Damaged Goods
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Upton Sinclair >> Damaged Goods
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8 Damaged Goods, The Great Play "Les Avaries" of Eugene Brieux
Novelized by Upton Sinclair
Typed by John P. Roberts, III
DAMAGED GOODS
The Great Play "Les Avaries" of Eugene Brieux
Novelized with the approval of the author
by Upton Sinclair
THE PRODUCTION OF EUGENE BRIEUX'S PLAY, "LES AVARIES," OR,
TO GIVE IT ITS ENGLISH TITLE, "DAMAGED GOODS," HAS INITIATED A
MOVEMENT IN THIS COUNTRY WHICH MUST BE REGARDED AS EPOCH-MAKING.
--New York Times
+++Page 4 is a virtually unreadable letter in handwritten
script from M. Brieux.+++
PREFACE
My endeavor has been to tell a simple story, preserving as
closely as possible the spirit and feeling of the original. I
have tried, as it were, to take the play to pieces, and build a
novel out of the same material. I have not felt at liberty to
embellish M. Brieux's ideas, and I have used his dialogue word
for word wherever possible. Unless I have mis-read the author,
his sole purpose in writing LES AVARIES was to place a number of
most important facts before the minds of the public, and to drive
them home by means of intense emotion. If I have been able to
assist him, this bit of literary carpentering will be worth
while. I have to thank M. Brieux for his kind permission to make
the attempt, and for the cordial spirit which he has manifested.
Upton Sinclair
PRESS COMMENTS ON THE PLAY
DAMAGED GOODS was first presented in America at a Friday matinee
on March 14th, 1913, in the Fulton Theater, New York, before
members of the Sociological Fund. Immediately it was acclaimed
by public press and pulpit as the greatest contribution ever made
by the Stage to the cause of humanity. Mr. Richard Bennett, the
producer, who had the courage to present the play, with the aid
of his co-workers, in the face of most savage criticism from the
ignorant, was overwhelmed with requests for a repetition of the
performance.
Before deciding whether of not to present DAMAGED GOODS before
the general public, it was arranged that the highest officials in
the United States should pass judgment upon the manner in which
the play teaches its vital lesson. A special guest performance
for members of the Cabinet, members of both houses of Congress,
members of the United States Supreme Court, representatives of
the Diplomatic corps and others prominent in national life was
given in Washington, D.C.
Although the performance was given on a Sunday afternoon (April
6, 1913), the National Theater was crowded to the very doors with
the most distinguished audience ever assembled in America,
including exclusively the foremost men and women of the Capital.
The most noted clergymen of Washington were among the spectators.
The result of this remarkable performance was a tremendous
endorsement of the play and of the manner in which Mr. Bennett
and his co-workers were presenting it.
This reception resulted in the continuance of the New York
performances until mid-summer and is responsible for the decision
on the part of Mr. Bennett to offer the play in every city in
America where citizens feel that the ultimate welfare of the
community is dependent upon a higher standard of morality and
clearer understanding of the laws of health.
The WASHINGTON POST, commenting on the Washington performance,
said:
The play was presented with all the impressiveness of a sermon;
with all the vigor and dynamic force of a great drama; with all
the earnestness and power of a vital truth.
In many respects the presentation of this dramatization of a
great social evil assumed the aspects of a religious service.
Dr. Donald C. Macleod, pastor of the First Presbyterian Church,
mounted the rostrum usually occupied by the leader of the
orchestra, and announced that the nature of the performance, the
sacredness of the play, and the character of the audience gave to
the play the significance of a tremendous sermon in behalf of
mankind, and that as such it was eminently fitting that a divine
blessing be invoked. Dr. Earle Wilfley, pastor of the Vermont
Avenue Christian Church, asked all persons in the audience to bow
their heads in a prayer for the proper reception of the message
to be presented from the stage. Dr. MacLeod then read the
Bernard Shaw preface to the play, and asked that there be no
applause during the performance, a suggestion which was rigidly
followed, thus adding greatly to the effectiveness and the
seriousness of the dramatic portrayal.
The impression made upon the audience by the remarkable play is
reflected in such comments as the following expressions voiced
after the performance:
RABBI SIMON, OF THE WASHINGTON HEBREW CONGREGATION--If I could
preach from my pulpit a sermon one tenth as powerful, as
convincing, as far-reaching, and as helpful as this performance
of DAMAGED GOODS must be, I would consider that I had achieved
the triumph of my life.
