“In a lofty room, ill lighted and worse ventilated, situate in Portugal Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, there sit nearly the whole year round, one, two, three or four gentlemen in wigs, as the case may be, with little writing desks before them, constructed after the fashion of those used by the judges of the land, barring the French polish. There is a box of barristers on their right hand; there is an enclosure of insolvent debtors on their left; and there is an inclined plane of most especially dirty faces in their front. These gentlemen are the Commissioners of the Insolvent Court, and the place in which they sit is the Insolvent Court itself.”Charles Dickens: “Pickwick.” Chap. XLIII.
“In a lofty room, ill lighted and worse ventilated, situate in Portugal Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, there sit nearly the whole year round, one, two, three or four gentlemen in wigs, as the case may be, with little writing desks before them, constructed after the fashion of those used by the judges of the land, barring the French polish. There is a box of barristers on their right hand; there is an enclosure of insolvent debtors on their left; and there is an inclined plane of most especially dirty faces in their front. These gentlemen are the Commissioners of the Insolvent Court, and the place in which they sit is the Insolvent Court itself.”
Charles Dickens: “Pickwick.” Chap. XLIII.
A bankrupt is not a person who breaks the bank, as is popularly supposed. On the contrary, he is, or ought to be, by his derivation a person whose bank is broken by others. A learned professor tells me that the Florentines of old had some sort of ceremony in which they marched to their insolvent neighbour’s office and broke up his bank, or bench, or money table to show the world that he was no longer commercially sound. Until recently in English law bankruptcy was merely a trader’s remedy designed to protect an unfortunate business man from life-long imprisonment for debt resulting from unfortunate business ventures. Latterly the privilege of bankruptcy has been extended to everycitizen that has a debt of fifty pounds and ten pounds to pay the fees necessary to filing his petition.
But, in order to become insolvent, it is a condition precedent that at some time or another one should have been solvent. And one difficulty about applying any form of bankruptcy laws to the poor is that they are too often born insolvent, live insolvent, and die insolvent. There must be many fellow citizens in this country of ours who never knew what it was for twelve months of their life to have a living wage and be out of debt. As long as we have imprisonment for debt credit of some kind and on some terms ruinous or otherwise is always obtainable. At the present, bankruptcy is almost regarded as a sign of grace, a condition of honourable martyrdom into which the careless and good-natured ones of the world find themselves after a short struggle in the slough of solvency. To the rich it is a very present help in time of trouble, but the poor, never having been sufficiently solvent, can never make use of its aid.
When the worker has a living wage guaranteed him by the State it will be necessary to make him a new bankruptcy law so that the living wage cannot be attached and converted to the use of the Shylocks of this world. The law protects the infant and the idiot from the results of their own foolishness, and we shall find it advisable in the future to extend similar protection to the grown-up idiots and infants who are all too prevalent in the world. Antonio was a normal business man, but he was no match for Shylock, and, though no lawyer canapprove of the way in which the Courts treated Shylock, the real lesson of the story is that laws are necessary to protect Antonio, the fool, from Shylock, the knave.
In order, then, that the full blessings of bankruptcy may be made available to the poor, we must certainly tackle the problem of the living wage, which to my mind is the most urgent social question of our time. So many things seem to hang upon it. Rent, taxation, education, physical and moral improvement, eugenics, all the social discussions of the time, land you back on the question of the living wage. Sometimes, I think, we are on the eve of a new era when every capable honest citizen will have the same right to a living wage that he now has to free board and lodging and stone breaking in the workhouse. I would rather have a legal right to a living wage than a vote, unless I was clear that I could use the latter to obtain the former and many better things to boot.
As a matter of dull, dry, literary history all the prophets and singers and poets, from King David, Isaiah and Jeremiah down to Carlyle, Kingsley, Ruskin, Dickens and Tom Hood, have said or sung the praises of the living wage. There are many who regard Jeremiah as a kind of gloomy dean, but for my part I find him most encouraging. When he says: “Woe unto him that buildeth his house by unrighteousness and his chambers by wrong; that useth his neighbour’s service without wages and giveth him not for his work,” I think that he is absolutely right on the spot. I cannot believe thatit was his view that woe would providentially descend upon the man who paid sweating wages and that it would come in the shape of lions and bears or lightning and earthquakes; on the contrary, I read it, that, in Jeremiah’s view, it was the duty of citizens to see that their fellows did not behave like this. The prophet intended to tell us that our first duty was to persuade our fellow citizens employing labour to give their workmen a living wage, but if we could not achieve this by reasoning and exhorting them, then it was our duty to give such anti-social churls statutory woe, just as we mete out statutory woe to the naughty ones who get drunk and beat their wives, and, indeed, for the same social reasons.
David and all his biblical backers were as eager as Mr. Philip Snowden and his Socialist friends to promote the living wage, and, as they put it, to “deliver the poor from him that is too strong for him.” That, in a phrase, is the modern problem of the living wage. The trust, the combine, the limited company, the corporation or Government office are bound in the nature of things to become the spoilers of the poor and needy unless there is some power delegated by the State to some judicial authority to “deliver the poor from him that is too strong for him.”
But it is not sufficient to cite poetry and Psalms and the “Song of the Shirt”—for then your Thomas Gradgrind comes along—a man of realities, sir, a man of facts and calculations, a man who proceeds upon the principle that two and two are four and nothing over, and who is not going to be talked intoallowing for anything over—Thomas Gradgrind shakes his square finger at you and says: “How are you going to do it?” And I agree that Gradgrind is deserving an answer. I do not say we must wait until we convince him, for Gradgrinds are obstinate, stubborn fellows, but we must satisfy the majority that we have a fair answer to his objections and a practical programme to propose. The problem cannot be shirked for ever. Even in the prophet Carlyle’s day it was a matter in regard to which “if something be not done something will do itself one day and in a fashion that will please nobody.”
And shortly the way in which it will come about is by voluntary conciliation, the erection of joint boards of employers and workmen with a right of appeal to a business legal tribunal—something akin to the Railway Commission—which shall have power to make and enforce a decree to the worker of at least so much of his fair share of an industry as shall amount to a living wage. I can see nothing revolutionary in this proposal. It really only follows out the trend of modern legislation. If a man has a smoking chimney, or pollutes a river, or goes about in public with an infectious disease, we fine or imprison him for his anti-social misconduct. Surely a man who pursues an industry that does not make a living wage for the workers in it is equally an enemy of the people, to be dealt with as such by the law! As Mr. Justice Gordon laid it down in the Australian Labour Courts: “If any particular industry cannot keep going and pay its workpeoplea living wage it must be shut up.” Some day that will be the law of England. No one can deny the common sense of it.
