russia and colonial India or nineteenth-century Havana and
twentieth-century London reach similar conclusions about the ways in
which the government of prostitution and venereal disease both reflected
and in turn shaped ideas about sexuality.26 Nevertheless, the Peruvian
case is instructive because this general pattern is inflected in ways that
reflect specifically local issues: elite anxieties about male sexuality, and the
threat of homosexuality and masturbation, in the late nineteenth century,
for example, were linked to broader anxieties about the nation’s “virility”
in the aftermath of the War of the Pacific; perceived changes in female
sexual mores in the 1920s, and the emergence of a transgressive sexuality
linked to the “modern girl” and the flapper, were understood with
reference to the allure as well as the threat of things European but also
as expressive of the moral contagion produced by the visibility and
proximity of female prostitution in the streets of Lima. More generally,
elites understood the dangers of venereal disease in ways that reflected the
specific racializations that shaped Peruvian society: they blamed Asian
immigrants in the early twentieth century for the spread of venereal
disease in Lima while a pathological indigenous sexuality came to be seen
as an explanation for high rates of venereal disease infection in the mid-
twentieth century in the context of growing rural to urban migration and
the expansion of public health services to the rest of the country.
But the history of prostitution and venereal disease explored in this
book was shaped not only by ideas but also by the actions of a range of
social actors. In this sense, though, like many other scholars, I draw in this
book on the work of Foucault, I share the view that one cannot write a
history of sexuality as a “history without agents.” As Rita Felski notes,
“what is missing from Foucault’s version [of the rise of sexual science] is
any substantive account of the messy and complicated interaction, con-
flict and negotiation between the discourses of sexual science, other
aspects of nineteenth-century culture and the experiential realities of
human subjects.”27 Indeed, elite ideas about prostitution, and the policies
that derived from them were subject to contestation, first and foremost,
from the women who were the object of such policies. Women targeted as
prostitutes sometimes rejected and sometimes tried to enforce the policies
26
See Bernstein, Sonia’s Daughters; Tambe, Colonial Bombay; Sippial, Prostitution, Mod-
ernity, and the Making of the Cuban Republic; Laite, Common Prostitutes and Ordinary
Citizens.
27
Felski, “Introduction,” p. 2.
Introduction 11
that sought to regulate prostitution. For some women, the majority,

regulation created a regime that stigmatized their sexual behavior and
marginalized them socially. For others, a minority, regulation created new
opportunities for employment and to develop a new, and in some cases,
lucrative identity. How prostitutes negotiated regulation is central to the
history of prostitution I explore in this book.
Although clearly central to the history of prostitution in Lima, prosti-
tutes were only one of several social actors who intervened and shaped the
history of prostitution. In this book, as in most studies of prostitution, the
voices of male clients remain largely if not entirely elusive. In order to
access these voices, albeit in a limited manner, I have turned to accounts
that, taken together, form a sort of male collective memory of the history
of Lima’s barrio rojo (see Chapter 6), which sheds light on how men
experienced Lima’s sexual economy. But other sources I draw on, dis-
cussed in greater detail below, reveal the role played by numerous groups
and individuals in shaping the history that I analyze, such as doctors and
lawyers, as well as a small cohort of social scientists and social workers,
who wrote on prostitution and venereal disease and sought to influence
policy; municipal and state authorities, including policemen, who imple-
mented policy; and individuals and interest groups, from senators to
feminists, from landlords to anarchists, from journalists to the letter-
writing public. These individuals and groups, all affected by policy
toward prostitution, sought to enforce it, resist it or, as in the case of
the individuals and groups who tried to repeal regulation and promote
abolition, alter it.
 
This book builds on an extensive literature on the history of prostitution
across the world.28 Taking their cue from pioneering studies by Alain
Corbin and Judith Walkowitz on France and England respectively, his-
torians have expanded the study of the history of prostitution to most
parts of the world.29 The government of prostitution around the world
was profoundly shaped by the measures implemented in early nineteenth-
28
This historiography is too extensive to list here. I reference it in different parts of the
book. For useful, if now somewhat dated overviews of the literature, see Gilfoyle,
“Prostitutes in History;” and Guy, “Stigma, Pleasures and Dutiful Daughters.” A recent
overview is provided in Rodríguez García, van Nederveen Meerker, and Heerma van
Voss, “Selling Sex in World Cities, 1600s–2000s.”
29
Corbin, Les filles de noce; Walkowitz, Prostitution and Victorian Society.
century France, which consisted ostensibly of the registration of prosti-