COMMISSIONER CUNO H. RUDOLPH--I was deeply impressed by what I
saw, and I think that the drama should be repeated in every city,
a matinee one day for father and son and the next day for mother
and daughter.
REV. EARLE WILFLEY--I am confirmed in the opinion that we must
take up our cudgels in a crusade against the modern problems
brought to the fore by DAMAGED GOODS. The report that these
diseases are increasing is enough to make us get busy on a
campaign against them.
SURGEON GENERAL BLUE--It was a most striking and telling lesson.
For years we have been fighting these condition in the navy. It
is high time that civilians awakened to the dangers surrounding
them and crusaded against them in a proper manner.
MRS. ARCHIBALD HOPKINS--The play was a powerful presentation of a
very important question and was handled in a most admirable
manner. The drama is a fine entering wedge for this crusade and
is bound to do considerable good in conveying information of a
very serious nature.
MINISTER PEZET, OF PERU--There can be no doubt but that the
performance will have great uplifting power, and accomplish the
good for which it was created. Fortunately, we do not have the
prudery in South America that you of the north possess, and have
open minds to consider these serious questions.
JUSTICE DANIEL THEW WRIGHT--I feel quite sure that DAMAGED GOODS
will have considerable effect in educating the people of the
nature of the danger that surrounds them.
SENATOR KERN, OF INDIANA--There can be no denial of the fact that
it is time to look at the serious problems presented in the play
with an open mind.
Brieux has been hailed by Bernard Shaw as "incomparably the
greatest writer France has produced since Moliere," and perhaps
no writer ever wielded his pen more earnestly in the service of
the race. To quote from an article by Edwin E. Slosson in the
INDEPENDENT:
Brieux is not one who believes that social evils are to be cured
by laws and yet more laws. He believes that most of the trouble
is caused by ignorance and urges education, public enlightenment
and franker recognition of existing conditions. All this may be
needed, but still we may well doubt its effectiveness as a
remedy. The drunken Helot argument is not a strong one, and
those who lead a vicious life know more about its risks than any
teacher or preacher could tell them. Brieux also urges the
requirement of health certificates for marriage, such as many
clergymen now insist upon and which doubtless will be made
compulsory before long in many of our States.
Brieux paints in black colors yet is no fanatic; in fact, he will
be criticised by many as being too tolerant of human weakness.
The conditions of society and the moral standards of France are
so different from those of America that his point of view and his
proposals for reform will not meet with general acceptance, but
it is encouraging to find a dramatist who realizes the importance
of being earnest and who uses his art in defense of virtue
instead of its destruction.
Other comments follow, showing the great interest manifested in
the play and the belief in the highest seriousness of its
purpose:
There is no uncleanness in facts. The uncleanness is in the
glamour, in the secret imagination. It is in hints, half-truths,
and suggestions the threat to life lies.
This play puts the horrible truth in so living a way, with such
clean, artistic force, that the mind is impressed as it could
possibly be impressed in no other manner.
Best of all, it is the physician who dominates the action. There
is no sentimentalizing. There is no weak and morbid handling of
the theme. The doctor appears in his ideal function, as the
modern high-priest of truth. Around him writhe the victims of
ignorance and the criminals of conventional cruelty. Kind,
stern, high-minded, clear-headed, yet human-hearted, he towers
over all, as the master.
This is as it should be. The man to say the word to save the
world of ignorant wretches, cursed by the clouds and darkness a
mistaken modesty has thrown around a life-and-death instinct, is
the physician.
The only question is this: Is this play decent? My answer is
that it is the decentest play that has been in New York for a
year. It is so decent that it is religious.
--HEARST'S MAGAZINE.
The play is, above all, a powerful plea for the tearing away of
the veil of mystery that has so universally shrouded this subject
of the penalty of sexual immorality. It is a plea for light on
this hidden danger, that fathers and mothers, young men and young
women, may know the terrible price that must be paid, not only by
the generation that violates the law, but by the generations to
come. It is a serious question just how the education of men and
women, especially young men and young women, in the vital matters
of sex relationship should be carried on. One thing is sure,
however. The worst possible way is the one which has so often
been followed in the past--not to carry it on at all but to
ignore it.