A very encouraging sign of the times is that both sides are discovering the uselessness of strikes. In Mr. Snowden’s frank words, “a strike never did much substantial gain to the strikers.” It is not only that the strike or lock-out is a crime against helpless women and children, that it wastes the substance and savings of employers and employed and embitters their relations for a generation—all that we knew before; the new and comforting message is that the strike does not “get there,” it does notsucceed, and therefore, as Mr. Snowden says, “just as war between nations cannot be defended either ethically or economically, so labour disputes are indefensible.”
And there are other indications that conciliation and agreement in labour matters are to have a fair trial. Already in the railway world an interesting experiment has been made. I have seen enough of it in the working to know that it is not such a spavined animal as some of our political jockeys would have us believe. When the railway conciliation boards were set up the employers and workmen, where it was possible, agreed upon an independent chairman to sit with them in case there was a deadlock. Several boards of different companies invited me to undertake this honourable position. I need hardly say that I fancied myself not a little at receiving such flattering invitations, and meeting a friend, who was an eminent railway solicitor, Itold him the news—not, I suspect, without a note of pardonable triumph in the phrasing.
“What!” he cried; “do you mean to say that the companies and the men have agreed upon you as chairman?”
“That is so,” I replied, with dignity, being a little hurt at his surprise and astonishment.
“Well, I’m——. However you’ll never have anything to do,” he added with a grunt of satisfaction.
“And why not?” I asked.
“Because,” he replied, with great deliberation, “if they could agree about you they could agree about anything.”
I thanked him for the compliment, but, analysing the saying since, I am not so sure that the commendation I accepted was really proffered to me. Be that as it may, it has turned out to be true. On the few occasions on which my services were required, I have found that things were capable of adjustment and settlement owing to the excellent good feeling on each side and the real endeavour made by everyone to try and understand the other’s point of view. This is where the independent chairman is of real service. In explaining to his virgin mind the difficulties of the case, every point in it has to be discussed and explained anew, and in this way the weaker positions of the argument are made clearer to those who are defending them. Thus it becomes easier to give way about some matter of detail, and concession breeds concession.
Without making too much of my own smallexperience, it bears out my theoretical expectation, and I am satisfied that a conciliatory court for trade disputes is a live business proposition, calculated to save employers much unnecessary woe, and that if Jeremiah had thought of it, he would have proposed to set one up as a practical step towards the living wage.
Until, then, we have established a living wage for the worker, the question of his bankruptcy is in a large measure academic. At present bankruptcy, like divorce, is rightly regarded as a luxury for the well-to-do. I know that to some minds the word “bankruptcy” connotes poverty, but if you look into the facts and history of the matter, you will find that, though bankruptcy may on occasion lead to poverty, a poor man never does, or can, become a bankrupt.
People fail to the tune of five or six million pounds a year, but when you analyse the list of the insolvent you will not find many poor folk among them. There are lords and gentlemen, solicitors and stockbrokers, merchants and manufacturers, builders and farmers, and butchers, bakers, and candlestick makers.
But the nearest you will find to poor people are lodging-house keepers and coffee-house and fried fish shop proprietors. These are precarious trades, and the working man, being a good sportsman, likes to have a gamble in them with his savings. In this way he joins the aristocracy, and becomes an eligible bankrupt. But the labourer and artisan, the real working men, have no more chance ofbankruptcy than they have of election to the Athenæum or the Carlton.
Bankruptcy is a legal status jealously guarded by the caste to which it belongs. The poor man reads in the paper of builders and merchants failing for their thousands, of well-paid accountants carefully investigating the history of their financial fall; he puts his head into the Registrar’s Court and hears an amiable official receiver sympathetically tracing the career of the well-groomed bankrupt in front of him; he sees the judge present the unhappy fellow with a clean slate, from which all his debts are wiped away, and hears him announce to the unfortunate insolvent the date upon which the law will allow him to start becoming insolvent again.
And the working man thinks to himself of the twenty or thirty pounds that he owes, and how pleasant it would be if an accountant would add it up and a judge tell him that he need not worry any more about it; but when he begins to inquire further into the subject he finds that bankruptcy is one of the good things of this world that he cannot afford.
Bankruptcy, successful bankruptcy, is not so easy of achievement as you might think. It is not everyone who knows how to become a bankrupt. There are a lot of big, expensive law books written on this subject by clever fellows who spend their lives soothing the bankrupt’s last hours and winding him up according to law and order, with costs out of the estate, but you need not study these to learn how to become a bankrupt. Most bankrupts arepig-headed fellows, and achieve bankruptcy in their own foolish amateur way. They read the books about it afterwards.
To begin with, you certainly want money, or at least an overdraft and plenty of credit. Intending bankrupts generally wear very good clothes; especially are they particular about the shine of their silk hat. Bankers and intelligent business men have, in all ages, given credit to top hats, white waistcoats, and gold watch chains. The poor man has none of these, and therefore cannot obtain that overdraft which is one of the first essentials of bankruptcy.
The bankrupt has a curious affection for jewellery. He buys large quantities of this commodity, and sells it again at a loss to stave off the evil day and add to his deficiency. I read in the Board of Trade reports of a failure due to gambling and extravagance, in which the debtor purchased jewellery for £40,000 and sold it the same day for £10,000. If he had been a poor man I think maybe the police would have tried to find a law to give him a rest cure for a few months in one of His Majesty’s gaols, but he failed for over £70,000, and the probable value of his assets was £175.
Perhaps he was a bit of an aristocrat. Anyhow the police left him alone. I cannot even tell you his name, for the kind Inspector-General in Bankruptcy, fearful of causing pain to the sorrowing, never tells you the names and addresses of the people whose history he writes. He speaks of him as “No. 1512 of 1911.” The poor fellow had no occupation, hiscruel father only allowed him a miserable thousand a year, so what could No. 1512 do but run into debt? The wonder is that he failed for so little as £70,000.
No. 614 of 1907 was not much of a record, but he will do as another example. He, too, had no occupation except qualifying for a bankrupt and ultimately failed for £21,292 with assetsnil. He started his wild career at the age of nineteen with expectations of a fortune when he got to the age of twenty-five. With that charming simplicity and cunning, characteristic of the whelps of the vulgar rich, he proceeded to moneylenders, and at the date of the receiving order had created charges exceeding £430,000 on his reversion of such complexity that every mortgagee disputed the right of every prior encumbrancer. This would not matter so much, as all these victims were doubtless moneylenders and a lot of the money would go to estimable lawyers to smooth out the wrinkled parchment muddle, but then at the back of all those were the unsecured creditors, poor tradesmen and others. They were to get nothing.
