The consideration of the cases here brought forward may suffice to show that beyond those fetichisms which find their satisfaction in the contemplation of a part of the body or a garment, there is a more subtle symbolism. The foot is a center of force, an agent for exerting pressure, and thus it furnishes a point of departure not alone for the merely static sexual fetich, but for a dynamic erotic symbolization. The energy of its movements becomes a substitute for the energy of the sexual organs themselves in coitus, and exerts the same kind of fascination. The young girl (page 35) “who seemed to have a passion for treading upon things which would scrunch or yield under her foot,” already possessed the germs of an erotic symbolism which, under the influence of circumstances in which she herself took an active part, developed into an adequate method of sexual gratification.[23] The youth who was her partner learned, in the same way, to find an erotic symbolism in all the pressure reactions of attractive feminine feet, the swaying of a carriage beneath their weight, the crushing of the flowers on which they tread, the slow rising of the grass which they have pressed. Here we have a symbolism which is altogether different from that fetichism which adores a definite object; it is a dynamic symbolism finding its gratification in the spectacle of movements which ideally recall the fundamental rhythm and pressure reactions of the sexual process.
We may trace a very similar erotic symbolism in an absolutely normal form. The fascination of clothes in the lover’s eyes is no doubt a complex phenomenon, but in part it rests on the aptitudes of a woman’s garments to express vaguely a dynamic symbolism which must always remain indefinite and elusive, and on that account always possess fascination. No one has so acutely described this symbolism as Herrick, often an admirable psychologist in matters of sexual attractiveness. Especially instructive in this respect are his poems, “Delight in Disorder,” “Upon Julia’s Clothes,” and notably “Julia’s Petticoat.” “A sweet disorder in the dress,” he tells us, “kindles in clothes a wantonness;” it is not on the garment itself, but on the character of its movement that he insists; on the “erring lace,” the “winning wave” of the “tempestuous petticoat;” he speaks of the “liquefaction” of clothes, their “brave vibration each way free,” and of Julia’s petticoat he remarks with a more specific symbolism still,