The Mother of Parliaments Part 15

Many members of the House of Commons were determined to prevent such a man from taking his seat, and for a long time its doors remained closed against him. Lord Randolph Churchill made a violent attack upon him on the 24th of May, in the course of which he read an extract from Bradlaugh's book, "The Impeachment of the House of Brunswick," hurling the offensive volume on the floor and trampling it underfoot. The House of Commons has always disliked anything that borders upon melodrama, and this action, more suited to the boards of the Adelphi than to the stage of Parliament, fell as flat as Burke's famous dagger.[225] But the spirit that prompted it was the popular one, and it long seemed impossible for an atheist to sit in the House.

[225] In 1792 a sample dagger was sent from France to a Birmingham firm, who were asked to make 3000 more of similar pattern. They thought the order suspicious, and consulted the Secretary of State.

Burke happened to call at the latter's office, saw the dagger there, and borrowed it. During the Second Reading of the Aliens Bill he hurled this weapon on to the floor of the House, exclaiming, "Let us keep French principles from our heads, and French daggers from our hearts!" The Commons were not impressed, and only laughed, while Sheridan whispered to a neighbour, "The gentleman has brought us the knife, but where is the fork?" Another attempt at dramatic effect, equally unsuccessful, occurred on the second reading of the Reform Bill in 1831. Lord Brougham spoke for four hours, fortified by frequent draughts of mulled port. At the end he exclaimed, "By all the ties that bind every one of us to our common order and our common country, I solemnly adjure you--yea, on my bended knees, I supplicate you--reject not this Bill!" With these words he fell upon his knees, and remained in this att.i.tude so long that his friends, fearing that he was suffering as much from mulled port as emotion, picked him up and replaced him on the Woolsack.

On July 1, Gladstone moved a resolution allowing members who could not conscientiously take the oath to affirm, subject to any legal liabilities they might incur, and on the following day Bradlaugh made the necessary affirmation. The affair did not end here, however. The legal authorities had been stirred up to investigate the judicial aspect of the case, and decided that a man of Bradlaugh's opinions was by law disqualified from affirming. He thus lost his seat, but was promptly re-elected. Whereupon the House of Commons carried a resolution that he be not permitted to go through the form of repeating the words of the Oath, which, as far as Bradlaugh was concerned, was an absolutely meaningless formality, and, in the opinion of many, an act of sheer blasphemy.[226]

[226] Bradlaugh is not the only politician who has failed to interpret the words of the Oath in too literal a sense. Walpole became possessed of some treasonable letters written by William s.h.i.+ppen, a Jacobite and violent opponent of his. Walpole sent for s.h.i.+ppen, and burnt the incriminating papers in his presence. Later on, when s.h.i.+ppen was taking the oath of allegiance in the Commons, Walpole, who stood near and knew the other's principles to be as treasonable as ever, smiled.

"Egad! Robin," said s.h.i.+ppen, "that's hardly fair!"

When Bradlaugh next attempted to take his seat, a further resolution was carried excluding him altogether from the House. He refused, however, to acquiesce in this view of the situation, and, after giving due notice of his intention to the Speaker, forced his way into the House, whence he was removed with some difficulty by the Sergeant-at-Arms and police.

For a short time he remained quiet, and then suddenly, in 1882, he reappeared in the House of Commons, walked alone to the Table, administered the oath to himself, and claimed the right to sit. Upon a motion of Sir Stafford Northcote he was once more expelled, and once more the electors of Northampton returned him as their representative.

During the two following years Bradlaugh brought actions against the Sergeant-at-Arms and his deputy, and tried to induce a court of law to restrain these officials from carrying out the orders of the House.

His efforts, however, were vain, the courts deciding that the Commons had a perfect right to control their own internal affairs.

In 1884 he again entered the House and took the oath. He was again excluded from the precincts, applied for the Chiltern Hundreds, and was again returned for Northampton.

