The duty of the wife to allow "conjugal rights" to her husband is another aspect of her legal subjection to him. Even in the nineteenth century a Suffolk lady of good family was imprisoned in Ipswich Goal for many years and fed on bread and water, though suffering from various diseases, till she died, simply because she continued to disregard the decree requiring her to render conjugal rights to her husband. This state of things was partly reformed by the Matrimonial Causes Bill of 1884, and that bill was passed, not to protect women, but men, against punishment for refusal to restore conjugal rights. Undoubtedly, the modern tendency, although it has progressed very slowly, is against applying compulsion to either husband or wife to yield "conjugal rights;" and since the Jackson case it is not possible in England for a husband to use force in attempting to compel his wife to live with him. This tendency is still more marked in the United States; thus the Iowa Supreme Court, a few years ago, decided that excessive demands for coitus constituted cruelty of a degree justifying divorce (J. G. Kiernan, Alienist and Neurologist, Nov. 1906, p. 466).
The slender tenure of the wife over her person is not confined to the sexual sphere, but even extends to her right to life. In England, if a wife kills her husband, it was formerly the very serious offence of "petit treason," and it is still murder. But, if a husband kills his wife and is able to plead her adultery and his jealousy, it is only manslaughter. (In France, where jealousy is regarded with extreme indulgence, even a wife who kills her husband is often acquitted.)
It must not, however, be supposed that all the legal inequalities involved by marriage are in favor of the husband. A large number of injustices are also inflicted on the husband. The husband, for instance, is legally responsible for the libels uttered by his wife, and he is equally responsible civilly for the frauds she commits, even if she is living apart from him. (This was, for instance, held by an English judge in 1908; "he could only say he regretted it, for it seems a hard case. But it was the law.") Belfort Bax has, in recent years, especially insisted on the hardships inflicted by English law in such ways as these. There can be no doubt that marriage, as at present constituted, inflicts serious wrongs on the husband as well as on the wife.
Marriage is, therefore, not only not a contract in the true sense,[[359]] but in the only sense in which it is a contract it is a contract of an exceedingly bad kind. When the Canonists superseded the old conception of marriage as a contract of purchase by their sacramental marriage, they were in many respects effecting a real progress, and the return to the idea of a contract, as soon as its temporary value as a protest has ceased, proves altogether out of harmony with any advanced stage of civilization. It was revived in days before the revolt against slavery had been inaugurated. Personal contracts are out of harmony with our modern civilization and our ideas of individual liberty. A man can no longer contract himself as a slave nor sell his wife. Yet marriage, regarded as a contract, is of precisely the same class as those transactions.[[360]] In every high stage of civilization this fact is clearly recognized, and young couples are not even allowed to contract themselves out in marriage unconditionally. We see this, for instance, in the wise legislation of the Romans. Even under the Christian Emperors that sound principle was maintained and the lawyer Paulus wrote:[[361]] "Marriage was so free, according to ancient opinion, that even agreements between the parties not to separate from one another could have no validity." In so far as the essence and not any accidental circumstance of the marital relationships is made a contract, it is a contract of a nature which the two parties concerned are not competent to make. Biologically and psychologically it cannot be valid, and with the growth of a humane civilization it is explicitly declared to be legally invalid.
For, there can be no doubt about it, the intimate and essential fact of marriage—the relationship of sexual intercourse—is not and cannot be a contract. It is not a contract but a fact; it cannot be effected by any mere act of will on the part of the parties concerned; it cannot be maintained by any mere act of will. To will such a contract is merely to perform a worse than indecorous farce. Certainly many of the circumstances of marriage are properly the subject of contract, to be voluntarily and deliberately made by the parties to the contract. But the essential fact of marriage—a love strong enough to render the most intimate of relationships possible and desirable through an indefinite number of years—cannot be made a matter for contract. Alike from the physical point of view, and the psychical point of view, no binding contract—and a contract is worthless if it is not binding—can possibly be made. And the making of such pseudo-contracts concerning the future of a marriage, before it has even been ascertained that the marriage can ever become a fact at all, is not only impossible but absurd.