--THE OUTLOOK.
It (DAMAGED GOODS) is, of course, a masterpiece of "thesis
drama,"--an argument, dogmatic, insistent, inescapable,
cumulative, between science and common sense, on one side, and
love, of various types, on the other. It is what Mr. Bernard
Shaw has called a "drama of discussion"; it has the splendid
movement of the best Shaw plays, unrelieved--and undiluted--by
Shavian paradox, wit, and irony. We imagine that many audiences
at the Fulton Theater were astonished at the play's showing of
sheer strength as acted drama. Possibly it might not interest
the general public; probably it would be inadvisable to present
it to them. But no thinking person, with the most casual
interest in current social evils, could listen to the version of
Richard Bennett, Wilton Lackaye, and their associates, without
being gripped by the power of Brieux's message.
--THE DIAL.
It is a wonder that the world has been so long in getting hold of
this play, which is one of France's most valuable contributions
to the drama. Its history is interesting. Brieux wrote it over
ten years ago. Antoine produced it at his theater and Paris
immediately censored it, but soon thought better of it and
removed the ban. During the summer of 1910 it was played in
Brussels before crowded houses, for then the city was thronged
with visitors to the exposition. Finally New York got it last
spring and eugenic enthusiasts and doctors everywhere have
welcomed it.
--THE INDEPENDENT.
A letter to Mr. Bennett from Dr. Hills, Pastor of Plymouth
Church, Brooklyn.
23 Monroe Street
Bklyn. August 1, 1913.
Mr. Richard Bennett,
New York City, N.Y.
My Dear Mr. Bennett:
During the past twenty-one years since I entered public life, I
have experienced many exciting hours under the influence of
reformer, orator and actor, but, in this mood of retrospection, I
do not know that I have ever passed through a more thrilling,
terrible, and yet hopeful experience than last evening, while I
listened to your interpretation of Eugene Brieux' "DAMAGED
GOODS."
I have been following your work with ever deepening interest. It
is not too much to say that you have changed the thinking of the
people of our country as to the social evil. At last, thank God,
this conspiracy of silence is ended. No young man who sees
"Damaged Goods" will ever be the same again. If I wanted to
build around an innocent boy buttresses of fire and granite, and
lend him triple armour against temptation and the assaults of
evil, I would put him for one evening under your influence. That
which the teacher, the preacher and the parent have failed to
accomplish it has been given to you to achieve. You have done a
work for which your generation owes you an immeasurable debt of
gratitude.
I shall be delighted to have you use my Study of Social Diseases
and Heredity in connection with your great reform.
With all good wishes, I am, my dear Mr. Bennett,
Faithfully yours,
Newell Dwight Hillis
CHAPTER I
It was four o'clock in the morning when George Dupont closed the
door and came down the steps to the street. The first faint
streaks of dawn were in the sky, and he noticed this with
annoyance, because he knew that his hair was in disarray and his
whole aspect disorderly; yet he dared not take a cab, because he
feared to attract attention at home. When he reached the
sidewalk, he glanced about him to make sure that no one had seen
him leave the house, then started down the street, his eyes upon
the sidewalk before him.
George had the feeling of the morning after. There are few men
in this world of abundant sin who will not know what the phrase
means. The fumes of the night had evaporated; he was quite sober
now, quite free from excitement. He saw what he had done, and it
seemed to him something black and disgusting.
Never had a walk seemed longer than the few blocks which he had
to traverse to reach his home. He must get there before the maid
was up, before the baker's boy called with the rolls; otherwise,
what explanation could he give?--he who had always been such a
moral man, who had been pointed out by mothers as an example to
their sons.
George thought of his own mother, and what she would think if she
could know about his night's adventure. He thought again and
again, with a pang of anguish, of Henriette. Could it be
possible that a man who was engaged, whose marriage contract had
actually been signed, who was soon to possess the love of a
beautiful and noble girl--that such a man could have been weak
enough and base enough to let himself be trapped into such a low
action?
He went back over the whole series of events, shuddering at them,
trying to realize how they had happened, trying to excuse himself
for them. He had not intended such a culmination; he had never
meant to do such a thing in his life. He had not thought of any
harm when he had accepted the invitation to the supper party with
his old companions from the law school. Of course, he had known
that several of these chums led "fast" lives--but, then, surely a
fellow could go to a friend's rooms for a lark without harm!
