The code cracked

In days of yore, when manners mattered and honor had a code, a gentleman who engaged in an amorous liaison with a lady not his wife kept the details, yea verily, even the slightest hint of a tryst, to himself. Friends and acquaintances whispered but did not blab. The lady appreciated the discretion and reciprocated. The wronged wife quietly made whatever arrangements she deemed necessary and appropriate.

Of course, yore didn’t have independent prosecutors, at least not of the breed common today. If it had, the first product of Gutenberg’s invention would not have been the Holy Bible but the National Enquirer, and generations of schoolchildren would have been introduced to literature through the epic poetry of Sir Jerry of Springer.

Unfortunately, this benighted age does have the Grand Inquisitor of D.C., who is at once both a symptom and a cause of the grubby feel to everything these days. Once S-E-you-know-what entered the picture it’s been awfully easy to forget that this is supposed to be about a decade-old real estate deal.

So maybe a woman, let’s call her the Lady M, and a man, let’s call him the First Gent, break a commandment or two behind closed doors. Naturally, they decide to keep it to themselves, lest the First Wife have a cow. The First Wife, not born yesterday, knows of the dalliance and deals with it to her satisfaction. And while polite society agrees that a married 50ish Gent should not philander with a 20-something Lady, polite society also agrees that, other than being good for a snicker or two, it’s pretty much none of its business.

End of story, but for the Inquisitor. He’s hired to investigate whether the First Couple fudged the law in a land-development scheme. From there, it’s a short hop to investigate whether the First Gent sought the affections of a young serf, P of Little Rock. In exploring P’s complaint, the Inquisitor then skips through a bevy of other allegedly damaged damsels and then takes the jump to Lady M, who, if sullied, was a willing participant.

Taking her etiquette seriously, Lady M denies all, as does the First Gent. For seven months, the Inquisitor, obsessed with carnal matters to a degree usually seen only in those who got a polite handshake on prom night and never got over it, badgers the lady about the most salacious details of this most personal matter, threatening her with felony prosecution if she does not provide the version of the truth he desires. Finally, his investigation nearing its end, he gives her one last chance: Denounce the First Gent as a rake, condemn him with statements that cannot be proved or disproved, or go to prison. Torquemada would be so proud.

In a totally unrelated item, Whitewater prosecutor Kenneth Starr has given blanket immunity to Monica Lewinsky in return for grand jury testimony (still to be given, in secret, but somehow already leaked) that she had a sexual affair with President Clinton and that he told her to lie about it. After four years and enough millions to stage a Crusade, however, Starr’s investigation still has yet to uncover any illegalities by President or Mrs. Clinton regarding subdivisions in Arkansas.