The number of divorced women to be met with here, especially among
the more affluent classes, exceeds any moderate calculation. Nothing
can more clearly manifest the necessity of erecting some dike against
the torrent of immorality, which has almost inundated this capital,
and threatens to spread over all the departments.
Before the revolution, the indissolubility of marriage in France was
supposed to promote adultery in a very great degree: the vow was
broken because the knot could not be untied. At present, divorces are
so easily obtained, that a man or woman, tired of each other, have
only to plead _incompatibility of temper_, in order to slip their
necks out of the matrimonial noose. In short, some persons here
change their wedded partner with as much unconcern as they do their
linen. Thus, the two extremes touch each other; and either of them
has proved equally pernicious to morals.
Formerly, if a Frenchman kept a watchful eye on his wife, he was
reckoned jealous, and was blamed. If he adopted a contrary conduct,
and she was faithless, he was ridiculed. Not unfrequently, a young
miss, emerged from the cloisters of a convent, where she had,
perhaps, been sequestered, in order that her bloom might not eclipse
the declining charms of her mother, and who appeared timid, bashful,
and diffident, was no sooner married to a man in a certain rank in
life, than she shone as a meteor of extravagance and dissipation.
Such a wife thought of nothing but the gratification of her own
desires; because she considered it as a matter of course that all the
cares of the family ought to devolve by right on the husband.
Provided she could procure the means of satisfying her taste for
dress, and of making a figure in the _beau monde_, no other concerns
ever disturbed her imagination. If, at first, she had sufficient
resolution to resist the contagion of example, and not take a male
friend to her bosom, by way of lightening the weight of her connubial
chains, she seldom failed, in the end, to follow the fashion of the
day, and frequent the gaming-table, where her virtue was sacrificed
to discharge her debts of honour.
But what have these _would-be_ republicans to allege as an excuse in
their favour? They have no convents to initiate young girls in the
arts of dissimulation; no debauched court to contaminate, by its
example, the wavering principles of the weak part of the sex, or sap
the more determined ones of those whose mind is of a firmer texture;
nor have they any friendly, sympathizing confessors to draw a spunge,
as it were, over the trespasses hid in a snug corner of their heart.
No: every one is left to settle his own account with heaven. Yet the
libertinism which at present reigns in Paris is sufficient to make a
deep impression on persons the least given to reflection.
_Il matrimonio_, says the Italian proverb, _è un paradiso o un
inferno_. In fact, nothing can be compared to the happiness of a
married couple, united by sympathy. To them, marriage is really a
terrestrial paradise. But what more horrid than the reverse, that is,
two beings cursing the fatal hour which brought them together in
wedlock? It is a very hell on earth; for surely no punishment can
exceed that of being condemned to pass our days with the object of
our detestation.
If the indissolubility of marriage in France was formerly productive
of such bad consequences; now that the nuptial knot can be loosened
with so much facility, there can no longer exist the same plea for
adultery. Is then this accumulation of vice less the effect of the
institution of divorce in itself, than that of the undigested law by
which it was first introduced?
The law of divorce was, I find, projected in 1790, under the auspices
of the last Duke of Orleans, who, utterly regardless of the welfare
of the State, wished to revolutionize every thing, solely with a view
to his own individual interest. His object was to get rid of his
wife, who was a woman of strict virtue. This law was decreed on the
20th of September 1792, without any discussion whatever. On the 8th
of Nivôse and 4th of Floréal, year II, (29th of December 1794 and
24th of April 1795) the Convention decreed additional laws, all
tending to favour the impetuosity of the passions. Thus the door was
opened still wider to licentiousness and debauchery. By these laws,
an absence of six months is sufficient for procuring a divorce, and,
after the observance of certain forms, either of the parties may
contract a fresh marriage.
It is not difficult to conceive how many hot-headed, profligate,
unprincipled persons, of both sexes, have availed themselves of such
laws to gratify their unruly passions, their resentment, their
avarice, or their ambition. Oaths, persons, or property, are, in
these cases, little respected. If a libertine finds that he cannot
possess the object of his desires on any other terms, like Sir John
Brute, in the play, he marries her, in order to go to bed to her, and
in a few days sues for a divorce. I have been shewn here a Lothario
of this description, who, in the course of a short space of time had
been married to no less than six different women.
"Divorce," says a judicious French writer, "is a separation, the
necessity for which ought to be supported by unquestionable proofs;
otherwise, it is nothing more than a legitimate scandal."
The French often wish to assimilate themselves to the Romans, and the
Roman laws sanctioned divorce. Let us then examine how far the
comparison can, in this respect, be supported.
"Among the Romans," continues he, "the first who availed himself of
this privilege was Spurius Corbilius, because his wife was steril.