tutes, their subjection to regular medical inspections, and sometimes to
forced hospitalization in so-called lock hospitals, the toleration of
brothels, and, often, the enclosure of prostitution in segregated parts of
cities. Although this model of regulation shared certain elements with
early modern and medieval forms of prostitution management, it was
perceived as new and effective in controlling the spread of venereal
disease and was adopted and adapted around the world, including in
Britain, where the Contagious Diseases Acts of the 1860s introduced
regulation to garrison towns and port cities. This legislation led to cam-
paigns from feminists and social purity activists who critiqued the
“double standard” inherent in regulation and spearheaded a movement
to repeal the Acts. An abolitionist movement inspired by Josephine
Butler’s campaigns, which borrowed heavily from the earlier anti-slavery
campaigns, spread rapidly around the world, thanks to institutions such
the International Abolitionist Federation. In the first half of the twentieth
century, most countries that had previously implemented regulation now
abolished it.30
Although it is primarily in discussion with studies on the history of
prostitution, the book also seeks to contribute to three fields of scholar-
ship: the history of gender and sexuality, the history of medicine and
public health, and the history of the state.31 The history of gender and
sexuality in Peru remains somewhat underdeveloped; most of the
30
Today, prostitution policy has expanded to a broader range of models or regimes,
including legalization, decriminalization, prohibition, but also regulation and abolition.
For a recent study, written by two sex workers, which explores different sex work regimes
around the world, see Mac and Smith, Revolting Prostitutes.
31
Scholarship on the history of prostitution in Peru is limited, but I have been fortunate to
be able to draw on a few important studies. Lorraine Nencel’s Ethnography and Prosti-
tution in Peru, as its title suggests, is a detailed ethnography of “women who prostitute”
that focused on 1990s Lima. The book explores primarily these women’s gender iden-
tities. However, the book also contains an excellent overview of the history of prostitu-
tion in Peru based on careful archival research. This “historical narrative” of prostitution
is, as far as I know, the first accurate account of the history I explore in this book, and
although I go into more detail than Nencel does, I am clearly indebted for her pioneering
work. Similarly, Roberto Prieto Sánchez’s Guía secreta is a detailed and well researched
study of Lima’s locales of prostitution from the colonial period to the modern day. This
study draws on several of the same sources that I have collated in Peruvian archives,
though its approach is narrower, focused primarily on the history of brothels rather than
prostitution more generally. Also worth mentioning is a short text by Katherine Roberts,
which draws on a key source on prostitution in the early twentieth century, Pedro
Dávalos y Lisson’s 1909 study, discussed in a later chapter, and oral history, and presents
a fictional account of the life of a prostitute. See Roberts, “El caso de Rosario.” Also
Introduction 13
scholarship focuses on the colonial and early republican periods.32 Still,

I have drawn on these and other studies of gender and sexuality in Latin
America and beyond, and in particular on their insights into the social
construction of gendered identities and sexualities, to make sense of the
history of prostitution in Peru and what it tells us about the history of
sexuality in Peru.33 Regulation was intended to protect men, and, more
generally, society, from the dangers of prostitution but also, and just as
importantly, by enabling access to supposedly healthy prostitutes, from
the lure of deviant male sexual practices, particularly homosexuality and
masturbation. Similarly, regulation, and particularly the policy of isolat-
ing prostitutes away from the gaze of “decent people,” expressed anx-
ieties about female sexuality; specifically, the fear that prostitutes might
awaken a latent deviant, non-procreative, sexuality in women. In this
sense, the regulation of prostitution should be understood as expressive
of broader sexual anxieties. It was as an attempt, not a particularly
successful attempt to be sure, to police both prostitutes and male and
female sexuality. Prostitution, in this way, was central to the construction
of normative masculinity and femininity in Peru.
This book also draws on an ever-growing scholarship on the history of
medicine and public health in Latin America.34 As Donna Guy notes,
“state-regulated female prostitution was one of the first modern public
useful, though more focused on venereal disease, is Pasco and Nuñez Espinoza, “Medi-
cina, prostitución y sífilis en Lima y Callao, 1910–1930.” For work on prostitution in an
earlier period, see, for example, Macera, “Sexo y coloniaje;” Chuhue Huamán, “Plebe,
prostitución y conducta sexual en el siglo XVIII.” See also, for a brief overview of
prostitution from the sixteenth century onwards, Chuhue Huamán, “Images of Prostitu-
tion in Peruvian History.” Unfortunately, there is as yet no comparable study for colonial
Peru to Nicole van Germeten’s detailed analysis of prostitution in colonial Mexico. See
van Germeten, Profit and Passion.
32
See Macera, “Sexo y coloniaje;” Mannarelli, Pecados públicos; Chambers, From Subjects
to Citizens; Hunefeldt, Liberalism in the Bedroom; Stavig, “Political ‘Abomination’ and
Private Reservation;” Christiansen, Disobedience, Slander, Seduction and Assault; Alegre
Henderson, “Androginopolis.”
33
Useful introductions to and overviews of this literature include, Balderston and Guy
(eds.), Sex and Sexuality in Latin America; and French and Bliss (eds.), Gender, Sexuality
and Power in Latin America since Independence. See also the special issue of the Hispanic
American Historical Review, “Gender and Sexuality in Latin America,” 81:3–4 (2001).
34
See, among others, Armus (ed.), Entre médicos y curanderos; Armus (ed.), Disease in the
History of Modern Latin America; Hochman and Armus (eds.), Cuidar, controlar, curar;
Hochman, di Liscia, and Palmer (eds.), Patologías de la Patria; Cueto and Palmer,
Medicine and Public Health in Latin America. For the Peruvian case, see Cueto, Lossio
and Pasco (eds.), El rastro de la salud en el Perú.
health campaigns.”35 Like much of that scholarship, I challenge the idea