He remembered the girl who had sat by his side at the table. She
had come with a friend who was a married woman, and so he had
assumed that she was all right. George remembered how
embarrassed he had been when first he had noticed her glances at
him. But then the wine had begun to go to his head--he was one
of those unfortunate wretches who cannot drink wine at all. He
had offered to take the girl home in a cab, and on the way he had
lost his head.
Oh! What a wretched thing it was. He could hardly believe that
it was he who had spoken those frenzied words; and yet he must
have spoken them, because he remembered them. He remembered that
it had taken a long time to persuade her. He had had to promise
her a ring like the one her married friend wore. Before they
entered her home she had made him take off his shoes, so that the
porter might not hear them. This had struck George particularly,
because, even flushed with excitement as he was, he had not
forgotten the warnings his father had given him as to the dangers
of contact with strange women. He had thought to himself, "This
girl must be safe. It is probably the first time she has ever
done such a thing."
But now George could get but little consolation out of that idea.
He was suffering intensely--the emotion described by the poet in
the bitter words about "Time's moving finger having writ." His
mind, seeking some explanation, some justification, went back to
the events before that night. With a sudden pang of yearning, he
thought of Lizette. She was a decent girl, and had kept him
decent, and he was lonely without her. He had been so afraid of
being found out that he had given her up when he became engaged;
but now for a while he felt that he would have to break his
resolution, and pay his regular Sunday visit to the little flat
in the working-class portion of Paris.
It was while George was fitting himself for the same career as
his father--that of notary--that he had made the acquaintance of
the young working girl. It may not be easy to believe, but
Lizette had really been a decent girl. She had a family to take
care of, and was in need. There was a grandmother in poor
health, a father not much better, and three little brothers; so
Lizette did not very long resist George Dupont, and he felt quite
virtuous in giving her sufficient money to take care of these
unfortunate people. Among people of his class it was considered
proper to take such things if one paid for them.
All the family of this working girl were grateful to him. They
adored him, and they called him Uncle Raoul (for of course he had
not been so foolish as to give them his true name).
Since George was paying for Lizette, he felt he had the right to
control her life. He gave her fair warning concerning his
attitude. If she deceived him he would leave her immediately.
He told this to her relatives also, and so he had them all
watching her. She was never trusted out alone. Every Sunday
George went to spend the day with his little "family," so that
his coming became almost a matter of tradition. He interested
her in church affairs--mass and vespers were her regular
occasions for excursions. George rented two seats, and the
grandmother went with her to the services. The simple people
were proud to see their name engraved upon the brass plate of the
pew.
The reason for all these precautions was George's terror of
disease. He had been warned by his father as to the dangers
which young men encounter in their amours. And these lessons had
sunk deep into George's heart; he had made up his mind that
whatever his friends might do, he, for one, would protect
himself.
That did not mean, of course, that he intended to live a virtuous
life; such was the custom among young men of his class, not had
it probably ever occurred to his father that it was possible for
a young man to do such a thing. The French have a phrase,
"l'homme moyen sensuel"--the average sensual man. And George was
such a man. He had no noble idealisms, no particular reverence
for women. The basis of his attitude was a purely selfish one;
he wanted to enjoy himself, and at the same time to keep out of
trouble.
He did not find any happiness in the renunciation which he
imposed upon himself; he had no religious ideas about it. On the
contrary, he suffered keenly, and was bitter because he had no
share in the amusements of his friends. He stuck to his work and
forced himself to keep regular hours, preparing for his law
examinations. But all the time he was longing for adventures.
And, of course, this could not go on forever, for the motive of
fear alone is not sufficient to subdue the sexual urge in a full-
blooded young man.
The affair with Lizette might have continued much longer had it
not been for the fact that his father died. He died quite
suddenly, while George was away on a trip. The son came back to
console his broken-hearted mother, and in the two week they spent
in the country together the mother broached a plan to him. The
last wish of the dying man had been that his son should be fixed
in life. In the midst of his intense suffering he had been able
to think about the matter, and had named the girl whom he wished
George to marry. Naturally, George waited with some interest to
learn who this might be. He was surprised when his mother told
him that it was his cousin, Henriette Loches.
He could not keep his emotion from revealing itself in his face.
"It doesn't please you?" asked his mother, with a tone
disappointment.