Meanwhile he had voted in several divisions, and the Attorney-General, on behalf of the Crown, brought an action against him to recover three separate sums of 500, as penalties for having voted without previously taking the oath.

For two more years the conflict continued to rage round the burly figure of this remarkable man. By 1886, however, the Commons had grown weary of this ceaseless and senseless persecution, and Bradlaugh was at last permitted to take his seat; and in 1888 an Act was pa.s.sed extending the right to affirm to those who state that they have no religious belief.

Parliament thus gradually came to take a broader view of the situation, and during Bradlaugh's absence, in 1891, the House of Commons pa.s.sed a resolution expunging from the Journals the original motion whereby he was prevented from affirming. Thus ended a long controversy, in the course of which the much-hara.s.sed victim had behaved with exemplary self-control, only once showing signs of annoyance, when the rough handling to which he was subjected by the police resulted in the breakage of a favourite stylographic pen.

This taking of the oath or making an affirmation at the commencement of a new Parliament is the only introduction necessary for a member who has been elected during the recess, or of a peer who has succeeded to a t.i.tle.

The introduction of a newly created peer, or of one who has been elevated to higher rank, is a ceremony that strikes the spectator as quaint or impressive, according as he has or has not a sense of humour. Attired in his robes, and supported by two other peers of his own degree, who act as his sponsors, the new peer walks slowly up the floor of the House of Lords, preceded by a procession of State officers--Black Rod, Garter King-at-Arms, the Hereditary Earl Marshal of England, and the Lord Great Chamberlain, in full dress.

On reaching the Woolsack the neophyte falls upon one knee and presents to the Lord Chancellor, and receives back from him, his patent of peerage and his writ of summons, both of which are read aloud by the Reading Clerk. The new peer then takes the oath and signs the roll, and is led by his supporters and the officers of State on a ceremonial pilgrimage round the Chamber to the bench on which he is by rank ent.i.tled to sit. Here the three peers in their scarlet robes seat themselves. They are, however, only allowed a few moments' rest, and at a pre-concerted signal the trio rise together and lift their hats in unison to the Chancellor, who responds in similar fas.h.i.+on. Three times this gesture is repeated, after which the original procession is reformed, and the new peer retires, shaking hands with the Chancellor on his way.

Much the same procedure is followed in the case of bishops, though spiritual peers are not preceded by the Great Officers, nor have they any patent to present. Representative peers of Scotland or Ireland are not introduced in this formal manner, but merely take the oath and sign the roll.

The introduction of a member of the House of Commons, elected in the course of the session, is a somewhat similar but less formal affair.

Accompanied by two other members of Parliament he advances up the floor of the House, "making his obeisances as he goes up, that he may be better known to the House," and frequently evoking cheers from the party to which he belongs.[227] He may take the oath at any time, if the Clerk of the House has received the certificate of his return. In 1875 Dr. Kenealy, whose methods of conducting the defence of the notorious Tichborne claimant had alienated the respect of most right-thinking men, was unable to persuade any member to introduce him in the House of Commons. At last, out of sheer kindness of heart, John Bright declared that he would accompany the unpopular member. He was not called upon to do so, however, the rule being in this instance dispensed with, at Disraeli's suggestion, and Kenealy walked alone to the Table.

[227] Hatsell adds that it was contrary to custom for members so introduced to appear in top-boots. Hatsell's "Precedents," vol. ii. p.

85.

The swearing in of peers and members occupies several days, and by the time this task is accomplished Parliament is ready to listen to the King's Speech, with which every new session is opened.

This final ceremony is a State function of the most picturesque and spectacular description. The road leading from Buckingham Palace to Westminster is lined with troops; flags fly from all the public buildings; the pavements and windows along the route are packed with sightseers. In the famous gla.s.s coach, drawn by the fat cream ponies so dear to the heart of every loyal subject, the King and Queen drive in State to the House of Lords. Here they are met by the Lord Chancellor, Purse in hand, while the Great Officers of State form a long procession through the Royal Gallery, and precede their Majesties into the Gilded Chamber.