that the medicalization of prostitution and venereal disease was simply an
elite top-down project. The study of the regulation of prostitution shows
that medicalization was resisted, contested but also embraced, even co-
produced, by different actors for a variety of reasons. Moreover, it was
always precarious, limited not only by the availability of resources, but
also by the evidence that it generated which challenged its basic assump-
tions, namely that regulating prostitution could reduce the spread of
venereal disease.36 At the same time, I draw on recent attempts in this
field to connect the history of medicine and public health, and more
specifically, the history of sexual science, to global history.37 Although
both regulation and abolition were global paradigms for managing pros-
titution that could be traced back to European origins, their implementa-
tion in Peru cannot be seen merely as transposition of European medical
theory and practice. True, those who championed regulation or abolition
stressed their Europeanness as a way to legitimate them as the modern
way to address prostitution. However, they also sought to adapt and
repurpose, through “unruly appropriations,” both paradigms in order
to address what were considered specifically Peruvian concerns.38
Finally, this study draws on and contributes to the history of the state
in Peru and Latin America. My approach intersects with several studies
that have examined the gendered character of state formation in Latin
America.39 I adopt here an approach to studying the state that moves
beyond seeing the state merely as a paternal or patriarchal state acting
upon society. Drawing on governmentality approaches, I find it more
productive to understand state formation as a dynamic process, as con-
structed from above and from below, as co-produced. Regulation, as a
state policy to manage prostitution, after all, was shaped as much by
those who supported it intellectually and implemented it, as by the
women whom it targeted, and indeed by the men whom it sought to
35
Guy, “Stigma, Pleasures and Dutiful Daughters,” p. 181.
36
In reaching these conclusions, I draw on an extensive scholarship that examines the
history of venereal disease in connection to the management of prostitution. See, in
particular, Quétel, Le mal de Naples; Brandt, No Magic Bullet; Carrara, Tributo a Vênus;
Spongberg, Feminizing Venereal Disease; Davidson and Hall (eds.), Sex, Sin and
Suffering.
37
See Espinoza, “Globalizing the History of Disease, Medicine and Public Health in Latin
America.”
38
Fuechtner, Haynes, and Jones (eds.), A Global History of Sexual Science, p. 3.
39
See, by way of introduction to this extensive literature, Dore and Molyneux, Hidden
Histories of Gender and State in Latin America.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Fig. 268.—Hyocrinus bethellianus. × 2. (From Wyville Thomson.)
Fig. 269.—Tegmen of Hyocrinus, viewed from above after removal of the arms, ×
8. (From Wyville Thomson.)
Fam. 2. Rhizocrinidae.—Stem long and persistent; cirri confined to

a few near the root or replaced by rooting branches of the stem.
Stem-ossicles thin and pentagonal at the summit, but lower down
compressed, elliptical in section, and united by two ligaments
separated by a transverse ridge for articulation. Patina composed of
exposed basals and a ring of five short radials. Orals large or
vestigial. Covering plates and interradials present. Two genera, both
from great depths in the Atlantic—Rhizocrinus (Fig. 270), with five
arms and well developed orals (attachment by branching root-cirri);
and Bathycrinus, with ten arms and vestigial orals; attachment by
root-like branches of stem (this is essentially the same as root-cirri).
Fig. 270.—Rhizocrinus lofotensis. × 1½. (From Wyville Thomson.)
Fam. 3. Pentacrinidae.—Stem consisting of ossicles which are

pentagonal in section, united in pairs by syzygy, the upper one of
each pair bearing a whorl of cirri and united by five bundles of fibres
of petal-like section with the lower one of the pair above it. No
rooting processes. Patina consists almost entirely of columns of
radials, the basals being almost or completely hidden. Orals absent,
but side-plates in the ambulacral grooves. Two recent genera,
Pentacrinus (Isocrinus), with three radials in each column;
Metacrinus, with five to eight radials in a column, but the third radial
bears a pinnule. Pentacrinus is found in both the Caribbean Sea and
the Pacific Ocean; Metacrinus in the Pacific. It appears that the
Pentacrinidae when young are attached by a foot-plate at the apex
of the stem; but when adult, the stem is broken in two and the
animals, like Antedon, swim by movements of the arms, dragging a
large part of the stem after them, by which they effect temporary
attachment. As in other stalked forms, the cavities of the chambered
organ are prolonged into canals which traverse the stalk; but in this
family there is the peculiarity that a repetition of the chambered
organ is found opposite every whorl of cirri.
Fig. 271.—Pentacrinus asteria. × ¼. (From Wyville Thomson.)
Fam. 4. Holopodidae.—Stem represented by a leathery

noncalcified outgrowth from the base of the calyx; one circle of
radials indistinguishably fused with the basals and with each other to
form the walls of the calyx. Large oral plates, ten short arms. One
genus, Holopus, in shallow water in the Caribbean Sea.
Fig. 272.—Arms and portion of stem of Pentacrinus maclearanus, slightly

enlarged. In this species the basals can be seen. (From Wyville Thomson.)
Fig. 273.—Calyx of Actinocrinus, one of the Camerata, broken open to show

structure. amb, Ambulacral groove enclosed in covering plates; B, basal;
R1, R2, R3, the three radials of a column. (After Zittel.).
Fam. 5. Comatulidae.—Stem in the adult broken off, leaving only a
stump, the centro-dorsal, covered with cirri. Six genera. Antedon (=
Comatula) has already been described; many tropical species have
numerous arms and often side-plates and covering plates.
Actinometra is distinguished by its excentric mouth, and by the fact
that the centro-dorsal is flat and has cirri only round its edges;
Atelecrinus has an acorn-shaped centro-dorsal, and the basals are
externally visible; Eudiocrinus differs from Antedon only in having
five arms; Promachocrinus is a remarkable form, having ten radii
(this is a unique feature in Crinoidea); finally, Thaumatocrinus has
basals externally visible, large persistent orals and interradial plates,
and in addition a short free appendage of several plates on the anal
interradius. Antedon and Actinometra are almost world-wide. Six
species of the first have been recorded from British waters, of which
the commonest is Antedon rosacea; four others are distinguished by
having longer cirri, and do not seem to be well defined; but A.
eschrichtii, a northern form, is larger, and is distinguished by having
long proximal pinnules. The other genera are rare, and occur in deep
water.
When we turn to survey fossil Crinoidea, we are met with a

