AFTER SEX MONTHS OF MARRIAGE, MRS. BARTLEY STARR SEEKS FREEDOM—NATURE
OF CHARGES NOT MADE PUBLIC
“Do you know what is back of it, Strong?” asked Clyde.
“The ruin of a life. Bartley Starr has been a ‘rounder.’ With the curse
of his vices upon him he married a young and untaught girl.” He
repeated with slow significance a passage from the allegory. “The
Monster entered into the house of her marriage, and from henceforth she
must go, a maimed creature, sexless and childless, to the end of her
days.”
“Oh, no, no!” burst out Mrs. Clyde. “Not poor little, lovely, innocent
Margaret Starr!”
“Too innocent,” retorted the Health Master. “And more than innocent;
ignorant.”
“But Bartley Starr!” said Mr. Clyde. “Who would have supposed him such
a scoundrel? And with his bringing-up, too!”
“The explanation lies in his bringing-up.”
“Nonsense! Henry Starr is as upright a man and as good a father as you
can find in Worthington.”
“The former, perhaps. Not the latter, certainly. He is a worshiper of
the False Veiled Goddess, I suspect. Hence Bartley’s tragedy.”
“Do you blame Bartley’s viciousness upon his father?” demanded Mrs.
Clyde.
“In part, at least. I happen to know a good deal about this case.
Bartley got his sex-education or miseducation from chance talk at
school. He took that to college with him, and there, unguided, fell
into vicious ways. I don’t suppose his father ever had a frank talk
with him in his life. And I judge that little Mrs. Starr’s mother never
had one with her, either. Look at the result!”
“But boys find out about such things some way,” said Mr. Clyde
uneasily.
“Some way? What way? And from whom? How much has Manny found out?”
“I don’t know,” said Manny’s father.
“Why don’t you know?” persisted the Health Master relentlessly. “You
are his father, and, what is more, his friend.”
“Why must Manny know?” cried Mrs. Clyde. “Surely my son isn’t going to
wallow in that sort of foulness.”
“Pray God he is not!” said Grandma Sharpless, turning her old, shrewd,
kind face, the eyes bright and soft with feeling, toward her daughter.
“But, oh, my dear, my dear, the bitterest lesson we mothers have to
learn is that our children are of the common flesh and blood of
humanity.”
“Manny is clean-minded and high-spirited,” said Strong. “But not all of
his companions are. Not a month ago I heard one of the older boys in
his class assuring some of his fellows, in the terms of the most
damnable lie that ever helped to corrupt youth, ‘Why, it ain’t any
worse than an ordinary cold.’”
“That was a stock phrase of the young toughs when I was a boy,” said
Mr. Clyde. “So it still persists, does it?”
“Any worse than an ordinary cold?” repeated Mrs. Clyde, looking
puzzled. “What did he mean?”
“Gonorrhoea,” said Dr. Strong.
Mrs. Clyde winced back and half-rose from her chair.
“Are you going?” asked the Health Master rather ‘grimly. “Must I be
mealy-mouthed on this subject? Here I am, trying to tell you something
of the most deadly import, and am I to choose perfumed words and pick
rose-tinted phrases?”
“Speak out, Strong,” said the head of the house. “I’ve been rather
expecting this.”
“First, then: you need not worry about Manny. I talked to him, long
ago.”
“But he’s only a boy, still,” said Mrs. Sharpless involuntarily.
“He enters college this fall. And I’ve made sure that he won’t take
with him the ‘no worse than a cold’ superstition about a disease which
has wrecked the lives of thousands of Bartley Starrs.”
“But I thought that Starr’s was the—the other and worse form,” said Mr.
Clyde.
“Plain talk,” adjured the Health Master. “You thought it was syphilis?”
“Yes.”
“And you thought syphilis worse than gonorrhoea?”
“Surely!”
“Well, it isn’t. I’ll explain that in detail presently. Just now—”
“Do I have to hear all of this,” appealed Mrs. Clyde, with a face of
piteous disgust.