No. 1103 of 1908 was an even smaller fellow. This debtor was educated at Oxford and, on leaving the university in 1901, he was in debt to the extent of £4,500. I have a passion for statistics, and I should like to see a balance sheet showing on one side the expenses of the four thousand Oxford undergraduates during three years of residence, and on the other side the earnings of the same four thousand undergraduates for a similar period in, say, fifteen ortwenty years afterwards. I fear it would not be much of an advertisement for Oxford. No. 1103’s father paid up his creditors to the extent at least of fifteen shillings in the pound, and gave him a fresh start. He was in trouble again in 1906, through betting and extravagance, and failed for £20,392—assets £1,103.
The French have an excellent system of declaring these youngsters to be prodigals and putting them under a committee as we do lunatics with property, and no doubt in money matters they are akin to the insane, and are really to be pitied and cared for. But to the poor it must be strange to see debt and the disaster of debt causing such different results in law to different classes of people, and it must be hard for them to understand why they, too, are not fit subjects for the blessings of bankruptcy rather than gaol.
And what am I to say to my friend Joseph the signalman, at twenty-nine shillings a week, when he shows me some of these spicy stories of the Inspector-General’s report cut out of the local paper.
“What has it all got to do with you, Joseph?”
“Well,” he says, “I’ve been thinking why should not I do a bit of a failure like No. 1512 of 1911? I can buy a gramophone and a watch, and a few lucky wedding rings and a family Bible, and a plush drawing-room suite on the instalment system, and I can borrow a pound or two on a promissory note. Of course betting and beer cannot be done on the nod in my class of life, but one can owe a bit of rent, and altogether I see my way to do a failure up to,say, thirty pounds. Why shouldn’t I go bankrupt?”
“Well, the answer is very simple,” I have to tell him. “The rules of the game are made by the rich for the rich, and not for you, Joseph, at all. Oh, dear, no! In the first place you must have a debt of fifty pounds.”
“Well,” replies Joseph, “I think I could bring it as high as that if I tried.”
“And next you must have a creditor to make you bankrupt, and unless he thinks there is some stuffing in you or wool on your back a creditor is not going to waste his time and money making the likes of you bankrupt.”
“But,” says my hopeful friend Joseph, “what is the meaning of a chap filing his own petition? I’ve often read of that. Why shouldn’t I file my petition?”
“My dear, simple fellow, you surely do not think the clever ones of the earth who look after your interests have not thought all that out? You take your petition to the Bankruptcy Court and see what happens. You will find the usual janitor at the door with his open palm. Of course you are expected to pay a fee—you have learned enough about English Courts to know that you do not get ‘owt for nowt’ in any of them. But in the Bankruptcy Court, my young friend, they foresaw you coming along and they have put the figure too high for you. Ten pounds, money down! That’s the price. If you want to set all the pretty little figures working, the official receiver smiling, the registrar writing it alldown, and the judge nodding on the bench, and the Board of Trade publishing statistics about you—ten pounds into the slot, my young friend, and the figures will work.
“But you have not got ten pounds, Joseph, and you could not raise the sum if you tried, so you will have to go back to work and pay twenty shillings in the pound somehow. And don’t go and sell your gramophone and drawing-room suite, for they are on the hire system, and that would put you in the dock, where I hope you may never be. No. 1512 bought his £40,000 worth of jewels out and out, or said he did, and it was a Paris jeweller, anyhow, and I believe he was one of the ‘nuts’ and not your class at all, Joseph, but you may take it from me that you must not expect to be treated as he was. Have I said enough, my dear friend? Are you quite satisfied? Bankruptcy, I can assure you, is not for Joseph. Oh, dear, no!”
It is only fair to the law and to the memory of Mr. Chamberlain, who made the law, to remember that when he introduced the Bankruptcy Act of 1883 he invented a system of small bankruptcies called administration orders, whereby poor folk whose debts do not amount to fifty pounds may make a composition with their creditors. Let me set down in his own words exactly what he intended and tried to do. I quote from his speech on the second reading of the Bill:
“What he now desired to call attention to was the clause which followed and which dealt with the case of debtors who owed less than fifty pounds. Thatwas the class of debtors who filled our County Courts with plaints and added very considerably to the number of the occupants of our gaols. It had always been felt to be a great hardship that while a large debtor could with ease relieve himself of all his liabilities he or his trustees might be prosecuting a poor man for thirty or forty shillings, and the latter might be sent to prison without having any means provided for him to make a composition with his creditors, and when, after satisfying the debt, he came out of gaol he was still liable in full to all his other creditors.”
········
“But the more important provision which he had made for dealing with this subject was that under which a County Court judge might in future make an order for the payment by a debtor who owed less than fifty pounds by instalments or otherwise of all or any part of his debts. A debtor who was brought up on a judgment summons or a County Court plaint might state that he was indebted to other persons, might give in a schedule of his debts and propose an arrangement for discharging them, and, if the Court thought it reasonable, it might at once confirm it, so that a small debtor would thus be in exactly the same position as a large debtor who had succeeded in making a composition with his creditors or in arranging for a scheme of liquidation. Although he had not abolished in all cases imprisonment for debt, yet, if these provisions became law, it could no longer be said that any inequality existed as between rich and poor. The resort to imprisonment tosecure payment would be much easier, and a large discretion would be vested on the judges to arrange for the relief to the small debtor by a reasonable composition.”
I have set this out at length because it is enormously encouraging to know that thirty years ago Mr. Chamberlain’s ideal was to destroy the County Court imprisonment for debt and to give the working man who fell into debt a bankruptcy system similar to that of the rich.
Why did it fail?
Well, it has not been wholly a failure, but it certainly has not fulfilled all its author’s generous hopes. In the first place the fifty-pound limit is too small, another reason of its non-success is that it is a voluntary system of some complication in competition with the simple, brutal method of the judgment summons and imprisonment for debt, but probably its unpopularity is chiefly due to the fact that the Treasury has always deliberately crabbed it by imposing harsh and unreasonable fees.
No system of this kind will be successful without compulsion and some clerk of the Court in the position of an official receiver to advise the poor how to go about the matter and to see that the order made is carried out. Such a system is in vogue in some Courts and has proved a success in mitigating imprisonment for debt and holding out a helping hand to those who were drifting into insolvency. But the system as it stands depends too much on the initiative of the County Court judge or theregistrar. Thus we find on a working-class circuit like Oldham, Rochdale, etc., there will be over six hundred orders made, whereas in Whitechapel only two orders are made in the same year. Systems favourable to the working classes flourish more vigorously in the North than in the South.
You must not suppose the working man is allowed to cast off his debts in the wholesale way in which the thorough-bred, blue-blooded bankrupt does. Not a bit of it. The order made against him is that he shall pay his debts to the extent of so many shillings in the pound at so many shillings a month. If he does not carry out the order there is prison for him for every instalment he fails to pay if the judge so orders, or at the best his order is rescinded and all his creditors are down on him again as before.