bewildering variety of forms ranging from the Lower Cambrian to the
present day. As already mentioned, there is no agreement amongst
experts as to how they should be classified. Bather makes the
fundamental cleavage depend on the possession of two whorls of
plates in the base (Fig. 274), or of only one whorl. These two
divisions he calls Dicyclica and Monocyclica respectively. He
admits that in many forms allied to Dicyclica the infra-basals have
disappeared; these he terms "pseudomonocyclic" forms, and
believes that he is able to discriminate them from true Monocyclica.
Fig. 274.—Crotalocrinus pulcher. × 1. B, basal; Br, arm-fan of adhering
branches; col, ossicle of stem; IB, infra-basal; R, radial. (After Zittel.)
The present author is utterly unable to believe that the Crinoidea

diverged into two groups on what is a trifling point of meristic
variation comparable to the varying number of rows of plates in the
interradial areas of the older Echinoidea; and he is equally sceptical
as to the validity of Jaekel's division of the group into
Cladocrinoidea and Pentacrinoidea, leading to the view that
organs like pinnules represent totally different structures in different
groups. Wachsmuth and Springer adopt as bases of classification
the extent to which the arms and their branches are incorporated in
the disc, and they recognise three main divisions: Inadunata, in
which the arms are completely free from the calyx; Articulata, in
which the arms are partly incorporated but the tegmen remains
flexible; and finally Camerata, in which the arms and their first
branches are largely incorporated in the cup; the tegmen is
converted into a rigid dome and the ambulacral grooves on it
become closed, as does the mouth, by the meeting of overarching
folds; the grooves remaining, of course, open in the distal portions of
the arms (Fig. 273). This classification, founded as it is on
physiological factors, seems to the present author more satisfactory.
Speaking generally, the points in which fossil Crinoids may differ
from living genera are: (1) the total absence or irregular nature of the
branching in the arms, so that pinnules may be said to be absent; (2)
the closure of the ambulacral grooves and mouth already alluded to,
and (3) the adhesion of the arms in the same ray to produce net-like
structures (Crotalocrinus, Fig. 274), or a fan-shaped structure
(Petalocrinus); (4) the frequent presence of two rows of brachials in
one arm (biserial structure); (5) the development of an enormous
anal tube, so large that in extreme cases (Eucalyptocrinus) the arms
may be lodged in grooves of it.
CLASS II. THECOIDEA (EDRIOASTEROIDEA, Bather)

These remarkable Pelmatozoa are the most primitive known. They
have sac-like or sometimes cushion-shaped or even disc-shaped
bodies, covered with numerous irregular plates without any
symmetry in their arrangement. There is no stem, but when they are
fixed this is effected by an adhesion of the aboral pole. There are no
arms, but on the upper surface is to be seen the impression of five
ambulacral grooves radiating from a central mouth. These grooves
are bordered by covering plates, which in the earliest form
(Stromacystis) are seen to be slight modifications of the plates
covering the upper surface of the body, but in the later genera (Fig.
275, Thecocystis) become specialised. The anus is situated on the
side, as is also the madreporite. It has been suggested that
Eleutherozoa were derived from this group; that individuals were
occasionally overturned by the waves or currents, and in this way
compelled to use their podia for locomotion. When Eleutherozoa,
however, have a fixed stage in their development, they are fixed by
the oral, not the aboral, surface, and hence can have no close
affinity to Thecoidea. Thecoidea begin in the Middle Cambrian, but
according to Jaekel impressions in the Lower Cambrian, referred to
Medusae, may be casts of this group.
Fig. 275.—Thecocystis saeculus. × 6. a. Anus; m, mouth; p, madreporite(?)

(After Jaekel.)
CLASS III. CARPOIDEA
Pelmatozoa with a well-developed stem; body bilaterally
compressed; only two rays apparently developed. These are
indicated only by grooves radiating from the mouth; but in some
cases slight horn-like outgrowths of some of the plates of the calyx
may support prolongations of the grooves.
This group, which, like the foregoing, commences in the Cambrian,

is perhaps more primitive than the Thecoidea in showing less
influence of the water-vascular system on the skeleton; but in the
presence of a differentiated stem and the development of only two
rays, it is more differentiated. The anus is on one of the flat sides,
covered with a flat plate acting as a valve. The members of this
group were formerly confounded with Cystoidea, from which they
differ in the absence of the characteristic pores. Trochocystis, the
genus figured, is devoid of any horn-like outgrowths of the calyx.
Fig. 276.—Trochocystis bohemicus, viewed from two sides. o, Mouth. (After

Jaekel.)
CLASS IV. CYSTOIDEA

Pelmatozoa with respiratory organs in the form of "diplopores" or
"pore-rhombs." In a great many cases there is a stalk, but in other
cases this is atrophied, and the animal is attached by the base of the
calyx. The radial canals run for a shorter or longer distance over the
calyx, but the plates of the calyx themselves are not modified for
them. Either they run in simple grooves, or they are protected by a
special series of plates lying above the plates of the calyx. The
terminal portions of the radial canals are in all cases free, supported
by unbranched arms consisting usually of a double row of ossicles.
These arms are termed "fingers."
It will be gathered from the description just given that the fingers and
the respiratory organs distinguish Cystoidea from the two foregoing
classes. Formerly this class was a lumber-room in which were
placed all primitive irregular Pelmatozoa. The labours of Jaekel[516]
have, however, dispelled the mist which enveloped this group, and in
his monograph all that can be extracted both from superficial
examination and dissection of these fossils is contained. It seems
possible to the present author that the class may eventually require
to be divided into two, corresponding to the two main divisions which
Jaekel recognises, viz. Dichoporita, with pectinated rhombs, and
Diploporita, with diplopores.
Fig. 277.—Echinosphaerites aurantium. A, from above; B, from the side; C,