“Well, _I_ told Manny,” said the Health Master in measured tones. “Must
I be the one to tell Julia, too?”
“Julia!” cried the mother. “Tell Julia?”
“Some one must tell her.”
“That child?”
“Fourteen years old, and in high school. Last year there were ten known
cases of venereal disease among the high-school girls.”[3]
[3] These and the following instances are based on actual and
established medical findings.
“How horrible!”
“Bad enough. I have known worse elsewhere. In a certain small city
school, several years ago, it was discovered that there was an epidemic
of vice which involved practically the whole school. And it was
discovered only when venereal disease broke out. Our school authorities
are just beginning to learn that immorality must be combated by
watchfulness and quarantine, just as contagious disease must.”
“How was the outbreak in our high school found out?” asked Grandma
Sharpless.
“In a curious and tragic way. One of the boys developed a sudden and
serious inflammation of the eyes. At first the ophthalmologist to whom
he went was puzzled. Then he began to suspect. A bateriological
analysis showed that it was a case of gonorrhoeal infection. It was by
a hair’s breadth that the less infected eye was saved. The sight of the
other is lost. Examination showed that the disease was confined to the
eyes. By a careful bit of medical detective work, the physician and the
principal of the high school determined that the infection came from
the use of a bath-towel in the house of a fellow-pupil where the
patient had spent two or three nights. This pupil was examined and
found to have a fully developed case, which he had concealed, in fear
of disgrace. Consequently, the poison is now so deep-seated in him that
it may be years before he is cured. He made a confession implicating a
girl in the class above him. A rigid investigation followed which
brought the other cases to light.”
“I shall take Julia out of that school at once,” said Mrs. Clyde,
half-crying.
“No,” controverted the Health Master gently. “I shouldn’t do that. In
the complex life of a city like this, it is impossible to shelter a
girl completely and permanently. Better armor her with knowledge.
Besides, the danger in the school, being discovered, is practically
over now. In time, and using this experience as a lever with the school
authorities, we hope to get a course of lectures on hygiene
established, including simple sex-instruction. Meantime this must be
carried on by the mothers and fathers.”
“But what am I to say to Julia?”
“That is what I am going to tell you,” replied the Health Master, “and
look to you to pass on the truth in terms too plain to admit of any
misunderstanding. First, does she know what womanhood and motherhood
mean?”
“Not yet, I think. She seems so young. And it’s so hard to speak of
those things. But I thought I would try to explain to her some day.”
“Some day? At once! How can you think her too young? She has already
undergone the vital change from childhood to womanhood, and without so
much as a word of warning or reassurance or explanation as to what it
means.”
“Not quite without,” put in Grandma Sharpless quietly.
“Good!” approved the Health Master. “But be sure that the explanation
is thorough. Tell her the significance of sex and its relation to
reproduction and life. If you don’t, be sure that others will. And
their version may well be in terms which would make a mother shudder to
hear.”
“Who would tell her?” asked Mrs. Clyde.
“Her playmates. Do you think that girls don’t talk of the mysteries as
much as boys? If so, you’re sadly in error. The first essential is that
she should understand truly and wisely what it means to be a woman.
That is fundamental. And now for the matter of venereal disease. I am
going to lay certain facts before you all, and you can hand on to the
children such modifications as you deem best.
“First, gonorrhoea, because it is the worse of the two. That is not the
accepted notion, I know: but the leading specialists one by one have
come around to the view, that, by and large, it does more damage to
humanity than the more greatly dreaded syphilis. For one thing, it is
much more widespread. While there are no accurate statistics covering
the field in general, it is fairly certain that forty per cent of all
men over thirty-five in our larger cities have had the disease at some
time.”
“That doesn’t seem possible,” broke in Mr. Clyde.