But the main drawback to the business is the extortionate fees charged by the Treasury. Here is a poor devil with twenty-five shillings and a wife and family and, let us say, thirty pounds of debt, and the judge gives him an administration order to pay ten shillings in the pound at five shillings a month. The Treasury are at once down on him. Their fees are always calculated, not on the dividend paid, but on the total amount of the debts, and they insist in every case on two shillings in the pound. Thus, in the case of the man with thirty pounds of debt, the Treasury want three pounds money down before the creditors get anything. In 1911 the Treasury took no less than £13,000 in these fees.
In this matter we cannot acquit the law of theoffence of grinding the poor. Imagine a wealthy country like this squeezing the insolvent poor out of their weekly pittances instead of helping them to pay their debts. I call it a wicked policy for the State to throw impediments in the way of a working-class man who is struggling out of the back-waters of debt into the fairway of solvency.
Do not let us shut our eyes to what it means, for the Treasury is only our servant and ought to be doing our will, and the responsibility is yours and mine. For we know that every penny of that £13,000 comes out of the mouths of hungry women and children or, at the best, robs them of so many boots and so much clothing.
What fees do the Treasury receive from No. 1512 of 1911 and his like? Two shillings in the pound on the rich man’s £70,000 of debt might enable the Chancellor to treat the poor more leniently. But the rich man pays his entrance fee of ten pounds and is a life member of the Bankruptcy Club. The Treasury never thinks of touching him for a subscription of two shillings in the pound on the amount of his debts. Some day there will come along a Chancellor of the Exchequer who will be a Good Samaritan, and the Treasury will cease to strip the poor debtor of his raiment to the tune of £13,000 a year.
Of course it is very easy to blame a public department and throw ugly words at the lords thereof. One gets into a bad habit of blaming those in high places for the inequalities of things. I wonder if I were Chancellor whether I should get rid of thatshameful tax on the poorest of the poor. Perhaps not. After all, the Good Samaritan was speculating with his own oil and investing his own twopence. The oil and the twopence of the Exchequer belong to the public and must be dealt with according to the rules of statecraft.
And there may be some grave national danger beyond my humble ken that makes it necessary for England to dirty her hands with that £13,000.
DIVORCE
“We have thought to tie the nuptial knot of our marriages more fast and firm by having taken away all means of dissolving it; but the knot of the will and affection is so much the more slackened and made loose, by how much that of constraint is drawn closer; and on the contrary, that which kept the marriages at Rome so long in honour and inviolate, was the liberty every one who so desired had to break them; they kept their wives the better because they might part with them if they would; and in the full liberty of divorce, five hundred years and more passed away before anyone made use on’t.”Michel de Montaigne: “Essays.”Translated by Charles Cotton. Book II., Chap. XV.
“We have thought to tie the nuptial knot of our marriages more fast and firm by having taken away all means of dissolving it; but the knot of the will and affection is so much the more slackened and made loose, by how much that of constraint is drawn closer; and on the contrary, that which kept the marriages at Rome so long in honour and inviolate, was the liberty every one who so desired had to break them; they kept their wives the better because they might part with them if they would; and in the full liberty of divorce, five hundred years and more passed away before anyone made use on’t.”
Michel de Montaigne: “Essays.”Translated by Charles Cotton. Book II., Chap. XV.
Nearly four hundred years ago Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury, was burned at the stake over against Balliol College, Oxford. You remember how a few days before, in a moment of weakness, he had signed a recantation, and how when the fire was kindled and the flames licked up the faggots they revived the spirit of the martyr within him, and he thrust his right hand into the flames, crying out: “This was the hand that wrote it; therefore it shall first suffer punishment.” But if that hand had offended in matters spiritual, in practical matters it had done good work for the State.
Cranmer’s “Reformatio Legum Ecclesiasticarum” contains some of the best sense about divorce lawreform that I have ever read. Its proposals are moderate, sensible and in harmony with the religious ideas of his day, which seem to have been broader and more rational than those of to-day. Had Edward VI. lived a little longer Cranmer’s treatise would have been enacted as the statute law of the country. It is pitiful to think of the four hundred years of misery and injustice under which the citizens of this country have suffered in matters relating to divorce owing to a change of Government in 1553. The Scots did better out of the Reformation and have had a more or less satisfactory divorce law in working order since that date.
Shortly, the propositions that Cranmer proposed were these, and they will be found, I think, to run parallel with the views of the common-sense citizen of to-day. He laid down the command that no husband or wife may abandon the other of his or her own free will and, in order that this might be a practical ideal, he set down the causes for which the Courts were to grant relief. Divorce was allowed for adultery, unless both parties were guilty; desertion; the unduly protracted absence of the husband; or the deadly hostility of the parties. Prolonged ill-treatment of the wife gave her a right to divorce, but even here, as long as there was any hope of improvement, the duty of the ecclesiastical judge was to reason with the husband and make him give bail for good behaviour. Only in the last resort must “she on her part be helped by the remedy of divorce.”
Great stress is laid throughout the treatise on thedesirability of reconciliation. “Since in matrimony there is the closest possible union and the highest degree of love that can be imagined, we earnestly desire that the innocent party should forgive the guilty and take him back again should there seem to be any reasonable hope of a better way of life.” Practical effect was to be given to this principle by the Court before proceeding to divorce.
Cranmer was entirely at one with the more advanced thought of to-day in his detestation of “separation orders.” Separation without divorce was, he realised, an overture to immorality.
“It was formerly customary,” he writes, “in the case of certain crimes to deprive married people of the right of association atbed and boardthough in all other respects their marriage tie remained intact; and since this practice is contrary to Holy Scripture, involves the greatest confusion, and has introduced an accumulation of evils into matrimony, it is our will that the whole thing be by our authority abolished.” What he would have said about our wholesale police court method of separating married people without giving them any rights to form new ties one does not like to imagine. One cannot turn from the short and pithy “Reformatio Legum Ecclesiasticarum” of the sixteenth century to the colossal unwieldy Blue Books of the twentieth century with any sense of satisfaction. Perhaps the most interesting thing to be got out of the latter is a study in contrasts between the body, flavour, and bouquet of archbishops of different vintages.
Thomas Cranmer’s services to the State being nolonger available after the Balliol fire, the choice of his Majesty Edward VII., when he issued his Royal Warrant in 1909 for the Divorce Commission, fell on “The Most Reverend Father in God Our right trusty and entirely beloved Counsellor Cosmo Gordon, Archbishop of York, Primate of England and Metropolitan.”
