CHAPTER III

OF IMPRISONMENT FOR DEBT IN ENGLAND

Oh let me pierce the secret shade Where dwells the venerable maid! There humbly mark, with reverend awe, The guardian of Britannia's law; Unfold with joy her sacred page, The united boast of many an age; Where mixed, yet uniform, appears The wisdom of a thousand years.

SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE: "The Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse."

I am honestly sorry to have to inflict a chapter of legal history upon anyone, but for the life of me I do not see how the imprisonment for debt of to-day can be intelligently appreciated until one knows something of its lineage. To begin with, it may be news to some folk to learn that in the merry days of Henry III. there was no imprisonment for debt at all. If Godfrey the garlic seller or Hogg the needier owed Rose of the small shop a tally for weekly purchases and would not pay, Rose, poor woman, could not get an order to send them to gaol. Yet there is no evidence that trade was thereby injured, or that there was any difficulty in Rose regulating her credit-giving, or in Godfrey and Hogg and the rest obtaining as much credit as they deserved. The first thing to remember is that England at one period had no use for imprisonment for debt.

It occurs to me that, if I can persuade the man in the street to understand how imprisonment for debt began and continued until it became a great public scandal, and show how in the last hundred years little by little its evil influence and extent have been abated with good results, we shall be making great strides towards the restoration of that liberty in England which in the matter of debt was the citizen's privilege in the days of Henry III.

But the reason for the absence of imprisonment for debt in these early feudal days is not so satisfactory to modern ears as one could wish. Lord Chief Baron Gilbert, that crisp and accurate lawyer of the eighteenth century, puts it very clearly when he says: "But there was no Capias for the Debt or Damages of a Common Person, because the party having trusted him only with personal Things his remedy was only on the personal Estate, and the King had the Interest in the Body of his subject; and the Lord in his _Feudatory_ or _Vassal_ to be called out to War or to labour for him; and therefore none but the King could imprison him."

And this seems clear, that the reason a creditor could not imprison a debtor was because in those days a debtor had only a limited interest in his own body. The fighting part of his body belonged to the king, the labouring part of his body belonged to his lord, and the king and the lord were not going to have their rights and property in his body interfered with because the subject and vassal had been foolish enough to run into debt with another subject and vassal who wanted his money.

You will, indeed, find that the whole history of the law and the poor seems to be a long struggling of the poor out of slavery and serfdom where they had a certain guaranteed amount of food and protection from their masters, similar in nature to that given to the ox or the ass or anything that was his, into a state of freedom, so-called, in which they had given up their rights to food and protection without getting any certain rights of wages or the equivalent of wages in return. We are in the middle of adjusting these things to-day, and the story of imprisonment for debt, and why it is retained at the present only for poor people, is a page in the curious English history of social progress.

As long as the debtor was a vassal having certain duties to perform for the lord of the manor his lordship thought him as much worth preserving as the game or venison within the curtilage of his park. It was for this reason you could not take his body in execution. As you may know, when you obtain a judgment in a court of law the next thing to do is to proceed to execution; that is to say, the judge having given you judgment a writ is granted to you whereby you get the sheriff to take your part and seize for you either the goods or body of your opponent. The history of these ancient writs is full of amusing folklore for those who love such things, and we still call them by their old dog-Latin names, not for any scientific purpose, but for much the same reason that the doctors write their prescriptions in hieroglyphics and priests mumble Latin or English--but always mumble--in a cathedral. It is the essence of a profession that it should be mysterious and incomprehensible, otherwise the common herd would not respect it and pay its fees.

And, prior to Henry III., if you got a judgment against your neighbour for money owing by him to you, your remedies of execution were these. By a writ of _fieri facias_ the sheriff could be commanded to seize the goods and chattels of the debtor in satisfaction of the debt. This dear old writ, the _fieri facias_, affectionately alluded to as the _fi. fa._ by attorneys, bailiffs and others who have the handling of the fellow, is still with us. I agree that without him the delivery of judgments in courts of law would be mainly of academic and rhetorical interest. For as Gilbert--not William Schwenck, but Sir Geoffrey the Chief Baron--puts it, if a party trusts a man with personal things, then his remedy should be against the personal things of the debtor, and this seems a principle of common law and common sense as just as it is homeopathic. As our latter-day Gilbert would have put it, "the punishment fits the crime."

But when you come to our other writ, the _capias satisfaciendum_, or "_ca. sa._" as it is written in the absurd legal shorthand of the day, or "body warrant" as it is still termed with brutal accuracy in Lancashire, then you will find that in old days different considerations prevailed. You were not allowed to seize a man's body for debt, but only his goods. And I am glad to find myself setting forth high Tory doctrine and asking my fellow citizens to return to the earliest common law of the land, for this seems clear that originally, unless the action was for trespass _vi et armis_, which was in the nature of a criminal matter, there was no remedy against the body of the defendant. The _ca. sa._ whereby the sheriff was ordered to seize the body of the defendant in execution could not issue at the instance of a successful plaintiff at common law. In other words there was no imprisonment for debt.

Our forefathers recognised what we seem to have partially lost sight of, that as credit could only be given commercially to a man with goods, it was fair and just that his goods should be seized if he did not carry out his contract. But for reasons of their own--no longer sound as reasons to-day, it is true--they refused to allow a man to mortgage his body for goods. Body warrants only issued against criminals or in actions of a semi-criminal character. It will be reassuring to those conservative minds who fear the abolition of imprisonment for debt to remember that there was a time in England when it did not exist, and that if we abolish it to-day we are working on old-fashioned and constitutional lines. Imprisonment for debt has not the sanction of antiquity, and a desire to sweep it away must not be put down to the wild and wicked desires of a political futurist architect, but rather to the pious hopes of one who is in deep sympathy with the best features of the Norman and Early English social institutions of his native land.