neighbourhood of mouth, enlarged. amb, Ambulacral groove with side-
plates and covering plate; mad, madreporite. The short parallel lines across
the sutures are the "pore-rhombs." (After Zittel.)
The pore-rhombs of the Dichoporita (indicated in Fig. 277 by the

small parallel lines crossing the boundaries of the plates) were,
according to Jaekel, nothing but a series of folds of thin integument
projecting into the interior, the outer opening of which in most cases
adhered in the middle, leaving two pores connected by a groove.
The inner boundaries of the folds are sometimes preserved, but in
many cases they were entirely devoid of calcification, and so were
lost. The radial vessels either branched a great deal, giving rise to a
multitude of fingers, or, as in Echinosphaerites (Fig. 277), there were
a few long fingers supporting a reduced number of radial canals. In
some cases the calyx can be analysed into a regular series of cycles
of plates, consisting of basals, orals, and three intervening whorls,
thus including one more ring than the calyx of Crinoidea. Jaekel
regards this as a primitive arrangement, believing that the irregularity
seen in Echinosphaerites secondary. This is a doubtful hypothesis.
The diplopores of the Diploporita appear to consist of two canals

traversing the body-wall, opening close together into a common pit
externally, but diverging internally. Since in some cases, as in
Aristocystis (Fig. 278), this common pit is proved to have been
closed externally by a very delicate layer of calcification, it is
probable that the pores represent in other cases the points of origin
of finger-like gills similar to those of Asteroidea. Where they were
closed by calcification this was so thin and porous that the diffusion
through it sufficed for respiration. Jaekel regards the Diploporita as a
group derived from Dichoporita, but this seems to be extremely
doubtful.
Fig. 278.—Aristocystis. In the upper part of the calyx the heavy dots are
"diplopores," seen owing to removal of the superficial layer. (After Zittel.)
CLASS V. BLASTOIDEA
Pelmatozoa with respiratory organs in the form of longitudinal
calcified folds, termed "hydrospires," radiating from the mouth. Stem
well developed; calyx regular, consisting of a whorl of basals
surmounted by a whorl of forked radiais, in the clefts of which lay the
recumbent radial water-vascular vessels, supported each on a
special plate ("lancet plate"), and giving off two rows of branches
supported by short fingers (Fig. 279). Side-plates and covering
plates were also developed; five orals ("deltoids") completed the
calyx. The anus was at the side, just beneath one of the orals.
The hydrospires, which are the great characteristic of the class, are
seen in section in Fig. 279, B (hyd). They consist of a varying
number of parallel folds on each side of each "pseudambulacrum,"
as the lancet plate with its adhering side-plates and covering plates
has been termed. In the most primitive genus, Codaster, they appear
to have opened directly to the exterior, and to have been placed at
right angles to the lines of union of the radial and oral plates, just like
the grooves of a pectinated rhomb. In more modified forms, such as
Pentremites and Granatocrinus (Fig. 279), the outer openings were
overarched by the extension of the side-plates of the radial vessel,
and the whole group of folds has a common opening near the mouth;
indeed, in the highest form there is one common "spiracle" for the
two groups of folds in an interradius, which in one interradius is
confluent with the anus. The hydrospires, when they reach this form,
irresistibly recall the genital bursae of Ophiuroidea (Fig. 214, p. 490),
and very possibly served the same purpose.
Fig. 279.—Granatocrinus norwoodi. A, view of whole animal; B, section of

radius; C, an isolated finger. hyd, Hydrospire; l, lancet plate; pinn, finger;
p.p, covering plate; R and D both signify radial plate. (After Zittel.)
Reviewing the whole group of the Pelmatozoa, we see that in the

Cambrian they begin with the extremely primitive Thecoidea and
Carpoidea, together with some obscure forms which, combining a
stem with pentamerous symmetry in the calyx, are supposed to be
the forerunners of the Crinoidea. In the Lower Silurian or Ordovician
the two groups of the Cystoidea make their appearance, possibly
independently developed from either Carpoidea or primitive
Crinoidea, which in this period are present in unmistakable form. In
the Upper Silurian the Blastoidea appear, distinguishable from the
most regular Cystoidea only by their hydrospires. It seems practically
certain that they were developed from Cystoidea, and we follow
Jaekel in believing that they arose from Dichoporita. The Carpoidea
do not extend beyond the Ordovician, and by the end of the
Carboniferous period Cystoidea and Blastoidea die out, leaving only
the Crinoidea, which at that period were at their maximum
development. From the Carboniferous to the present day the
Crinoidea have continually decreased, leaving in recent seas, as
sole representatives of the Pelmatozoa, only the few forms
described at the beginning of this chapter.
CHAPTER XXI
ECHINODERMATA (CONTINUED): DEVELOPMENT AND PHYLOGENY
In Chapter XVI. it was stated that whilst a more or less perfectly