One would have hoped that after four hundred years further consideration of Cranmer’s views on divorce—the latter-day representative of Cranmer’s Church would have been able to give King Edward VII. at least as good counsel as his predecessor gave to Edward VI. No doubt the Minority Report that he ultimately wrote fairly represents the narrower views of modern ecclesiastics, but it is a sad thing to see the leader of a great Church absolutely out of touch with the practical reforms that those who know the lives of the poor admit to be necessary. I should regret if, in a moment of spiritual insight, it should be made clear to our good archbishop that in signing the Minority Report his right hand had been guilty of offence, or that he should think fit to discipline himself after Cranmer’s example; but if he had thrust his Minority Report into the fire, Church and State might have sung a joyful psalm of conflagration and congratulation. Alas! Edward VI. passed away without reform, and our brave King Edward VII. changed his world whilst the Commissioners were still commissioning, and maybe it will be Edward VIII.’s turn some four hundred years hence to sign the new divorce law. Let nothing be done in a hurry.
From Cranmer’s day until 1857 no divorce law was passed. In the meantime, if you were a peer with a naughty wife, you got an Act of Parliament passed to divorce her. It was an expensive proceeding and, incidentally, of doubtful legality. But the eugenics of nobility and the purity of breed in the peerage made some such machinery necessary, and so you had “An Act for Lord Roos to marry again,” and others similarly entitled. Only the very rich at the rate of two or three a year could avail themselves of this procedure, and, of course, the very poor had not a look in at all.
It was a judge who awakened the world to the iniquity of it all, and he did it by a jest. There are some funny things said in the High Court to-day, but they do not seem to be designed to push the world along as this witty speech did. It was Mr. Justice Maule—a sly dog, the hero of many a good circuit story—that one about the threatening letters, for instance—it was Maule J. in a bigamy case,Reginav.Thomas Hall, tried at Warwick in 1845, who woke up the country to the fact that there was a divorce problem, and that it wanted solving.
Hall was a labouring man convicted of bigamy and called up for sentence. Maule, in passing sentence, said that it did appear that he had been hardly used.
“I have indeed, my Lord,” called out poor Hall, “it is very hard.”
“Hold your tongue, Hall,” quoth the judge, “you must not interrupt me. What I say is the law of the land which you in common with everyone else arebound to obey. No doubt it is very hard for you to have been so used and not to be able to have another wife to live with you when Maria had gone away to live with another man, having first robbed you; but such is the law. The law in fact is the same to you as it is to the rich man; it is the same to the low and poor as it is to the mighty and rich and through it you alone can hope to obtain effectual and sufficient relief, and what the rich man would have done you should have done also, you should have followed the same course.”
“But I had no money, my Lord,” exclaimed Hall.
“Hold your tongue,” rejoined the judge, “you should not interrupt me, especially when I am only speaking to inform you as to what you should have done and for your good. Yes, Hall, you should have brought an action and obtained damages, which probably the other side would not have been able to pay, in which case you would have had to pay your own costs perhaps a hundred or a hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Oh, Lord!” ejaculated the prisoner.
“Don’t interrupt me, Hall,” said Maule, “but attend. But even then you must not have married again. No, you should have gone to the Ecclesiastical Court and then to the House of Lords, where, having proved that all these preliminary matters had been complied with, you would then have been able to marry again! It is very true, Hall, you might say, ‘Where was all the money to come from to pay for all this?’ And certainly that was aserious question as the expenses might amount to five or six hundred pounds while you had not as many pence.”
“As I hope to be saved, I have not a penny—I am only a poor man.”
“Well, don’t interrupt me; that may be so, but that will not exempt you from paying the penalty for the felony you have undoubtedly committed. I should have been disposed to have treated the matter more lightly if you had told Maria the real state of the case and said, ‘I’ll marry you if you choose to take your chance and risk it,’ but this you have not done.”
And so the judge gave Hall three months or, as some say, four. But that was because he had not told Maria all about it. It was for not playing cricket, not for breaking the law. And where the parties commit bigamy out of sheer respectability and a desire to placate Mrs. Grundy and have some marriage lines in a teapot on the mantelpiece to show the lady who lives next door, the judges, providing there is no deception, wisely treat the offence as something far less deserving of imprisonment than non-payment of rates. Why the police prosecute in these cases the chief constable only knows.
And the scorn and irony that Maule poured on the law of divorce roused the public conscience, and there was a Royal Commission in 1850 and a Divorce Act in 1857, and the result was the Divorce Court as we know it, an excellent tribunal for the matrimonial troubles of well-to-do people, but of no use to poor Hall and Maria. For Maule’s words slightlyparaphrased might be as truly spoken to the bigamist of to-day as they were to poor Hall.
And four years ago we had another Royal Commission, and hundreds of witnesses were examined, and papers and reports handed in, and many days spent in collating and considering the same, and much stationery consumed. It was a shabby thing to the poor to institute this long-winded inquiry. There was nothing to inquire into. The mountain has finished groaning, and the expensive and ridiculous mouse has made his appearance—and all it comes to is that what good old Thomas Cranmer said ought to be done in 1550 the majority think might be experimented on in 1914; only—the archbishop of to-day is no longer on the side of reform.
That, I suppose, shows us very fairly the pace at which the world moves forward and the Church moves backward. In a great and necessary social reform, such as this, the Church occupies the position of the old-fashioned horse lorry strolling down the middle of the road amiably blocking the modern traffic of the city. It is all very pleasant and reassuring to those nervous folk who fear we are rushing like Gadarene pigs into a sea of legalised vice and immorality, but to visionaries and dreamers like myself who would like, as the children say, “to see the wheels go round” in their lifetime, it has its mournful side.
There are two ways in which those who are satisfied that the world is the best of all possible worlds meet proposals for reform. If they are backed up by popular clamour and agitation they say withsome show of reason that it would never do to give way to threats of violence. If, on the other hand, the campaign for reform is conducted by mannerly argument it is commonly said that there is no demand for a change. Comfortable clerical persons are never tired of telling you that there is really no demand from the poorer classes for any reform of the divorce laws.
True, people do not go out in the streets and break the windows of Cabinet Ministers or make themselves politically disagreeable after the fashion of the middle classes who have grievances real or imaginary. But anyone whose advice is sought by the poor in their troubles knows that the demand for divorce exists if it were of any use uttering it aloud to our smug and respectable rulers. Of course the demand or no demand is immaterial to anyone who has grasped the fact that it is a principle of elementary justice that the poor should have the same audience and remedies in all our Courts as the rich.
The real demand for divorce is to be found in the circumstances of the lives of the poor. I propose to set down a few typical cases drawn in every instance from public published records.
Jane married Fred when twenty-two years of age. Soon after the marriage he began to ill-treat her and would not work. Jane’s parents helped them in business. Fred continued his ill ways and at length gave Jane a beating. Jane took out a summons, but would not face the Court, and forgave Fred. After five years of unhappy married life Jane went back to her parents taking her two children, Fred agreeing to pay her three shillings a week. At theend of nine months he ceased to send any money and disappeared. For seven years Jane lived with her parents until they died. After their death she found it a great struggle to live and pay the rent. Charles now comes on the scene, he takes lodgings and pays the rent. Ultimately Charles and Jane live happily together and there are two children of the union. Charles provides for Fred’s children as well as his own. Charles and Jane would like to marry for their own sake and for their children’s. In so far as there is any sin or immorality in this story the promoters of it and the sharers in it are those who stand in the path of divorce reform.