"Why no, mother," he answered. "It's not that. It just
surprises me."
"But why?" asked the mother. "Henriette is a lovely girl and a
good girl."
"Yes, I know," said George; "but then she is my cousin, and--"
He blushed a little with embarrassment. "I had never thought of
her in that way."
Madame Dupont laid her hand upon her son's. "Yes, George," she
said tenderly. "I know. You are such a good boy."
Now, of course, George did not feel that he was quite such a good
boy; but his mother was a deeply religious woman, who had no idea
of the truth about the majority of men. She would never have got
over the shock if he had told her about himself, and so he had to
pretend to be just what she thought him.
"Tell me," she continued, after a pause, "have you never felt the
least bit in love?"
"Why no--I don't think so," George stammered, becoming conscious
of a sudden rise of temperature in his cheeks.
"Because," said his mother, "it is really time that you were
settled in life. Your father said that we should have seen to it
before, and now it is my duty to see to it. It is not good for
you to live alone so long."
"But, mother, I have YOU," said George generously.
"Some day the Lord may take me away," was the reply. "I am
getting old. And, George, dear--" Here suddenly her voice began
to tremble with feeling-- "I would like to see my baby
grandchildren before I go. You cannot imagine what it would mean
to me."
Madame Dupont saw how much this subject distressed her son, so
she went on to the more worldly aspects of the matter.
Henriette's father was well-to-do, and he would give her a good
dowry. She was a charming and accomplished girl. Everybody
would consider him most fortunate if the match could be arranged.
Also, there was an elderly aunt to whom Madame Dupont had spoken,
and who was much taken with the idea. She owned a great deal of
property and would surely help the young couple.
George did not see just how he could object to this proposition,
even if he had wanted to. What reason could he give for such a
course? He could not explain that he already had a family--with
stepchildren, so to speak, who adored him. And what could he say
to his mother's obsession, to which she came back again and
again--her longing to see her grandchildren before she died?
Madame Dupont waited only long enough for George to stammer out a
few protestations, and then in the next breath to take them back;
after which she proceeded to go ahead with the match. The family
lawyers conferred together, and the terms of the settlement were
worked out and agreed upon. It happened that immediately
afterwards George learned of an opportunity to purchase the
practice of a notary, who was ready to retire from business in
two months' time. Henriette's father consented to advance a
portion of her dowry for this purpose.
Thus George was safely started upon the same career as his
father, and this was to him a source of satisfaction which he did
not attempt to deny, either to himself of to any one else.
George was a cautious young man, who came of a frugal and saving
stock. He had always been taught that it was his primary duty to
make certain of a reasonable amount of comfort. From his
earliest days, he had been taught to regard material success as
the greatest goal in life, and he would never have dreamed of
engaging himself to a girl without money. But when he had the
good fortune to meet one who possessed desirable personal
qualities in addition to money, he was not in the least barred
from appreciating those qualities. They were, so to speak, the
sauce which went with the meat, and it seemed to him that in this
case the sauce was of the very best.
George--a big fellow of twenty-six, with large, round eyes and a
good-natured countenance--was full blooded, well fed, with a
hearty laugh which spoke of unimpaired contentment, a soul
untroubled in its deeps. He seemed to himself the luckiest
fellow in the whole round world; he could not think what he had
done to deserve the good fortune of possessing such a girl as
Henriette. He was ordinarily of a somewhat sentimental turn--
easily influenced by women and sensitive to their charms.
Moreover, his relationship with Lizette had softened him. He had
learned to love the young working girl, and now Henriette, it
seemed, was to reap the benefit of his experience with her.
In fact, he found himself always with memories of Lizette in his
relationships with the girl who was to be his wife. When the
engagement was announced, and he claimed his first kiss from his
bride-to-be, as he placed a ring upon her finger, he remembered
the first time he had kissed Lizette, and a double blush suffused
his round countenance. When he walked arm and arm with Henriette
in the garden he remembered how he had walked just so with the
other girl, and he was interested to compare the words of the
two. He remembered what a good time had had when he had taken
Lizette and her little family for a picnic upon one of the
excursion steamers which run down the River Seine. Immediately
he decided that he would like to take Henriette on such a picnic,
and he persuaded an aunt of Henriette's to go with her as a
chaperon. George took his bride-to-be to the same little inn
where he had lunch before.
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