To tell the long story of the statutory evolution of imprisonment for debt from the Statute of Marlbridge, 52 Henry III. c. 23, to the Act for the Abolition of Imprisonment for Debt--so-called--of 1869, would be out of place here. It is enough to know that little by little the principle of the right of one man to seize the body of another in an execution for debt became recognised by statutes and by custom until the wrongs it caused reached such a scandalous pitch in the eighteenth century that some reform of it became inevitable.

The more modern contests over its partial mitigation from time to time throw a direct light on the differences of opinion upon the matter of to-day. It will be seen that there have always been two schools of thought among politicians. One school was clear, that to tamper with imprisonment meant ruin to trade; the other held--what I take to be the true gospel--that a man ought not to be allowed to obtain credit on the security of his body.

Until the end of the eighteenth century the harshness and cruelty of imprisonment for debt received little attention. The history of the debtors' prisons, the Fleet, the King's Bench, the Marshalsea and the City Compters, are pages of the story of our law that no one can read to-day without shame. Yet the Howards and Frys who called attention to the facts met with just as little encouragement and attention from the rulers of the country as anyone does to-day who desires to put the coping stones on the completed work, the foundations of which were laid by these great reformers.

The extraordinary results that took place through imprisonment for debt as it existed in the eighteenth century are surely beyond parallel in any legal system. The plays and fictions of the time are full of instances. You remember when Roderick Random finds himself in the Marshalsea he meets with his old friend Jackson and asks him about his _amour_ with the lady of fortune: "You must know," replies Jackson, "that a few days after our adventure I found means to be married to that same fine lady you speak of and passed the night with her at her lodgings, so much to her satisfaction, that early in the morning, after a good deal of snivelling and sobbing, she owned that far from being an heiress of great fortune she was no other than a common woman of the town who had decoyed me into matrimony in order to enjoy the privilege of a _femme couverte_, and that unless I made my escape immediately I should be arrested for a debt of her contracting by bailiffs employed and instructed for that purpose." Upon hearing this poor Jackson escapes and serves for a few months as surgeon of a sloop, but, on his return, is arrested for a debt of his wife's and comes to live at the Marshalsea on half pay.

Nor is there anything wildly improbable in the story. Smollett had been in a debtor's prison himself, and very likely had heard the story at first hand, for many equally extraordinary stories in real life are well authenticated.

There was the strange case of the lady who married a man under sentence of death to get rid of her debts, and was greatly upset when her husband was respited and sent to the colonies. But perhaps one of the most curious stories is that of the dear old blind spinster of Clerkenwell, with a fortune of a thousand pounds, who took a deep interest in the career of an industrious shoemaker's apprentice and made him presents of clothes and a watch and lent him ten pounds. When he was out of his articles and was about to go home to Leicestershire and settle down there, he was arrested for the loan and the attorney's bill of costs and the "garnish" at the lock-up to which he was taken. After a few days the kind-hearted lady visited him and offered him three alternatives. He might pay the money; go to the debtor's prison for the rest of his life; or marry her. He chose the last alternative and was kept in the sponging house until his wedding day.

These stories are but a sample of the iniquities that were going on in that day, and yet then, as now, the feeling of legislators and business men seems to have been that it was dangerous to trade and business to sweep this horrible system away, so blind are people to the wrongs they see every day, so dull are ears to cries of pain and distress that are continuous and never cease. It would seem as though the conscience of mankind can only be startled into action by some catastrophe, some tragedy obviously brought about by bad government and bad laws, and not until then will it translate its knowledge of evil into demand for reform.

The tragedies of imprisonment for debt occurred, but they took place behind closed doors and the world only heard of them by slow degrees. At length, however, the constant repetition of the miseries of the poor debtors who languished in prison, wasting their lives and eating out their hearts in despair, began slowly to convince the man in the street that there really was something wrong with the world and that the cup of human misery of some of their fellow creatures was slopping over into the saucer of despair. Timid reformers began to think something might be done. The arguments then, as now, were all one way, but then, as now, there was no one to listen to them. Good men had raised their voices to point out the wrong-doing that was going on, and the unnecessary wretchedness that was being caused, but nothing much came of it. There were a few desultory and ineffective movements towards discharging poor debtors, but the matter did not greatly interest mankind, and there seemed to the eighteenth century mind no very clear reason why a debtor once in prison for debt should ever be released. To-day, in the same way, it is difficult to persuade the average citizen that there is any injustice in a debtor being sent to prison for debt. The attitude of mind about the thing is not greatly altered, though happily the amount of injustice and wrong-doing has been lessened.

It was not, indeed, until the beginning of the reign of Queen Victoria, a time of great hope for the poor and distressed, a period which has not inaptly been called "the springtime of social reform," that any practical movement was made. I myself keep March 31st as the birthday of the movement for the abolition of imprisonment for debt, but anyway it is a red-letter day in the history of English literature and worthy of great honour. For on that day, in the year 1836, the first number of "Pickwick," appeared and there is no doubt that the account of the Fleet prison in that volume has made it the popular text-book of legal reform in these matters. If "Pickwick" in 1836 was not the _causa causans_ of Lord Cottenham's Bill to amend the law of insolvency which was introduced in December, 1837, there is no doubt that Dickens' stories of the cruelty of imprisonment for debt supplied the motive power necessary to pass it by rousing the public conscience to insist upon something being done.

The point of particular reform aimed at by the Bill was to abolish what was called arrest on mesne process. It is an absurd term, and it was a still more absurd thing. The wonder is that it had survived as long as it