Here is another typical case. George marries Mary, their ages are eighteen and seventeen. Soon after marriage Mary—who comes of an immoral family—starts drinking and going about with other men. Ultimately she deserts George and becomes pregnant by another man and is confined in hospital. The guardians proceed against George for the expenses of the confinement, but he is able to prove to their satisfaction that he is not the father of the child. Mary then disappears to further infidelities and George goes back to live with his mother. Later on Anna appears on the scene and George and Anna have now a comfortable home and healthy infant. “They think a deal of it and wish it could be legitimate.”
So, no doubt, do Charles and Jane and many other poor parents in like case. The law says that these people are entitled to have a divorce, only the law erects its Court in a corner of London inaccessibleto these poor provincials, and makes the costs and fees and services of its judges and officials and counsellors so expensive that there is no possibility of Charles and George, and Jane and Anna, and their little infants having the blessings of legal and holy matrimony because they have not the cash to purchase the luxury which is not for the likes of them anyhow. And when it is suggested that divorce might be cheapened and made available for these poor citizens archbishops shake their heads, and legal bigwigs, with their eye on the fees and the costs, hold up their hands in amazement. Divorce is a reasonable proposition for Marmaduke and Ermyntrude, of “The Towers,” Loamshire, but for George and Anna in Back Tank Street, Shuttleborough—not likely. There is no demand for it, says the Minority Report, and its worthy authors point out with cynical contempt for the working classes that they have got a system of separation orders which is really all they require.
Now if there is one thing which the evidence before the Commission puts beyond doubt it is that the law in relation to separation orders induces, invites, and causes immorality in the poor. Cranmer, you remember, knew all about that, and looked on separation without the right to remarry as an unclean thing. But since the sorrows of the poor in their marriage shipwrecks were so manifest, and the Divorce Court was closed to them, systems of magisterial separation orders, cheap permanent divorces, without the right to marry again, have become the order of the day.
There are some six thousand of these decrees made annually. The evidence is overwhelming as to the evils that spring from these orders. As Mrs. Tennant reports, “I believe that separation orders, the general alternative offered to divorce, work badly in working-class houses, and on the whole make for an increase rather than a diminution of immorality. We have to consider housing conditions and economic circumstances which often do not make for clean or wholesome ways of life, and where the relief offered by separation is not only inadequate but positively mischievous.”
Put in plainer terms by the witnesses, a labouring man, if he has to find a home for his children, has to find a woman to keep house for him; a woman of the same class has to pay a rent, which necessitates the taking in of a lodger. Human nature being what it is, it seemed superfluous to appoint a Royal Commission of trusty and well-beloved ones to tell us what would happen. This is a system that the Archbishop of York thinks “probably fulfils its purpose fairly well.”
Of course, it all depends what its purpose may be. If it is its purpose to stand in the way of cheap divorce and the rights of the poor to have the same chance of rescue from a shipwrecked marriage that the rich possess, all is indeed well. But if the object of the law is to bring to those who are weary and in misery some hope of a new life and a new home where children can be born without shame and the parties can live in accordance with the wishes of themselves and their neighbours, then with allrespect to the Primate of England, the law is probably fulfilling its purpose very damnably.
It is only fair, of course, to remember that the Archbishop of York and his learned colleagues of the Minority Report never meet Fred and Jane and George and Anna in real life, and can know no more about such folk at first hand, and have as little chance of understanding their point of view, as I have of studying and comprehending the sociological limitations of the higher priesthood.
Detestable as I hold these ecclesiastical errors to be in their practical bearing on the lives of the poor, I am hopeful that time and argument will overcome the ecclesiastical veto on reform. I am sure that even a bishop would be converted to healthier views of life if he could have a little home chat with George and Anna. And if their pleading did not convince him, I have a belief that the sight of their babies might touch the heart which even in a bishop, we may suppose beats somewhere beneath the chimere and rochet or whatever the vestments are called in which his lordship disguises his human nature from the lower classes.
Many of our judges and other learned men see very clearly the enormous importance of divorce reform to the poor. Mr. Justice Bargrave Deane put the matter very straightly to the Commission when he said, “The question of divorce is more a question for the poor than the rich. The rich have their homes and their comforts and their friends who are of a different position and who can by their own advice and conduct keep people straight.” In sofar as this implies that the standard of morality or etiquette of decent matrimonial conduct is stricter among the rich than the poor, I doubt its truth. The working classes have no leisure for flirtations and philandering. The behaviour of a fast set in a wealthy country house—which is generally more vulgar than really naughty—would probably scandalise the dwellers in a back street. But what the learned judge wished to emphasise was that the consequences of ill-conduct in a husband or wife are far more serious in the everyday life of the cottage than in that of the mansion. Here he is undoubtedly right.
What, for instance, can be more terrible than the effect of persistent drunkenness on the married life of the poor. Alfred and Anna have two children. The man earns thirty-two shillings and sixpence a week when in full work and is a thoroughly decent and respectable man. His wife is an inebriate. She pawns everything for drink and neglects her children. Her husband obtains a separation order, but after three years Anna promised reform, and Alfred, like the good fellow he was, took her back. Unfortunately in two months she was as bad as ever, and furniture, bedding, clothes, all the householdgoodsdisappear to the pawnshop. The children are reported upon by the school authorities. The parents are prosecuted for neglect, and on Anna agreeing to go to an inebriates’ home for twelve months the bench postpone sentence. When she comes out she is a wreck, suffering from alcoholic neuritis which is leading to paralysis. During herabsence Alfred has had to pay seven and six a week for her maintenance. He now allows her five shillings a week and she lives with her sister. He is on short time earning twenty-six shillings a week. The children are without mother, the home is without a woman’s care and influence and his income is rendered insufficient to provide the necessaries of life.
Here is another picture—John married Catharine in 1896. There was one child. When the infant was nine months old Catharine was forced to leave her husband on account of his drunken habits. The child went to its grandmother and Catharine went to service for seven years. After that time she met Charles, a widower, with one child. Being a brave and sensible woman she went to live with him as his wife. They have two children of their own now, one is three years old and the other six months. They have a good home and are very happy, and would like to be married if the law allowed it.
