“A glass of sherry, dry, and ham sandwich, stale, can be obtained here,
sir,” said the dragoman; “and for dessert, the scent of parchment and
bananas. We will then attend Court 45, where I shall show you how
fundamentally our legal procedure has changed in the generation that
has elapsed since the days of the Great Skirmish.”
“Can it really be that the Law has changed? I had thought it
immutable,” said the Angel, causing his teeth to meet with difficulty:
“What will be the nature of the suit to which we shall listen?”
“I have thought it best, sir, to select a divorce case, lest you should
sleep, overcome by the ozone and eloquence in these places.”
“Ah!” said the Angel: “I am ready.”
The Court was crowded, and they took their seats with difficulty, and a
lady sitting on the Angel’s left wing.
“The public _will_ frequent this class of case,” whispered his
dragoman. “How different when you were here in 1910!”
The Angel collected himself: “Tell me,” he murmured, “which of the
grey-haired ones is the judge?”
“He in the bag-wig, sir,” returned his dragoman; “and that little lot
is the jury,” he added, indicating twelve gentlemen seated in two rows.
“What is their private life?” asked the Angel.
“No better than it should be, perhaps,” responded his dragoman
facetiously; “but no one can tell that from their words and manner,
as you will presently see. These are special ones,” he added, “and
pay income tax, so that their judgment in matters of morality is of
considerable value.”
“They have wise faces,” said the Angel. “Which is the prosecutor?”
“No, no!” his dragoman answered, vividly: “This is a civil case. That
is the plaintiff with a little mourning about her eyes and a touch of
red about her lips, in the black hat with the aigrette, the pearls,
and the fashionably sober clothes.”
“I see her,” said the Angel: “an attractive woman. Will she win?”
“We do not call it winning, sir; for this, as you must know, is a
sad matter, and implies the breaking-up of a home. She will most
unwillingly receive a decree, at least, I think so,” he added; “though
whether it will stand the scrutiny of the King’s Proctor we may wonder
a little, from her appearance.”
“King’s Proctor?” said the Angel. “What is that?”
“A celestial Die-hard, sir, paid to join together again those whom man
have put asunder.”
“I do not follow,” said the Angel fretfully.
“I perceive,” whispered his dragoman, “that I must make clear to you
the spirit which animates our justice in these matters. You know,
of course, that the intention of our law is ever to penalise the
wrongdoer. It therefore requires the innocent party, like that lady
there, to be exceptionally innocent, not only before she secures her
divorce, but for six months afterwards.”
“Oh!” said the Angel. “And where is the guilty party?”
“Probably in the south of France,” returned his dragoman, “with the new
partner of his affections. They have a place in the sun; this one a
place in the Law Courts.”
“Dear me!” said the Angel. “Does she prefer that?”
“There are ladies,” his dragoman replied, “who find it a pleasure to
appear, no matter where, so long as people can see them in a pretty
hat. But the great majority would rather sink into the earth than do
this thing.”
“The face of this one is most agreeable to me; I should not wish her to
sink,” said the Angel warmly.
“Agreeable or not,” resumed his dragoman, “they have to bring their
hearts for inspection by the public if they wish to become free
from the party who has done them wrong. This is necessary, for the
penalisation of the wrongdoer.”
“And how will he be penalised?” asked the Angel naïvely.
“By receiving his freedom,” returned his dragoman, “together with the
power to enjoy himself with his new partner, in the sun, until in due
course, he is able to marry her.”
“This is mysterious to me,” murmured the Angel. “Is not the boot on the
wrong leg?”
“Oh! sir, the law would not make a mistake like that. You are bringing
a single mind to the consideration of this matter, but that will never
do. This lady is a true and much-wronged wife; that is--let us hope
so!--to whom our law has given its protection and remedy; but she is
also, in its eyes, somewhat reprehensible for desiring to avail herself
of that protection and remedy. For, though the law is now purely the
affair of the State and has nothing to do with the Appointed, it
still secretly believes in the religious maxim: ‘Once married, always
married,’ and feels that however much a married person is neglected or
ill-treated, she should not desire to be free.”