The House presents a magnificent spectacle. Every bench is crowded with peers in their scarlet and ermine robes. At their sides sit the peeresses in evening dress, adorned, according to custom, with feathers and veils, while the Woolsacks in the centre of the House are occupied by the Judges arrayed in their judicial finery, and in a box at one side are the Amba.s.sadors and Ministers of Foreign Powers.[228]

The galleries are filled with specially privileged visitors of both s.e.xes, and, as the royal procession enters, the whole a.s.sembly rises to its feet and remains standing until their Majesties have reached the two thrones at one end of the Chamber.

[228] Peeresses cannot claim the right to be present, but are allowed to attend in accordance with a privilege of long standing, which adds much to the beauty of the ceremony. Judges have always enjoyed the right of attendance. In old days they took a prominent part in the public business of the House, but were not regular members, and, though they gave their legal opinions upon const.i.tutional questions before Parliament, could neither vote nor join in debate.

On taking his place upon the throne, the King bids the peers to be seated, and, through the Lord Great Chamberlain, commands Black Rod to inform the Commons that it is His Majesty's pleasure that they attend him immediately in the House of Lords.[229]

[229] If Parliament is opened by Commission, Black Rod is sent to _desire_ (not to _command_) the attendance of the Commons, and the King's Speech is read by the Lord Chancellor.

The delivery of this royal message to the Commons is the signal for a stampede of members towards the Upper House; grave politicians vieing with one another in the endeavour to be first at the Bar of the Lords.

O'Connell compared the rush of members on such occasions to that of a pack of boys released from school, scrimmaging together to get out of the cla.s.s-room. In their haste to arrive at the goal, the Commons are apt to hurry the unhappy Speaker before them like the sacrificial ox, urged along reluctant to the horns of the altar.[230] The rude incursion of the Commons once provoked the Yeoman of the Guard, who kept the doors of the Lords, to shut it in their faces. "Goodmen burgesses," said the Sergeant of the Guard, in 1604, "ye come not here!" much to the Commons' indignation.[231] Members have often had their clothes torn in the confusion and tumult of this rush, and one at least has suffered a dislocated shoulder. Sir Augustus Clifford, who was Black Rod in 1832, lost his hat and was physically injured in a _melee_ on the opening day. In 1901, the first opening of Parliament by the sovereign in a new reign, after a long discontinuance of the ceremony, and the number of new members after a general election, combined to make the occasion exceptional. In spite of the employment of eighty extra police, engaged to keep the way clear for the Speaker's procession, several persons were badly hurt, owing to the overpowering rush of members struggling to secure the limited number of places available below the Bar of the Lords, and many policemen lost their helmets in the struggle.[232]

[230] O'Connell's "Experiences," vol. i. p. 9.

[231] Hatsell says that such expressions were "very opprobrious," and might not unfitly have been applied "to the Peasants of France or the Boores of Germany." "Precedents," vol. i. p. 237.

[232] In 1860 such occurrences were prevented by the seats being balloted for by the Commons. "The faithful Commons being elected by ballot," as we read in "The Times" of January 25, "not now as formerly rus.h.i.+ng in like the G.o.ds in the gallery on Boxing Night; on the contrary, they came steadily up to the Bar, the Speaker leading, and on his right Lord Palmerston." Today the system of balloting is again employed, and a much larger s.p.a.ce both on the ground and in the galleries is allotted to the Commons.

Headed by their Speaker, then, the Commons surge into the Upper Chamber, and stand at the Bar, awaiting the reading of the King's Speech.