Now all that religion has to tell us about these cases is that marriages are made in heaven and that heaven having once made these two utter messes of human affairs, it is impious for human hands and minds to try and mitigate the evil for which heaven is responsible. I wish those for whom these old-world blasphemies have merely a folklore interest would leave this so-called religion mumbling in its outer darkness and apply their practical minds to so reforming the law that the lives of Alfred and Anna and Catharine and Charlesand their innocent babies, and hundreds of other good men and women and innocent children, might no longer have to live in this civilised country under any legal disability or under any social shadow of ignominy or shame. In practice these folk very often do marry again without the blessing of Church or State, as in the last-cited case, and live useful and virtuous lives, bringing up happy children in good homes. The law should assist such citizens in the interest of the State, for the community want good homes and healthy children leading happy lives.
The recommendation of the Majority Commission in this matter is a very conservative one. It is that habitual drunkenness found incurable after three years from a first order of separation should be a ground for divorce. This, coupled with divorce for cruelty or desertion for three years and upwards, would certainly cover some of the sadder cases that were brought to the notice of the Commissioners.
The right of the State to refuse divorce in the case of the insanity of a party to a marriage seems hardly arguable. Here is one of the many sad stories. Norah married a soldier twenty years ago. Fourteen years ago he was taken to an asylum, where he still is, and Norah applied for relief. She was offered scrubbing work at the workhouse from 7 a.m. to 6 p.m. at nine shillings a week and some bread, or two-and-six a week and six pounds of bread, with liberty to take in two lodgers. Norah, to be with her children, chose the latter. John was one of the lodgers. He found his way toNorah’s heart by buying presents of boots and clothing for the children. And so Norah and John became man and wife, save and in so far as the law refused them that status. As Norah told a lady visitor, “I suppose you think it was wrong for me to drift into our present way of living, but it was such a struggle and he was so good to us. I have never been killed with wages, but we are as comfortable as we can be. I often wish we were free to marry because we do not like our children being illegitimate, and people look down on a woman so, if she lives as I am doing.”
In this matter it is cheering to know that the archbishop and his learned adherents in their Minority Report are prepared to make some concession. I state this with pleasure, remembering the wise words of that good old Welsh parson, the Rev. John Hopkins, of Rhoscolyn, who said, “Indeed, Judge Parry, remember this, one must be charitable even to dissenters.”A fortiorione should be just even to archbishops, and it is hopeful that in the matter of insanity where one of the parties is either of unsound mind at the time of the marriage or in a state of incipient mental unsoundness which becomes definite after six months of marriage and the suit is commenced within a year of marriage the Minority Report timidly proposes that such a marriage might be annulled.
What the difference in principle may be between the cases of a mad husband who has been married for six months and a madder husband who has been married for six years the learned ones do not informus, but we may regard it as a sign of grace that there are some matrimonial miseries that seem to these hard-hearted pundits worthy of sympathy and relief.
No protest seems to be made by the Church against the go-as-you-please divorce methods of to-day among the upper classes, but if divorce by consent does not exist among the rich it shows great rectitude and self-denial on their part. One often reads of a case like the following one. Mrs. A. is neglected by her husband, who leaves her. She asks him to return and he refuses. She files a petition for restitution of conjugal rights. The Court makes a fourteen days’ order on the undefended petition. I wonder if such an order has ever been obeyed or was ever intended to be obeyed. On receiving the order Mr. A. writes that he is not coming back, but that he will be found staying at a certain hotel with another lady under the style of Mr. and Mrs. A. Inquiries are made, and this proving true a divorce petition is filed. This again is undefended and the decreenisigoes as of course.
It is conceivable that such a procedure might be used by two intelligent persons who did not respect the laws of their country as a method of divorcing each other by consent, but I have no doubt that the well-to-do who constantly go through these forms are far too scrupulous in their observance of the letter and spirit of our divorce law to be guilty of anything that could be construed into collusion.
I do not think that in this country, except among wild and fanatical folk and some of the fast setwith whom we need not concern ourselves, there is any demand for divorce by mutual consent. But, even if this were enacted, it does not follow, as Montaigne has told us, that it would be used. The idea that a more reasonable system of divorce will lead to a wholesale system of divorces is an absurd folly, a bogey used by ignorant but honest clericals to frighten good people who rather enjoy being scared to death. The fat boys of sociology love to make their victims’ flesh creep, and when they speak of divorce reform constantly suggest that human nature tends to immorality in matrimonial affairs. As a matter of fact human beings naturally prefer marriage and married life where it is at all a successful institution to divorce and divorced life. This is wonderfully illustrated in Belgium where, as M. Henri Mesnil, the French avocat, points out, divorce law “as provided for by the Code Napoléon has remained in force down to the present day: in spite of the long predominance of the Catholic party dissolution of marriage by mutual consent is still possible in that country. I might say that although possible it is a very rare thing. I think only one case of divorce by mutual consent will be found amongst four hundred cases in Belgium.”
Here we have the results of a hundred years’ experience of a European country not unlike our own. It bears out exactly what one would expect, and it is only by ignoring such evidence and referring to the laxity of State procedure in America, without reminding the reader that there is no evidence of anygreater laxity in the state of morality there than elsewhere, that the Archbishop of York and his friends can claim that the “preponderating voice of history and experience”—a charming phrase—is in favour of their Minority Report.
The archbishop treats history as Moses treated the rock. He strikes it with his archiepiscopal staff and there flows forth a gush of watery precedents to rejoice the hearts of the faithful. A poor pagan like myself can only approach the rock with a humble geological hammer and, knocking a few chips off it, report that it does not come of a water-bearing family. Outside miraculous draughts of history there is nothing to be found in the past experience of social life that tells against a reform of our present divorce laws.
But no reform in the law will be of the least use to the poor unless jurisdiction in divorce is given to the County Court. The opposition to this is twofold. It comes from those who object to any reform at all and see that by keeping divorce costly you naturally limit its use, and, again, it comes with even greater force from those who are making their money out of the present system. Very naturally the Divorce Court Bar, having an excellent paying business all to themselves, do not want to share it round with other people. Towards their trade union attitude of mind I have every sympathy. But when it is more than hinted that it would really be beyond the capacity of a County Court judge to try those “very difficult considerations of cruelty, condonation and connivance,” I prefer the alliterationof the phrase to the sense of it. There is really no mystery about divorce law. The issue is an absurdly simple one, of grave importance to the lives of the parties certainly, but to a lawyer with a business mind far easier to try than many of the issues that arise every day in bankruptcy, Admiralty and commercial cases, and in arbitrations under the Workmen’s Compensation Act.