developed radial symmetry was one of the characteristic features of
the phylum Echinodermata when in the adult condition, yet in the
immature or larval condition the members of the group have a
strongly marked bilateral symmetry. In this feature larval
Echinodermata resemble the other Phyla of the animal kingdom
which have a well-developed coelom, such as Annelida, Mollusca,
Vertebrata, etc. Since, then, the peculiar radial symmetry is gradually
acquired during the growth of the Echinoderm, we may possibly
discover by a close scrutiny of the life-history what is the nature and
meaning of this departure from the ordinary type of structure among
coelomate animals.
There are two kinds of development met with amongst
Echinodermata, which may be roughly characterised as the
"embryonic" and the "larval" type respectively, although neither
description is exact. In developmental histories of the first type so
much reserve material is laid up in the egg in the form of food-yolk
that the young animal whilst in the bilateral stage requires little or no
food. In some cases, however, as in Amphiura squamata, the mother
pours out a nourishing exudation; but whether this is so or not, the
parent in nearly every case carries the young about with her until
they have reached the adult condition. In some Asteroidea, as for
instance in the Antarctic species Asterias spirabilis (Fig. 280), the
young become fixed to the everted lips of the mother; in Amphiura
squamata, and some other Ophiuroidea the eggs remain in the
genital bursae, which serve as nurseries; in some Spatangoidea, as
for instance in Hemiaster philippi (Figs. 250, 281), the eggs are
carried in some of the deeply grooved petaloid ambulacra; whilst in
Holothuroidea they may develop in the body-cavity (Phyllophorus
urna), or they may adhere to the back of the mother (Cucumaria
crocea, Fig. 259, p. 573), or they may be protected in special brood-
pouches either on the ventral side of the parent (Cucumaria
laevigata) or on the dorsal surface (Psolus ephippifer, Fig. 261).
The majority of these cases of embryonic development have been

recorded from Arctic or Antarctic waters; it appears as if conditions
there were not favourable to the larval type of development. In
Pelmatozoa the development of Antedon rosacea alone is known,
and that is of the embryonic type.
Fig. 280.—Oral view of Asterias spirabilis, slightly enlarged, showing embryos

attached to the everted lips. emb, Embryos. (After Perrier.)
So far, however, as their mode of propagation is known, it may
confidently be affirmed that the development of the majority of the
species of Eleutherozoa is of the second or larval type. In this type
there is little food-yolk in the egg, and the young animal or larva is
forced from a very early period of development to seek its own living,
and hence it is usually a considerable time (from a fortnight to two
months) before the adult form is attained. When the embryos of
different groups of Eleutherozoa are compared, there is no obvious
agreement in structure between them; but the larvae of the four
classes of Eleutherozoa exhibit with differences in detail a most
remarkable fundamental similarity in type, and we are accordingly
justified in regarding the larval development as primitive, and the
embryonic type as derived from it and differently modified in each
case.
Fig. 281.—Hemiaster philippi. Enlarged view of a single petal, showing the

embryos in situ. (From Wyville Thomson.) The whole animal is shown in
Fig. 250, p. 555.
In the typical larval development the eggs are fertilised after being
laid, and they then undergo segmentation into a number of equal, or
nearly equal, segments or "blastomeres." These arrange themselves
in the form of a hollow sphere or "blastula," the cavity of which is
called the "blastocoel" and afterwards becomes the primary body-
cavity of the larva. This cavity contains an albuminous fluid, at the
expense of which development appears to be carried on (Fig. 282,
B). The cells forming the blastula acquire cilia, and the embryo
begins to rotate within the egg-membrane, which it soon bursts, and,
rising to the surface of the sea, begins its larval life. The blastula is
therefore the first well-marked larval stage, and it is found in a more
or less recognisable form in life-histories of members of every large
group in the animal kingdom. Only in the case of Echinodermata and
of forms still lower in the scale, however, does it appear as a larval
stage. The free-swimming blastula stage is reached in from twelve to
twenty-four hours. Soon the spherical form of the blastula is lost; one
side becomes flattened and thickened, owing to a multiplication of
cells, so that they become taller and narrower in shape. Shortly
afterwards this thickened plate becomes buckled inwards,
encroaching on the cavity of the blastocoel. The larva has now
reached the second stage of its development; it has become a
"gastrula" (Fig. 282, C). The plate of thickened cells has become
converted into a tube called the "archenteron" (Fig. 282, C, arch),
which is the rudiment of both the alimentary canal and the coelom of
the adult. This tube communicates with the exterior, in virtue of its
mode of formation, by a single opening which is called the
"blastopore," which becomes the anus of the later larva and adult.
Whilst the gastrula stage is being acquired, the blastocoel or primary
body-cavity is invaded by wandering cells budded from the wall of
the archenteron (Fig. 282, A, B, C, mes). These cells, which are
called "mesenchyme," are the formative cells of the skeleton,
connective tissue, and wandering cells of the adult. When the larva
has a skeleton they are formed very early, arising in the young
blastula stage (Ophiuroidea) or in the stage immediately before the
formation of the archenteron (Echinoidea, Fig. 282, A, B) and
secreting the skeleton. When the larva is devoid of a skeleton
(Asteroidea and Holothuroidea), the mesenchyme usually does not
appear till the gastrula is fully formed.
Fig. 282.—Echinus esculentus. A, optical section of living blastula. B, section of
preserved blastula. The network of strings in the interior is the result of the
coagulation of the albuminous fluid. C, section of gastrula. arch,
Archenteron; mes, mesenchyme cells, attached by protoplasmic strands to
the wall of the embryo. × 150.
The gastrula stage is reached in twenty to thirty-six hours. Then one