“Not to you, because you married early, and your associations have been
largely with family, home-loving men. But ask any one of the traveling
salesmen in your factory his view. Your traveling man is the Ulysses of
modern life, ‘knowing cities and the hearts of men.’ I think that
you’ll find that compared with the ‘commercial’ view, my forty per cent
is optimistic.”
“But it is easily curable, isn’t it?” asked Mrs. Clyde, insensibly
yielding to the Health Master’s matter-of-fact tone, and finding,
almost insensibly, that her interest in the hygienic problem had
overcome her shamed reluctance to speak of it.
“Often in the early stages. But it is very uncertain. And once firmly
fixed on the victim, it is one of the most obstinate and treacherous of
diseases. It may lie dormant for months or even years, deceiving its
victim into thinking himself wholly cured, only to break out again in
full conflagration, without warning.
“This is the history of many ruined marriages. Only by the most
searching tests can a physician make certain that the infection is
stamped out. Probably no disease receives, on the average, such harmful
treatment by those who are appealed to to cure it. The reason for this
is that the young man with his first ‘dose’—that loathsome, light term
of description!—is ashamed to go to his family physician, and so takes
worthless patent medicines or falls into the hands of some ‘Men’s
Specialist’ who advertises a ‘sure cure’ in the papers. These
charlatans make their money, not by skillful and scientific treatment,
of which they know nothing, nor by seeking to effect a cure, but by
actually nourishing the flame of the disease, so as to keep the patient
under their care as long as possible, all the time building up fat fees
for themselves. If they were able, as they claim, to stop the infection
in a few days at a small fee, they couldn’t make money enough to pay
for the scoundrelly lies which constitute their advertisements. While
they are collecting their long-extended payments from the victim, the
infection is spreading and extending its roots more and more deeply,
until the unfortunate may be ruined for life, or even actually killed
by the ravages of the malignant germs.”
“I didn’t suppose that it was ever fatal,” said Clyde.
“Oh, yes. I’ve seen deaths in hospitals, of the most agonizing’ kind.
But it is by virtue of its byproducts, so to speak, that gonorrhoea is
most injurious and is really more baneful to the race than syphilis.
The organism which causes it is in a high degree destructive to the
eyes. Newborn infants are very frequently infected in this way by
gonorrhoeal mothers. Probably a quarter of all permanent blindness in
this country is caused by gonorrhoea. The effect of the disease upon
women is disastrous. Half of all abdominal operations on married women,
excluding appendicitis, are the results of gonorrhoeal infection from
their husbands. A large proportion of sterility arises from this cause.
A large proportion of the wives of men in whom the infection has not
been wholly eradicated pay the penalty in permanently undermined
health. And yet the superstition endures that ‘it’s no worse than a bad
cold.’”
“There is no such superstition about syphilis, at least,” remarked
Clyde.
“No. The very name is a portent of terror, and it is well that it
should be so. The consequence is that the man who finds himself
afflicted takes no chances, as a rule. He goes straight to the best
physician he can find, and obeys orders under terror of his life. Thus
and thus only, he often is cured. Terrible as syphilis is, there is
this redeeming feature: we can tell pretty accurately when the organism
which causes it is eliminated. Years after the disease itself is cured,
however, the victim may be stricken down by the most terrible form of
paralysis, resulting from it.”
“Isn’t the Ehrlich treatment regarded as a sure cure?” asked Mrs.
Sharpless.
“No cure is sure. Salvarsan, skillfully administered, is as near a
specific as any known form of treatment. But we don’t know whether it
has any effect at all upon locomotor ataxia or general paralysis, the
after effects, which may destroy the patient fifteen or twenty years
after the actual disease has been cured. All locomotor ataxia and all
general paralysis come from syphilis. And these diseases are not only
incurable, but are as nearly a hell on earth as poor humanity is ever
called upon to endure. Of course, you know that a man who is base
enough to marry with syphilis dooms his children. Fortunately
seventy-five or eighty per cent of the offspring of such marriages die
in infancy or early childhood. The rest grow up deficient in mind or
body or both. Upwards of ten per cent of all insanity is syphilitic in
its origin.
