VI

"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 wrong-doer. 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 wrong-doer."

"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 your 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. Whereon, 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.