“She?” said the Angel. “Does a man never desire to be free?”
“Oh, yes! sir, and not infrequently.”
“Does the law, then, not consider him reprehensible in that desire?”
“In theory, perhaps; but there is a subtle distinction. For, sir, as
you observe from the countenances before you, the law is administered
entirely by males, and males cannot but believe in the divine right
of males to have a better time than females; and, though they do not
say so, they naturally feel that a husband wronged by a wife is more
injured than a wife wronged by a husband.”
“There is much in that,” said the Angel. “But tell me how the oracle is
worked--for it may come in handy!”
“You allude, sir, to the necessary procedure? I will make this clear.
There are two kinds of cases: what I may call the ‘O.K.’ and what I
may call the ‘rig.’ Now in the ‘O.K.’ it is only necessary for the
plaintiff, if it be a woman, to receive a black eye from her husband
and to pay detectives to find out that he has been too closely in the
company of another; if it be a man, he need not receive a black eye
from his wife, and has merely to pay the detectives to obtain the same
necessary information.”
“Why this difference between the sexes?” asked the Angel.
“Because,” answered his dragoman, “woman is the weaker sex, things are
therefore harder for her.”
“But,” said the Angel, “the English have a reputation for chivalry.”
“They have, sir.”
“Well----” began the Angel.
“When these conditions are complied with,” interrupted his dragoman,
“a suit for divorce may be brought, which may or may not be defended.
Now, the ‘rig,’ which is always brought by the wife, is not so simple,
for it must be subdivided into two sections: ‘Ye straight rig’ and
‘Ye crooked rig.’ ‘Ye straight rig’ is where the wife cannot induce
her husband to remain with her, and discovering from him that he has
been in the close company of another, wishes to be free of him. She
therefore tells the Court that she wishes him to come back to her, and
the Court will tell him to go back. Whereupon, if he obey, the fat is
sometimes in the fire. If, however, he obeys not, which is the more
probable, she may, after a short delay, bring a suit, adducing the
evidence she has obtained, and receive a decree. This may be the case
before you, or, on the other hand, it may not, and will then be what
is called ‘Ye crooked rig.’ If that is so, these two persons, having
found that they cannot live in conjugal friendliness, have laid their
heads together for the last time, and arranged to part; the procedure
will now be the same as in ‘Ye straight rig.’ But the wife must take
the greatest care to lead the Court to suppose that she really wishes
her husband to come back; for, if she does not, it is collusion. The
more ardent her desire to part from him, the more care she must take
to pretend the opposite! But this sort of case is, after all, the
simplest, for both parties are in complete accord in desiring to be
free of each other, so neither does anything to retard that end, which
is soon obtained.”
“About that evidence?” said the Angel. “What must the man do?”
“He will require to go to an hotel with a lady friend,” replied his
dragoman; “once will be enough. And, provided they are called in the
morning, there is no real necessity for anything else.”
“H’m!” said the Angel. “This, indeed, seems to me to be all around
about the bush. Could there not be some simple method which would not
necessitate the perversion of the truth?”
“Ah, no!” responded his dragoman. “You forget what I told you,
sir. However unhappy people may be together, our law grudges their
separation; it requires them therefore to be immoral, or to lie, or
both, before they can part.”
“Curious!” said the Angel.
“You must understand, sir, that when a man says he will take a woman,
and a woman says she will take a man, for the rest of their natural
existence, they are assumed to know all about each other, though
not permitted, of course, by the laws of morality to know anything
of real importance. Since it is almost impossible from a modest
acquaintanceship to make sure whether they will continue to desire
each other’s company after a completed knowledge, they are naturally
disposed to go it ‘blind,’ if I may be pardoned the expression, and
will take each other for ever on the smallest provocations. For the
human being, sir, makes nothing of the words ‘for ever,’ when it sees
immediate happiness before it. You can well understand, therefore, how
necessary it is to make it very hard for them to get untied again.”