The daily work of a County Court judge is not less difficult than that of his High Court brother. The complication of a case does not depend upon the amount at stake, and the County Court judge has, if anything, to have a somewhat wider knowledge of law and a far greater knowledge of the lives of the poor than any other judicial person, since the legal subjects he deals in are more varied in character than those met with in other Courts, and he naturally sees more of the daily life of the people. Certainly the High Court judges get better assistance from the Bar, or rather, I should say, more assistance—or should it be assistance of greater length?—but the County Court Bar of to-day contains the pick of the younger men, and is really the nursery of the common law Bar since it is only in the County Courts that a catholic experience in civil advocacy can be obtained. I noted with some interest that in a recent batch of silks seven or eight had been before me, some of them several times within a few months of their taking silk.
When there is a divorce case of any importance—in the same way as if it were a libel case of importance—great advocates with no special knowledge of themysteries of divorce law are called in to lead the specialists. What is wanted is advocacy, not knowledge of divorce procedure, and the County Courts have excellent advocates to-day. If there is one special branch of law where one would think expert knowledge is essential it is Admiralty, yet important Admiralty cases belong to County Court districts where for aught anybody knows or cares the learned judge and the advocates may not know the difference between a bowsprit and a rudder.
But the real reason why the County Court should be chosen for this work in the interests of the poor is to my mind the real reason why the County Court is popular with business men and the High Court is not. In a properly managed County Court a case is set down for a certain day and, except on rare occasions, it is tried on that day. As Mr. Dendy, the learned registrar, pointed out to the Commission, “There’s no doubt it is of very great advantage to a poor man to know the day on which his case is likely to be tried.” It is indeed essential. The man himself and his witnesses do not belong to a class who can spend leisured hours flitting about Gothic corridors or waiting to be fetched from public-houses day by day until their case is reached. Certainty of trial and reasonable speed in reaching and disposing of the case are worth much more to business people than abstruse technical knowledge or long experience of the habits and manners of those who commit adultery. No one has more reverence than I have for the views of Lord Alverstone, who thinks divorcejurisdiction should not be given to County Courts, yet one must not forget that not only is the opposite view supported by a large number of men and women who know the wants of the poor very intimately, but experts, like Sir John Macdonell and Sir George Lewis, both recognise that if you are going to give a whole-hearted measure of reform with the intention of really putting divorce at the disposal of the poor there is no other Court to which these cases can honestly be sent.
Not only must this be done, but if we are to bring ourselves abreast of what already exists in foreign countries we must do a great deal towards cheapening the procedure even of the County Court for those who are poor.
The French have a very complete system of divorce for poor people, known as “Assistance Judicaire.” The effect is that the persons to whom assistance is granted do not have to pay anything whilst they remain poor. The State advances the necessary money. Theavocatandavoué—barrister and solicitor—work for nothing. In case the assisted person comes into better circumstances he may be obliged to repay the State. If the poor litigant succeeds in his proceedings, the unsuccessful party pays the costs. In 1907 there were 20,464 persons who applied for assistance, 11,726 of which were in relation to matrimonial proceedings, and relief was granted to 9,205 poor people, of whom 5,136 were seeking different forms of matrimonial relief.
In Germany and the Netherlands divorce is equally open to poor people, who receive State aid, and inScotland there is a well-known system which is known as the Poors Roll, which is said to have existed since 1424. The Scots Parliament Act, which instituted this excellent procedure, commenced as follows: “If there be any poor creature who for lack of skill or expenses cannot nor may not follow his cause the King for the love of God shall ordain the judge before whom the cause shall be determined to purvey and get a leal and wise advocate to follow such poor creatures causes: and if such causes be obtained [won] the wronger shall indemnify both the party injured and the advocate’s costs and travail.” It is amazing to find in Scotland of the fifteenth century laws for the poor that we are only dimly thinking about in our vague uncertain timid way at the present day.
What actually happens to the poor man of the present day is set out in the following case—a very common one:—
Summoned in the City of London Court for the non-payment of forty-five pounds, his wife’s costs in a divorce suit in which he was the successful petitioner, a City messenger said that he received one hundred and seventeen pounds a year, and while the divorce suit was pending he paid his wife as alimony two pounds ten shillings a month. He had paid sixty-five pounds for his wife’s costs, and still owed forty-five pounds. He had obtained an order for payment of his own costs against the co-respondent, but as that person was only earning a few shillings a week he did not know if he would get anything.
Judge Lumley Smith, K.C.: “Does a successful husband always have to pay his wife’s costs?”
Mr. Seyd (for the defendant): “Yes.”
Judge Lumley Smith: “That is rather hard on him.”
The defendant added that while the suit was pending he had to borrow fifty pounds from his friends.
Judge Lumley Smith said a judgment debt must come in front of those of his friends, and ordered payment of one pound a month.
This man could not have proceededin forma pauperis, as by our then system this was not open to anyone with more than thirty shillings a week with no means above twenty-five pounds and clothing. If he had done so he would have had neither counsel nor solicitor to plead his cause and the only real benefit he would have obtained would be that he would not have had to pay Court fees.
The self-respect of working men in many cases hinders them from applying for assistance rendered nominally distasteful by the pauper taint. They manage these things better in France, and what the poor want in England, in fact as well as in name, is “assistance.” The new rules that have come into force this year go a little way to provide this, but it is too early as yet to say how far they will meet the wants of the case.
There was no need for any Royal Commission on Divorce to explain to any reasonably educated citizen what ought to be done, but I agree that the labours of many good men and women have givenchapter and verse for the want and the remedy in a convenient form. Too much time was wasted over the moot points of the theologians, for most citizens are agreed that ecclesiastical opinions on the contract of matrimony as it affects the State are of the same value and no more as ecclesiastical opinions would be on such contracts as a bill of sale or a hire-purchase agreement, which may equally from time to time affect adversely or otherwise the moral conduct of human beings.
“Marriage is nothing but a civil contract. ’Tis true ’tis an ordinance of God: so is every other contract: God commands me to keep it when I have made it.” Worthy John Selden did not mean by that that it was to be kept for ever and in all circumstances, but that it was to be kept until such time as the law released the parties from it in the same way as every other civil contract. Nothing is more true and necessary to be repeated in these days than the citizens’ view of marriage law. Whatever codes different religious men and women wish to observe they are free to follow. But the marriage law is a question of citizenship for citizens to settle for themselves. It is therefore satisfactory to read in the Majority Report that English laymen seem generally to base their views, not upon ecclesiastical tradition or sentiment, but upon general Christian principles coupled with common-sense and experience of the needs of human life. It is the conclusion of these men and women—not the anathemas of priests—that want parliamentary attention. They have told us “that there isnecessity for reform in this country, both in procedure and in law, if the serious grievances which at present exist are to be removed, and if opportunities of obtaining justice are to be within the reach of the poorer classes. So far from such reforms as we recommend tending to lower the standard of morality and regard for the sanctity of the marriage tie, we consider that reform is necessary in the interest of morality, as well as in the interest of justice; and in the general interests of society and the State.”
When shall we find time to ease these heavy burdens of the poor and let the oppressed go free?