The second divorce was that of C. Sulpicius, because his wife had
gone abroad with her hair uncovered, and without a veil over her
head. Q. Anstitius divorced on account of having seen his wife speak
to a person of her own sex, who was reckoned loose in her conduct;
and Sempronius, because his had been to see the public entertainments
without having informed him. These different divorces took place
about a hundred years after the foundation of Rome. The Romans, after
that, were upwards of five hundred years without affording an
instance of any divorce. They then were moral and virtuous. But, at
length, luxury, that scourge of societies, corrupted their hearts;
and divorces became so frequent, that many women reckoned their age
by the number of their husbands." To this he might have added, that
several Roman ladies of rank were so lost to all sense of shame, that
they publicly entered their names among the licensed prostitutes.
"Marriage," concludes he, "presently became nothing more than an
object of commerce and speculation; and divorce, a tacit permission
for libertinism. Can divorce among the French, be considered
otherwise, when we reflect that this institution, which seemed likely
to draw closer the conjugal tie, by restoring it to its state of
natural liberty, is, through the abuse made of it, now only a mean of
shameful traffic, in which the more cunning of the two ruins the
ether, in short, a mound the less against the irruptions of
immorality?"
So much for the opinion of a French writer of estimation on the
effect of these laws: let us at present endeavour to illustrate it by
some examples.
A young lady, seduced by a married man, found herself pregnant. She
was of a respectable family: he was rich, and felt the consequences
of this event. What was to be done? He goes to one of his friends,
whom he knew not to be overburdened with delicacy, and proposes to
him to marry this young person, in consideration of a certain sum of
money. The friend consents, and the only question is to settle the
conditions. They bargain for some time: at last they agree for 10,000
francs (_circa_ £410 sterling). The marriage is concluded, the lady
is brought to bed, the child dies, and the gentleman sues for a
divorce. All this was accomplished in six months. As such
opportunities are by no means scarce, he may, in the course of the
year, probably, meet with another of the same nature: thus the office
of bridegroom is converted into a lucrative situation. The following
is another instance of this melancholy truth, but of a different
description.
A man about thirty-two years of age, well-made, and of a very
agreeable countenance, had been married three months to a young woman
of uncommon beauty. He was loved, nay almost adored by her. Every one
might have concluded that they were the happiest couple in Paris;
and, in fact, no cloud had hitherto overshadowed the serenity of
their union. One day when the young bride was at table with her
husband, indulging herself in expressing the happiness which she
enjoyed, a tipstaff entered, and delivered to her a paper. She read
it. What should it be but a subpoena for a divorce? At first she took
the thing for a pleasantry: but the husband soon convinced her that
nothing was more serious. He assured her that this step would make
her fortune, and his own too, if she would consent to the arrangement
which he had to propose to her. "You know," said he, "the rich and
ugly Madame C----: she has 30,000 francs a year (circa £1250
sterling); she will secure to me the half of her property, provided I
will marry her. I offer you a third, if, after having willingly
consented to our divorce, you will permit me to see you as my female
friend." Such a proposal shocked her at the moment; but a week's
reflection effected a change in her sentiments; and the business was
completed. _O tempora! O mores!_
But though many married individuals still continue to break their
chains, it appears that divorces are gradually decreasing in number;
and should the government succeed in introducing into the law on this
subject the necessary modifications, of course they will become far
less frequent.
Every legislature must be aware to what a degree plays are capable of
influencing the opinions of a nation, and what a powerful spring they
are for moving the affections. Why then are not theatrical
representations here so regulated, that the stage may conduce to the
amelioration of morals? Instead of this, in most French comedies, the
husband is generally made the butt of ridicule, and the whole plot
often lies in his being outwitted by some conceited spark. Marriage,
in short, is incessantly railed at in such a lively, satirical manner
as to delight nine-tenths of the audience.
This custom was also introduced on our stage under the reign of
Charles II; and, not many years ago, it was, I am told, as usual to
play _The London Cuckolds_ on Lord Mayor's day, as it is now to give
a representation of _George Barnwell_ during the Easter holidays.
Yet, what is this practice of exhibiting a cuckold in a ridiculous
point of view, but an apology for adultery, as if it was intended to
teach women that their charms are not formed for the possession of
one man only? Alas! it is but too true that some of the French belles
need no encouragement to infidelity: too soon all scruple is stifled
in their bosom; and then, they not only set modesty, but decency too
at defiance. _Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute_; or, as the same
idea is more fully expressed by our great moral poet:
"Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet, seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace."
However, in both the instances which I have adduced, the fault was
entirely on the side of the men; and, in general, I believe this will
prove to be the case. Recrimination, indeed, is loudly urged by our
sex in Paris; they blame the women, with a view of extenuating their
own irregularities, which scarcely know any limits.
On a question of a divorce-bill brought on, not long since, in the
House of Commons, you may recollect that a member was laughed at, for
asserting that if men expected women to reform, they ought to begin
by reforming themselves. For my part, I conceive the idea to be
perfectly just. Infidelity on the woman's side is, unquestionably,
more hurtful to society than a failure of the same sort on the man's;
yet, is it reasonable to suppose women to be so exempt from human
frailty, as to preserve their chastity inviolate, when men set them
so bad an example?