“I should dislike living with a wife if I were tired of her,” said the
Angel.
“Sir,” returned his dragoman confidentially, “in that sentiment you
would have with you the whole male population. And, I believe, the
whole of the female population would feel the same if they were tired
of you, as the husband.”
“That!” said the Angel, with a quiet smile.
“Ah! yes, sir; but does not this convince you of the necessity to force
people who are tired of each other to go on living together?”
“No,” said the Angel, with appalling frankness.
“Well,” his dragoman replied soberly, “I must admit that some have
thought our marriage laws should be in a museum, for they are unique;
and, though a source of amusement to the public, and emolument to the
profession, they pass the comprehension of men and angels who have not
the key of the mystery.”
“What key?” asked the Angel.
“I will give it you, sir,” said his dragoman: “The English have a
genius for taking the shadow of a thing for its substance. ‘So long,’
they say, ‘as our marriages, our virtue, our honesty, and happiness
_seem_ to be, they _are_.’ So long, therefore, as we do not dissolve a
marriage it remains virtuous, honest and happy, though the parties to
it may be unfaithful, untruthful, and in misery. It would be regarded
as awful, sir, for marriage to depend on mutual liking. We English
cannot bear the thought of defeat. To dissolve an unhappy marriage is
to recognise defeat by life, and we would rather that other people
lived in wretchedness all their days than admit that members of our
race had come up against something too hard to overcome. The English do
not care about making the best out of this life in reality so long as
they can do it in appearance.”
“Then they believe in a future life?”
“They did to some considerable extent up to the ’eighties of the last
century, and their laws and customs were no doubt settled in accordance
therewith, and have not yet had time to adapt themselves. We are a
somewhat slow-moving people, always a generation or two behind our
real beliefs.”
“They have lost their belief, then?”
“It is difficult to arrive at figures, sir, on such a question. But
it has been estimated that perhaps one in ten adults now has some
semblance of what may be called active belief in a future existence.”
“And the rest are prepared to let their lives be arranged in accordance
with the belief of that tenth?” asked the Angel, surprised. “Tell me,
do they think their matrimonial differences will be adjusted over
there, or what?”
“As to that, all is cloudy; and certain matters would be difficult
to adjust without bigamy; for general opinion and the law permit the
remarriage of persons whose first has gone before.”
“How about children?” said the Angel; “for that is no inconsiderable
item, I imagine.”
“Yes, sir, they are a difficulty. But here, again, my key will fit. So
long as the marriage _seems_ real, it does not matter that the children
know it isn’t and suffer from the disharmony of their parents.”
“I think,” said the Angel acutely, “there must be some more earthly
reason for the condition of your marriage laws than those you give me.
It’s all a matter of property at bottom, I suspect.”
“Sir,” said his dragoman, seemingly much struck, “I should not be
surprised if you were right. There is little interest in divorce where
no money is involved, and our poor are considered able to do without
it. But I will never admit that this is the reason for the state of our
divorce laws. No, no; I am an Englishman.”
“Well,” said the Angel, “we are wandering. Does this judge believe what
they are now saying to him?”
“It is impossible to inform you, for judges are very deep and know all
that is to be known on these matters. But of this you may be certain:
if anything is fishy to the average apprehension, he will not suffer it
to pass his nose.”
“Where is the average apprehension?” asked the Angel.
“There, sir,” said his dragoman, pointing to the jury with his chin,
“noted for their common sense.”
“And these others with grey heads who are calling each other friend,
though they appear to be inimical?”
“Little can be hid from them,” returned his dragoman; “but this case,
though defended as to certain matters of money, is not disputed in
regard to the divorce itself. Moreover, they are bound by professional
etiquette to serve their clients through thin and thick.”
