This matter is, however, now attended to, for Mr. Gladstone's Probation Act (1908) empowers magistrates to compel all dishonest persons that are dealt with under the Act to make restitution of stolen property or money up to the value of £10. I have long advocated this course, which is both just and merciful—just to the person who has been robbed and just to the robber; merciful because it compels the wrong-doer in some degree to undo the wrong, and enables him to break the chains of his deadly habit. It will also prove to him that the law is not so tolerant of dishonesty as he believed. Common-sense, too, says that the pardoned rogue ought not to profit from his roguery, while the person he has robbed has to suffer, not only the loss of goods or money, but also the trouble and expense of prosecution.
Most respectfully, then, would I like to point out to all magistrates that they may now order dishonest persons dealt with under this Act to make restitution up to £10. It is to be hoped that our magistrates will freely avail themselves of this permissive power, and make young rogues "pay, pay, pay." It matters not how small the instalments nor how long a time the payments may be continued, for I feel assured that nothing will stem the onward sweep of dishonesty, and that nothing will bring home to young offenders the serious character of dishonesty so much as the knowledge that great inconvenience, but no pecuniary benefit, can come to those who indulge in it.
The Married Women's Protection Act came at last. It was inevitable. There was a horrible satire contained in the suggestion that in England, with its humanity and civilization, after a thousand years of Christianity an Act to protect women against their legal husbands should be necessary; but it was.
This Act came in the very fulness of time. Everybody was tired and altogether dissatisfied with the old and ineffectual plan of sending brutal husbands to prison. This feeling arose not from sympathy with brutal husbands, but from pity to ill-treated wives, for it was recognized that sending brutal husbands to prison only made matters worse. Briefly, the Act empowered married women who had persistently cruel husbands to leave them, and having left them, to apply to the magistrates for a separation and maintenance order, which magistrates were empowered to grant when persistent cruelty was proved.
Police-courts then became practically divorce-courts for the poor, for thousands of women have claimed and obtained these separation orders. It seems just, and I have no hesitation in saying it is right, whatever may be the consequences, that decent suffering women whose agony has been long drawn out should be protected from and delivered out of the power of human brutes. But in a community like ours we are bound to have an eye to the consequences.
Women very soon found that it was much easier to get separation than it was to get maintenance. However modest the weekly amount ordered—and to my mind magistrates were very lenient in this respect—comparatively few of the discarded husbands paid the amounts ordered: some few paid irregularly, the majority paid nothing. The "other woman" became an important factor, and the money that should have gone to the support of the legal wife and legitimate children went to her and to illegitimate children. Such fellows were, then, in straits. If they left the "other woman," affiliation orders loomed over them; if they did not pay their legalized wives, they might be sent to prison. Some men I know found this the easiest way of paying their wives "maintenance," for they would go cheerfully to prison, and when released would promptly start on the task of again accumulating arrears.
Undoubtedly very many women were much better off apart from their husbands—at any rate, they had some peace—but mostly they lived lives of unremitting toil and partial, if not actual, starvation. On the whole, this Act, which was quite necessary and inspired by good intentions, has not proved satisfactory. But married men began to ask, "Why cannot we have separation orders against habitually drunken wives?"
Why, indeed! The principle had been admitted, and "sauce for the goose must be sauce for the gander." Joan had been protected; Darby must have equal rights. And Darby got them, with something added. The Licensing Bill of 1902 put him right, or rather wrong. Under some provisions of this Act habitual drunkenness in case of either husband or wife became a sufficient reason for separation, and police-courts became more than ever divorce-courts for the poor. But Darby came best, or rather worst, out of this unseemly matter, for there was no need for him to leave his wife and his home before applying for a separation. He might live with his wife in their home, and while living with her apply for a summons against her, and this granted, he might continue to live with her right up to the time the summons was heard—might even accompany her to the court, and drink with her on the way thither. Then, proving her drunkenness to the magistrate's satisfaction, he could get his order, give her a few shillings, go home and close the door against her, leaving her homeless and helpless in the streets. She may have borne him many children, she might be about to become a mother once more; in fact, the frequent repetition of motherhood might be the root-cause of her drunkenness. No matter, the law empowers him to put her out and keep her out. Such is the law, and to such a point has the chivalry of many husbands come. But Darby may go still further, for he may call in "another woman" to keep house and look after the children. In a sense he may live in a sort of legalized immorality, and do his wife no legal wrong; while, if she, poor wretched woman, with all her temptations and weaknesses, yields but once to a similar sin, all claim to support is forfeited, and she goes down with dreadful celerity to the lowest depths. Plenty of good husbands, and brave men they are, refuse to take advantage of this Act, and bear all the unspeakable ills and sorrows connected with a drunken wife, bearing all things, enduring all things, and hoping all things, rather than turn the mothers of their children into the streets. But it is far different with some husbands, whose lives and habits have conduced to, if they have not actually caused, their wives' inebriety; to them the Act is a boon, and they are not backward in applying for relief. I have elsewhere given my views as to the working of these special clauses, but I again take an opportunity of saying that the whole proceedings are founded in stupidity. In action they are cruel, and in results they are demoralizing to the individuals concerned, and to the State generally. All this is the more astounding when one realizes that the Act might easily have been made a real blessing; and it is more astounding still when the temper and tone of society is considered.
We demand, and rightfully demand, that first offenders shall have another chance. Has it come to this—that a wretched wife, who, through suffering, worry, neglect, or ill-health or mental disturbance, has given way to drink, shall have less consideration than the young thief? So it appears. We scour London's streets, we seek out the grossest women even civilization can furnish—women whose only hope lies with the Eternal Father—and we put them in inebriates' reformatories, and keep them there, at a great expense, for two or three years. Money without stint is spent that they may have the shadow of a chance for reclamation. Organized societies are formed for their after-care when released from the reformatories. And yet we calmly contemplate married women, otherwise decent but for drink, real victims of inebriety, being thrust homeless into the streets, with the dead certainty that they will descend to the Inferno out of which we are seeking to deliver the unfortunates.