side of the larva becomes concave, and the cilia become restricted
to a thick band surrounding this area. In this way is formed the
rudiment of the longitudinal band of cilia, which is the organ of
locomotion throughout the larval life. At the apex of the archenteron
a thin-walled vesicle is formed, which soon becomes divided off from
the rest. This vesicle, which almost immediately divides into two
sacs, right and left, is the rudiment of the "coelom" or secondary
body-cavity of the larva; the remainder of the archenteron forms the
definitive gut, and becomes divided by constriction into an
oesophagus, a stomach, and an intestine, and at the same time bent
into a shallower or deeper V-shape, the concavity of which is
towards the concave side of the body. Within this area of the surface
a new funnel-shaped depression makes its appearance. This is the
"stomodaeum," the rudiment of the mouth of the larva, and it soon
joins the apex of the larval oesophagus; the conjoined tubes
henceforth bearing the name oesophagus since the ectodermal and
endodermal parts become indistinguishably fused. Along the sides
and floor of the oesophagus is formed a V-shaped ridge bearing
strong cilia; this is the "adoral band of cilia" which sweeps the food
(consisting of Diatoms, Infusoria, etc.) into the mouth. The larva is
now known as a Dipleurula and appears in four modifications, each
characteristic of a Class of Eleutherozoa. These differ from one
another principally in the following points:—(a) The folding of the
ciliated band; (b) the divisions of the coelomic sacs; (c) the
development and fate of the praeoral lobe (i.e. the part of the body in
front of the mouth); (d) the fate of the larval mouth. The types of
Dipleurula are as follows:—
Fig. 283.—Bipinnaria of Luidia. a, Anus; a.b, adoral ciliated band; a.c.o.b,

anterior median process; a.d.a, anterior dorsal process; a.v.a, prae-oral
process; m, mouth; p.c.o.b, median dorsal process; p.d.a, posterior dorsal
process; p.l.a, posterior lateral process; p.v.a, post-oral process. (After
Garstang.)
(1) The Bipinnaria, the larva of Asteroidea. In this type there is a very
long prae-oral lobe. The ciliated band runs along its edges, and is
produced into a backwardly directed loop on its under surface. This
loop soon becomes separated from the rest of the band as a distinct
prae-oral loop, the rest forming a post-oral loop. Both loops are
drawn out into short tag-like processes, in which we may distinguish
(following Mortensen's[517] notation) in the prae-oral loop an anterior
median process (Fig. 283, a.c.o.b), and a pair of prae-oral processes
(a.v.a). In the post-oral loop there is a median dorsal process
(p.c.o.b) and paired anterior dorsal (a.d.a), posterior dorsal (p.d.a),
posterior lateral (p.l.a), and post-oral (p.v.a) processes. At the apex
of the prae-oral lobe between prae-oral and post-oral ciliated rings
there is an ectodermic thickening, recalling the so-called apical plate
of Annelid larvae.
Fig. 284.—A, Ophiopluteus of Ophiothrix fragilis. hy, Hydrocoel; l.p.c, left
posterior coelom; oes, oesophagus; r.p.c, right posterior coelom; st,
stomach. B, metamorphosis of Ophiopluteus of Ophiura sp. (After Johannes
Müller.)
(2) The Ophiopluteus, the larva of the Ophiuroidea. In this type the
prae-oral lobe remains small, and the primitive ciliated band is
undivided. The processes into which it is drawn out are very long,
and are supported by calcareous rods. Of these processes we may
distinguish prae-oral, postero-dorsal, postero-lateral, and post-oral.
The postero-lateral are always much longer than the rest, so that the
larva when swimming appears to the naked eye as a tiny V. In the
case of Ophiothrix fragilis (Fig. 284, A) the postero-lateral processes
are many times longer than the rest of the body. The Ophiopluteus
was the first Echinoderm larva to be recognised. It was discovered
by Johannes Müller,[518] who also discovered the other three types
of Dipleurula. He named this one Pluteus (easel), from a fancied
resemblance, when turned upside down, to a painter's easel. The
same name was bestowed on the next type, to which it presents a
superficial resemblance, and hence the distinguishing prefix "Ophio-"
was added to the original name by Mortensen.
(3) The Echinopluteus, the larva of the Echinoidea. This type is

strikingly like the preceding one in possessing a very small prae-oral
lobe and in having the processes of the ciliated ring supported by
calcareous rods, but a close inspection of these shows that they do
not exactly correspond to those of the Ophiopluteus. Thus we have
prae-oral, postero-dorsal, and post-oral processes (Fig. 285), but
usually no postero-lateral process, and when it does occur it remains
short. On the other hand, an antero-lateral process unrepresented in
the Ophiopluteus is constantly present, and in its later stage the
Echinopluteus develops, out of parts of the ciliated ring, horizontally-
placed crescentic ridges of cilia, which are termed ciliated epaulettes
(Fig. 285, a.cil.ep). There may even be, as in the larva of Echinus
esculentus, a second posterior set of these (Fig. 285, p.cil.ep). In the
older larva at the apex of the prae-oral lobe there is an ectodermic
thickening, at the base of which are developed nerve-cells and nerve
fibres constituting a larval brain (Fig. 285, ap).
Fig. 285.—Dorsal view of larva of Echinus esculentus. × 45. a.cil.ep, Anterior

ciliated epaulette; ap, apical plate or larval brain; ech, rudiment of Sea-
urchin; l.a.c, left anterior coelom; l.oes, larval oesophagus; l.p.c, r.p.c, as in
Fig. 284; p.cil.ep, posterior ciliated epaulette; r.a.c, right anterior coelom.
(4) The Auricularia, the larva of the Holothuroidea. This type