“Cease!” said the Angel; “I wish to hear this evidence, and so does the
lady on my left wing.”
His dragoman smiled in his beard, and made no answer.
“Tell me,” remarked the Angel, when he had listened, “does this woman
get anything for saying she called them in the morning?”
“Fie, sir!” responded his dragoman; “only her expenses to the Court and
back. Though indeed, it is possible that after she had called them, she
got half a sovereign from the defendant to impress the matter on her
mind, seeing that she calls many people every day.”
“The whole matter,” said the Angel, with a frown, “appears to be in the
nature of a game; nor are the details as savoury as I expected.”
“It would be otherwise if the case were defended, sir,” returned
his dragoman; “then, too, you would have had an opportunity of
understanding the capacity of the human mind for seeing the same
incident to be both black and white; but it would take much of your
valuable time, and the Court would be so crowded that you would have a
lady sitting on your right wing also, and possibly on your knee. For,
as you observe, ladies are particularly attached to these dramas of
real life.”
“If my wife were a wrong one,” said the Angel, “I suppose that,
according to your law, I could not sew her up in a sack and place it in
the water?”
“We are not now in the days of the Great Skirmish,” replied his
dragoman somewhat coldly. “At that time any soldier who found his wife
unfaithful, as we call it, could shoot her with impunity and receive
the plaudits and possibly a presentation from the populace, though he
himself may not have been impeccable while away--a masterly method
of securing a divorce. But, as I told you, our procedure has changed
since then; and even soldiers now have to go to work in this roundabout
fashion.”
“Can he not shoot the paramour?” asked the Angel.
“Not even that,” answered his dragoman. “So soft and degenerate are
the days. Though, if he can invent for the paramour a German name, he
will still receive but a nominal sentence. Our law is renowned for
never being swayed by sentimental reasons. I well recollect a case
in the days of the Great Skirmish, when a jury found contrary to the
plainest facts sooner than allow that reputation for impartiality to be
tarnished.”
“Ah!” said the Angel absently; “what is happening now?”
“The jury are considering their verdict. The conclusion is, however,
foregone, for they are not retiring. The plaintiff is now using her
smelling salts.”
“She is a fine woman,” said the Angel emphatically.
“Hush, sir! The judge might hear you.”
“What if he does?” asked the Angel in surprise.
“He would then eject you for contempt of Court.”
“Does he not think her a fine woman, too?”
“For the love of justice, sir, be silent,” entreated his dragoman.
“This concerns the happiness of three, if not of five, lives. Look! She
is lifting her veil; she is going to use her handkerchief.”
“I cannot bear to see a woman cry,” said the Angel, trying to rise;
“please take this lady off my left wing.”
“Kindly sit tight!” murmured his dragoman to the lady, leaning across
behind the Angel’s back. “Listen, sir!” he added to the Angel: “The
jury are satisfied that what is necessary has taken place. All is well;
she will get her decree.”
“Hurrah!” said the Angel in a loud voice.
“If that noise is repeated, I will have the Court cleared.”
“I am going to repeat it,” said the Angel firmly; “she is beautiful!”
His dragoman placed a hand respectfully over the Angel’s mouth. “Oh,
sir!” he said soothingly, “do not spoil this charming moment. Hark! He
is giving her a decree _nisi_, with costs. To-morrow it will be in all
the papers, for it helps to sell them. See! She is withdrawing; we can
now go.” And he disengaged the Angel’s wing.
The Angel rose quickly and made his way towards the door. “I am going
to walk out with her,” he announced joyously.
“I beseech you,” said his dragoman, hurrying beside him, “remember the
King’s Proctor! Where is your chivalry? For _he_ has none, sir--not a
little bit!”
“Bring him to me; I will give it him!” said the Angel, kissing the tips
of his fingers to the plaintiff, who was vanishing in the gloom of the
fresh air.