“Both venereal diseases are terribly contagious. Innocence is no
protection. Syphilis may be contracted from a drinking-cup or
eating-utensil, or from the lips of an infected person having an open
sore on the mouth. Gonorrhoea is spread by towels, by bathtubs, or from
contaminated toilets. No person, however careful, is immune from either
of the ‘red plagues.’ And yet the public is just beginning to be
educated to the peril.”
“Why wouldn’t that be a good topic for the Woman’s Club to discuss?”
asked Grandma Sharpless.
“Splendid!” said Dr. Strong. “That is, if they would allow you to talk
about it.”
“_Allow_ me!” The old lady’s firm chin tilted up sharply. “Who’s going
to put the ban of silence on me?”
“Nobody, I dare say, if you make up your mind to speak,” replied Dr.
Strong, smiling. “But some will probably try. Would you believe that,
only a short time since, a professor of hygiene in one of our leading
universities had to abandon a course of lectures to the students
because the wives of the faculty and trustees objected to his including
venereal diseases in his course? And a well-known lecturer, who had
been invited to speak on health protection before a list of colleges,
suffered the indignity of having the invitation withdrawn because he
insisted that he could not cover the ground without warning his hearers
against the twin pestilences of vice.”
“Are the colleges so greatly in need of that sort of warning?” asked
Mrs. Clyde.
“Subsequent records obtained from some of the protesting institutions
showed that one third of the students had at some time been infected.”
“I’m glad you’ve told my boy,” said Mrs. Clyde, rising. “I’ll talk to
my girls.”
“And I to the women,” said Mrs. Sharpless. “Then I’d better make a
list, for both of you, of the literature on the subject which you will
find useful,” said the Health Master. “I’ll give it to you later.”[4]
[4] The list of publications on the sex problem and venereal disease
recommended by the Health Master to the Clyde family was as follows:—
Published by the California Social Hygiene Society, Room 256, U.S.
Custom House, San Francisco, Calif.: The Four Sex Lies, When and How to
Tell the Children, A Plain Talk with Girls about their Health and
Physical Development. Published by the Detroit Society for Sex Hygiene,
Wayne Co. Medical Society Building, Detroit, Mich.: To the Girl who
does not Know, A Plain Talk with Boys. Published by the Chicago Society
of Social Hygiene, 305 Reliance Building, Chicago, Ill: Self
Protection, Family Protection, Community Protection. Published by the
Maryland Society for Social Hygiene, 15 East Pleasant Street,
Baltimore, Md.: The So- Called Sexual Necessity in Man, The Venereal
Diseases. Published by the American Federation for Sex Hygiene, 105
West 40th St., N.Y. City: List of Publications of the Constituent
Societies, The Teaching of Sex Hygiene, Sex Instruction as a Phase of
Social Education. Published by the Society of Sanitary and Moral
Prophylaxis: The Sex Problem, Health and the Hygiene of Sex.
For a time after the women had left, the two men sat silent.
“Strong,” said Mr. Clyde presently, “who is Bartley Starr’s physician?”
“Dr. Emery.”
“Why didn’t he warn him not to marry?”
“He did. He positively forbade it.”
“And Starr married that young girl in the face of that prohibition?”
“He thought he was cured. Dr. Emery couldn’t say positively that he
wasn’t. He could only beg him to wait another year. Starr hadn’t the
courage—or the principle; he feared scandal if he postponed the
wedding. So he disregarded the warning and now the scandal is upon him
with tenfold weight.”
“Isn’t there any law for such cases?”
“Not in this state. Indiana requires that parties to a marriage swear
to their freedom from venereal disease and certain other ailments.
Other states have followed suit. Every state ought to.”
“Why didn’t Dr. Emery go to the girl’s father, then?”