strikingly resembles the Bipinnaria in its external features. The prae-
oral lobe is well developed, and has on its under surface a
backwardly projecting loop of the ciliated band, which is not,
however, as in the Bipinnaria, separated from the rest of the band.
The processes of the band are much more faintly marked than in the
Bipinnaria, the anterior median, prae-oral, and median dorsal
processes being absent; but a pair of intermediate dorsal processes
are developed in the interspace between anterior and posterior
dorsal.
Fig. 286.—Three views of metamorphosis of Auricularia of Synapta digitata. A,
fully grown Auricularia; B and C, stages in the metamorphosis. hy,
Hydrocoel; Int, intestine; l.p.c, left posterior coelom; O, fragments of ciliated
band which are invaginated into the stomodaeum, and coalesce to form a
ring round the mouth; oss, ossicle; pod, rudiment of feelers which here
spring directly from the hydrocoel; r.p.c, right posterior coelom; st, stomach;
w.v.r, rudiment of water-vascular radial canals; 1-5, corresponding pieces in
the three figures of the longitudinal ciliated band. (After Bury.) × 40.
In the Bipinnaria, Ophiopluteus, and Echinopluteus the coelomic

vesicle, after separation from the archenteron, divides into right and
left halves. The left then sends out a short dorsal process, which,
fusing with the ectoderm, acquires an opening to the exterior. This
opening is the primary madreporic pore, and the process of the left
coelomic sac, which is ciliated, is the pore-canal. In the Auricularia
the pore and pore-canal are formed before the division of the
coelom. In the Bipinnaria the right and left sacs subsequently fuse in
the front part of the prae-oral lobe. In the first three types of larva the
coelomic sac on each side then undergoes a segmentation into
anterior and posterior portions. At the hinder end of the anterior sac
on each side a swelling occurs. That on the left side is the
"hydrocoel," or rudiment of the water-vascular system (Fig. 287, A3,
l.hy); it quickly assumes a crescentic form, and gives off five blunt
outgrowths, which are the rudiments of the radial canals, and the
terminal tentacles. It remains in connexion with the anterior coelom
by a narrow neck, which later becomes the stone-canal. That on the
right side separates completely from the right anterior coelom; it
remains small, and forms the madreporic vesicle (Fig. 287, A3, r.hy)
of the adult. In the Ophiopluteus and in the larva of Asterina gibbosa
(v. infra) it occasionally takes on a form similar to that of the
hydrocoel; from which circumstance, as well as from the similarity in

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The Sexual Question A History of

Prostitution in Peru 1850s 1950s Paulo

A history of modern political thought : the question of

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The world of prostitution in late imperial Austria

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Wolfenden's Women: Prostitution in Post-war Britain

The creation of Lima’s red-light district in 1928 marked the culminating

  is Associate Professor of Latin American history at

Other Books in the Series

Series list continues after index

Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

List of Figures page ix

2.1 “The Fruit is in the Cradle.” Illustrator unknown. page 64

1 Location of brothels in 1909. Identiﬁed according to

Library in Oxford, the Senate House Library of the University of London,

la Historia de América Latina, siglos XVIII–XXI (Lima: Instituto Riva

achievement of the promoters of regulation, the attempt to control the

particular of the backward cultural and racial characteristics of its indi-

imposition of new regimes of free and, where necessary, coerced labor. In

inhabitants in 1908 to 273,016 in 1931 to 645,172 in 1940.12 This was a

Afro-Peruvians, and, poor, usually non-white, women, such as market

  

ﬂourishing of the population and the solutions that were devised to

Historians who have studied prostitution in contexts as different as

that sought to regulate prostitution. For some women, the majority,

century France, which consisted ostensibly of the registration of prosti-

scholarship focuses on the colonial and early republican periods.32 Still,

health campaigns.”35 Like much of that scholarship, I challenge the idea

Fam. 2. Rhizocrinidae.—Stem long and persistent; cirri confined to

Fig. 270.—Rhizocrinus lofotensis. × 1½. (From Wyville Thomson.)

Fam. 3. Pentacrinidae.—Stem consisting of ossicles which are

Fig. 271.—Pentacrinus asteria. × ¼. (From Wyville Thomson.)

Fam. 4. Holopodidae.—Stem represented by a leathery

Fig. 272.—Arms and portion of stem of Pentacrinus maclearanus, slightly

Fig. 273.—Calyx of Actinocrinus, one of the Camerata, broken open to show

When we turn to survey fossil Crinoidea, we are met with a

The present author is utterly unable to believe that the Crinoidea

CLASS II. THECOIDEA (EDRIOASTEROIDEA, Bather)

Fig. 275.—Thecocystis saeculus. × 6. a. Anus; m, mouth; p, madreporite(?)

This group, which, like the foregoing, commences in the Cambrian,

Fig. 276.—Trochocystis bohemicus, viewed from two sides. o, Mouth. (After

CLASS IV. CYSTOIDEA

Fig. 277.—Echinosphaerites aurantium. A, from above; B, from the side; C,

The pore-rhombs of the Dichoporita (indicated in Fig. 277 by the

The diplopores of the Diploporita appear to consist of two canals

Fig. 279.—Granatocrinus norwoodi. A, view of whole animal; B, section of

Reviewing the whole group of the Pelmatozoa, we see that in the

ECHINODERMATA (CONTINUED): DEVELOPMENT AND PHYLOGENY

In Chapter XVI. it was stated that whilst a more or less perfectly

The majority of these cases of embryonic development have been

Fig. 280.—Oral view of Asterias spirabilis, slightly enlarged, showing embryos

Fig. 281.—Hemiaster philippi. Enlarged view of a single petal, showing the

The gastrula stage is reached in twenty to thirty-six hours. Then one

Fig. 283.—Bipinnaria of Luidia. a, Anus; a.b, adoral ciliated band; a.c.o.b,

(3) The Echinopluteus, the larva of the Echinoidea. This type is

Fig. 285.—Dorsal view of larva of Echinus esculentus. × 45. a.cil.ep, Anterior

(4) The Auricularia, the larva of the Holothuroidea. This type

In the Bipinnaria, Ophiopluteus, and Echinopluteus the coelomic

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