It is of course true that this impossibility, this absurdity, are never visible to the contracting parties. They have applied to the question all the very restricted tests that are conventionally permitted to them, and the satisfactory results of these tests, together with the consciousness of possessing an immense and apparently inexhaustible fund of loving emotion, seem to them adequate to the fulfilment of the contract throughout life, if not indeed eternity.
As a child of seven I chanced to be in a semi-tropical island of the Pacific supplied with fruit, especially grapes, from the mainland, and a dusky market woman always presented a large bunch of grapes to the little English stranger. But a day came when the proffered bunch was firmly refused; the superabundance of grapes had produced a reaction of disgust. A space of nearly forty years was needed to overcome the repugnance to grapes thus acquired. Yet there can be no doubt that if at the age of six that little boy had been asked to sign a contract binding him to accept grapes every day, to keep them always near him, to eat them and to enjoy them every day, he would have signed that contract as joyously as any radiant bridegroom or demure bride signs the register in the vestry. But is a complex man or woman, with unknown capacities for changing or deteriorating, and with incalculable aptitudes for inflicting torture and arousing loathing, is such a creature more easy to be bound to than an exquisite fruit? All the countries of the world in which the subtle influence of the Canon law of Christendom still makes itself felt, have not yet grasped a general truth which is well within the practical experience of a child of seven.[[362]]
The notion that such a relationship as that of marriage can rest on so fragile a basis as a pre-ordained contract has naturally never prevailed widely in its extreme form, and has been unknown altogether in many parts of the world. The Romans, as we know, explicitly rejected it, and even at a comparatively early period recognized the legality of marriage by usus, thus declaring in effect that marriage must be a fact, and not a mere undertaking. There has been a widespread legal tendency, especially where the traditions of Roman law have retained any influence, to regard the cohabitation of marriage as the essential fact of the relationship. It was an old rule even under the Catholic Church that marriage may be presumed from cohabitation (see, e.g., Zacchia, Questionum Medico-legalium Opus, edition of 1688, vol. iii, p. 234). Even in England cohabitation is already one of the presumptions in favor of the existence of marriage (though not necessarily by itself regarded as sufficient), provided the woman is of unblemished character, and does not appear to be a common prostitute (Nevill Geary, The Law of Marriage, Ch. III). If, however, according to Lord Watson's judicial statement in the Dysart Peerage case, a man takes his mistress to a hotel or goes with her to a baby-linen shop and speaks of her as his wife, it is to be presumed that he is acting for the sake of decency, and this furnishes no evidence of marriage. In Scotland the presumption of marriage arises on much slighter grounds than in England. This may be connected with the ancient and deep-rooted custom in Scotland of marriage by exchange of consent (Geary, op. cit. Ch. XVIII; cf., Howard, Matrimonial Institutions, vol. i, p. 316).
In the Bredalbane case (Campbell v. Campbell, 1867), which was of great importance because it involved the succession to the vast estates of the Marquis of Bredalbane, the House of Lords decided than even an adulterous connection may, on ceasing to be adulterous, become matrimonial by the simple consent of the parties, as evidenced by habit and repute, without any need for the matrimonial character of the connection to be indicated by any public act, nor any necessity to prove the specific period when the consent was interchanged. This decision has been confirmed in the Dysart case (Geary, loc. cit.; cf. C. G. Garrison, "Limits of Divorce," Contemporary Review, Feb., 1894). Similarly, as decided by Justice Kekewich in the Wagstaff case in 1907, if a man leaves money to his "widow," on condition that she never marries again, although he has never been married to her, and though she has been legally married to another man, the testator's intentions must be upheld. Garrison, in his valuable discussion of this aspect of legal marriage (loc. cit.), forcibly insists that by English law marriage is a fact and not a contract, and that where "conduct characterized by connubial purpose and constancy" exists, there marriage legally exists, marriage being simply "a name for an existing fact."