“Because of our damnable law,” returned the Health Master with a sudden
and rare access of bitterness.
“You mean that the law forbids?”
“It holds the physician liable for any professional confidence
violated.” Dr. Strong rose and paced up and down the room, talking with
repressed energy. “Therein it follows medical ethics in its most
conservative and baneful phase. The code of medical conduct provides
that a physician is bound to keep secret all the private affairs of a
patient, learned in the course of practice. One body, the American
Institute of Homoeopathy, has wisely amended its code to except those
cases where ‘harm to others may result.’ That amendment was passed with
particular reference to venereal disease.”
“What about contagious disease?” asked Mr. Clyde. “Doesn’t the law
require the physician to report diphtheria, for instance, and thus
violate the patient’s confidence?”
“Certainly it does. All schools recognize that principle of protection
to the public. Yet, in the case of syphilis or gonorrhoea, when the
harm to the public health is far greater than from any ‘reportable’
disease except tuberculosis, the physician must hold his peace, though
he sees his patient pass out of his hands bearing fire and sword and
poison to future generations. There’s the Ban of Silence in its most
diabolical form!”
Mr. Clyde regarded his household physician keenly. “I’ve never before
seen you so stirred,” he observed.
“I’ve reason to be stirred.” The Health Master whirled suddenly upon
his friend and employer. “Clyde, you’ve never questioned me as to my
past.”
“No.”
“Have you never wanted it cleared up?”
“No.”
“You’ve always been willing to take me on trust?”
“Yes.”
“And I appreciate it. But now I’m going to tell you how I happened to
come to you, a broken and ruined man.”
“Think it over, Strong,” advised Mr. Clyde. “Don’t speak now. Not that
it would make any difference to me. I know you. If you were to tell me
that you had committed homicide, I’d believe that it was a necessary
and justifiable homicide.”
“Suicide, rather,” returned the other with a mirthless laugh;
“professional suicide. I’ll speak now, if you don’t object.”
“Go ahead, then, if it will ease your mind.”
“I’m a lawbreaker, Clyde. I did, years ago, what you thought Emery
should have done. I deliberately violated the profession’s Ban of
Silence. The man was my patient, in the city where I had built up a
good high-class practice. He had contracted gonorrhoea and I had
treated him for a year. The infection seemed to be rooted out. But I
knew the danger, and when he told me that he was engaged to be married,
to a girl of my own set and a valued friend, I was horror-stricken. I
pleaded, argued, and finally threatened. It was no use. He was the
spoiled child of a wealthy family, impatient of any thwarting. One day
the suspicions of the girl’s mother were aroused. She came to me in
deep distress. I told her the truth. The engagement was broken. The man
did not bring suit against me, but his family used their financial and
social power to persecute and finally drive me out of the city, a
nervous wreck. That’s my history.”
“You could have protected yourself by telling the true facts,”
suggested Clyde. .
“Yes: but that would have been an unforgivable breach of confidence.
The public had no right to the facts. The girl’s family had.”
“Then they should have come to your rescue with the truth.”
“I bound them to secrecy.”
Slowly Mr. Clyde rose, walked over, picked up the paper with the
staring headlines, folded it, laid it on the table, and, in passing the
physician, set a hand, as if by chance, upon his shoulder. From so
undemonstrative a man the action meant much.
“So,” he said with affectionate lightness, “my Chinese physician had
been fighting dragons before he ever came to us; worse monsters than
he’s been called upon to face, since. That was a splendid defeat,
Strong.”
“A bitter one,” said the Health Master; “and by the same old Monster,
in another manifestation that we’ve been fighting here. We’ve downed
him now and again, you and I, Clyde. But he’s never killed: only
scotched. He’s the universal ally of every ill that man hands on to
man, and we’ve only to recognize him under the thousand and one
different forms he assumes to call him out to battle under his real
name.”
“And that is?” inquired Clyde.
“Ignorance,” said the Health Master.