The Court over which Sir JAMES HANNEN presides was instituted for
the purification of morals by the separation of ill-assorted couples.
Matrimonial errors, which had hitherto stood upon the level of
political grievances, capable of redress only after the careful and
unbiassed attention of British legislators had been, at much expense
both of time and money, devoted to them, were henceforth to form the
subject of a special procedure in a division of the Courts of Law
created for the purpose, and honestly calculated to bring separation
and divorce within the reach even of the most modest incomes. The
tyrant man, as usual, favoured himself by the rules he laid down for
the playing of the game. For whereas infidelity on the part of the
wife is held to be, in itself, a sufficient cause for pronouncing a
decree in favour of the husband, a kind, though constantly unfaithful
husband, is protected from divorce, and only punished by separation
from the wife he has wronged. It is necessary for a man to add either
cruelty or desertion to his other offence, in order that his wife
may obtain from the laws of her country the opportunity of marrying
someone else. But the wit of woman has proved equal to the emergency.
Nowhere, it may be safely stated, have more tales of purely
imaginative atrocity been listened to with greater attention, or with
more favourable results, than in the Divorce Court. On an incautious
handshake a sprained wrist and an arm bruised into all the colours of
the rainbow have been not infrequently grafted. A British imprecation,
and a banged door, have often become floods of invective and a
knock-down blow; and a molehill of a pinch has, under favourable
cultivation, been developed into a mountain of ill-treatment, on the
top of which a victorious wife has in the end, triumphantly planted
the banner of freedom.
[Illustration]
Hence the Divorce Court, after some years of suspicion, has gradually
come to be looked upon as one of the sacred institutions of
the country. And, speaking generally, those who make use of its
facilities, however much certain of the more strait-laced may frown,
are considered by society at large to have done a thing which is
surprisingly right and often enviable. The result at any rate is that
the number of the divorced increases year by year, and that a lady
whose failings have been established against her by a judicial decree,
may be quite sure of a hand of ardent sympathisers of both sexes,
amongst whom she can hold her head as high as her inclination prompts
her without exciting a larger number of spiteful comments than are
allotted to her immaculate and undecreed sisters. She may not have
been able to abide the question of the Counsel who cross-examined
her, but she is certainly free, even in a wider sense than before.
She may not, perhaps, stand on so lofty a social pinnacle as the
merely-separated lady whose husband still lives, and to whose male
friends the fact that she in practically husbandless, and at the same
time disabled from marriage, gives a delightful sense both of zest and
security. On the other hand, the separated lady must be to a certain
extent circumspect, lest she should place a weapon for further
punishment in the hands of her husband. But to the Divorcée all things
apparently, are permitted.
When she left the Court in which, to use her own words, "all her
budding hopes had been crushed by the triumph of injustice," the
beautiful Divorcée (for in order to be truly typical the Divorcée is
necessarily beautiful) might have proceeded immediately to plant them
afresh in the old soil. The various gentlemen who had sustained their
reputation as men of honour by tampering on her behalf and on their
own, with the strict letter of the truth, naturally felt that the
boldness of their denials entitled them to her lasting regard, and
showed themselves ready to aid her with their counsel. But, though she
never ceased to protest her innocence of all that had been laid to her
charge and proved against her, she was sufficiently sensible to give
them to understand that for a time, at least, her path in the world
would be easier if they ceased to accompany her. They accepted the
sentence of banishment with a good grace, knowing perfectly well
that it was not for long. The Divorcée then withdrew from the flaming
placards of the daily papers, on which she had figured during the past
week, and betook herself to the seclusion of her bijou residence in
the heart of the most fashionable quarter. Here she pondered for a
short time upon the doubtful unkindness of fate which had deprived her
of a husband whom she despised, and of a home which his presence had
made insupportable. But she soon roused herself to face her new lack
of responsibility, and to enjoy it. At first, she moved cautiously.
There were numerous sympathisers who urged her to defy the world, such
as it is, and to show herself everywhere entirely careless of what
people might say. Such conduct might possibly have been successful,
but the Divorcée foresaw a possible risk to her reputation, and
abstained. She began, therefore, by making her public appearances
infrequent. In company with the devoted widow, whose evidence
had almost saved her from an adverse verdict, she arranged placid
tea-parties at which the casual observer might have imagined that
the rules of social decorum were more strictly enforced than in the
household of an archbishop. Inquiry, however, might have revealed the
fact that a large proportion of the ladies present at these gatherings
had either shaken off the matrimonial shackles, or proposed to do
so, whether as plaintiffs or as defendants, whenever a favourable
opportunity presented itself. The men, too, who were, after a time,
admitted to these staid feasts, were not altogether archiepiscopal,
though they behaved as they were dressed, quite irreproachably. To
counter-balance them to some extent, the Divorcée determined to secure
the presence and the countenance of a clergyman.
After some search, she discovered one who was enthusiastic, deficient
in worldly knowledge, and susceptible. To him she related her own
private version of her wrongs, which she seasoned with quite a
pretty flow of tears. The amiable cleric yielded without a struggle,
and readily placed at her service the protection of his white
tie. Thus strengthened, she moved forward a little further. She
revisited theatres; she was heard of at Clubs; she shone again at
dinner-parties, and in a year or so had organised for herself a
social circle which entirely satisfied her desires. Sometimes she even
allowed herself to dabble in good works. She was accused of having
written a religious poem for a serious Magazine; but all that was ever
proved against her was, that a remarkable series of articles on _The
Homes of the Poor_ bore traces of a style that was said to be hers.
Evil tongues still whispered in corners, and cynics were heard to
scoff occasionally; but the larger world, which abhors cynics, and
only believes what is good, began to smile upon her. She did not
appear to value its smiles,--but they were useful. Whenever London
tired her, she flitted to Paris, or to the Riviera, or even to
Egypt or Algiers. She subscribed to charities, and acted in Amateur
Theatricals. Finally, she married a gentleman who was believed by his
friends to be a poet, and who certainly qualified for the title by the
romance he had woven about her. With him she lived for many years a
poetic and untrammelled existence, and, when she died, many dowagers
sent wreaths as tokens of their sorrow at the loss of an admirable
woman.
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