The anxiety of the Commons to gain good places from which to listen to the Speech is all the greater nowadays, since it has ceased to be customary to publish it beforehand. In Walpole's time the Government used to meet at the c.o.c.kpit in Whitehall on the eve of the opening to consider the royal speech.[233] This practice came to an end with the eighteenth century, but the Speech was still made public property by being sent to the papers on the evening of the Ministerial and Opposition dinners which precede the opening of Parliament. It is still read aloud by the official hosts at these banquets, but does not appear in the Press on the following morning, and the contents of the Speech are not made public until it is read by the King (or the Lords Commissioners) at the Opening of Parliament.[234] In 1756 a spurious speech was published and circulated, just before the opening, much to the annoyance of the authorities. King George, however, took a lenient view of this outrage. He even expressed a hope that the printers might not be too severely punished. He had read both speeches carefully, he said, and, as far as he could understand either, infinitely preferred the spurious one to his own.[235]

[233] The c.o.c.kpit was pulled down in 1733, but the name continued to be given to the Treasury meeting-room. See Dodington's "Diary": "Went to the c.o.c.kpit to a prize cause," p. 72 (1828).

[234] "November 20, 1798. Called on Sir Francis Burdett, who had just been reading in the newspaper the King's intended Speech to-day (which for some sessions past has been published the morning before it is spoken)." Holcroft's "Memoirs," p. 229.

[235] It was burnt by the hangman in Palace Yard. Waldegrave's "Memoirs," p. 89.

The King's Speech is not usually a very remarkable production, either from a literary or any other point of view, though many of those for which Gladstone, Disraeli, or Lord Salisbury were responsible were exceptionally lucid and well written. Macaulay has described it as "that most unmeaningly evasive of human compositions." As a rule, it exudes plat.i.tudes at every paragraph; its phraseology is florid without being particularly informing. "Did I deliver the Speech well?"

George III. inquired of the Lord Chancellor, after the opening of Parliament. "Very well, Sire," was Lord Eldon's reply. "I am glad of it," answered the King, "for there was nothing in it!"[236] If speech was given us to conceal thought, the King's Speech may often be said to fulfil its mission as a cloak to drape the mind of the Ministry.

Lord Randolph Churchill once declared that the Cabinet had spent some fifteen hours eliminating from it anything that might possibly have any meaning. From the ambiguous suggestions it contains, the public is left to infer the exact form of legislation foreshadowed. The King's Speech is popularly supposed to be written by His Majesty himself. But though approved by him, it is composed by the Prime Minister and the Cabinet, of which probably each member contributes the paragraphs referring to his own department. It expresses, therefore, the Government's rather than the sovereign's views.

[236] Twiss's "Life of Eldon," vol. ii. p. 359.

Queen Victoria discontinued the reading of her Speech after the death of the Prince Consort, delegating this duty to the Lord Chancellor.

Other monarchs, however, have usually been their own spokesmen on this occasion--sometimes at great personal inconvenience. William IV., in his old age, found much difficulty in reading his Speech, one gloomy winter's afternoon. The light in the Upper House was so poor that he could scarcely decipher a word, and he was forced to refer perpetually for a.s.sistance to Lord Melbourne. At last two wax tapers were brought, and the King, quietly remarking that the Speech had not received the treatment that it deserved, proceeded to read it right through again from beginning to end.

Another royal personage treated the Speech with far less respect.

George IV., when Prince Regent, is said to have bet Sheridan a hundred guineas that he would introduce the words "Baa, baa, black Sheep!"

into the King's Speech without arousing comment or surprise. He won his bet, and afterwards, when Sheridan asked Canning whether he did not think it extraordinary that no one should have noticed so strange an interpolation: "Did you not hear His Royal Highness say, 'Baa, baa, black sheep'?" he asked. "Yes," replied Canning; "but as he was looking straight in your direction at the moment, I deemed it merely a personal allusion, and thought no more about it!"

After the delivery of the King's Speech, His Majesty and the other members of the Royal Family retire from the Chamber, and the Commons return to their own House. Here the Speaker "reports" or reads the Speech once more. In the House of Lords the Chancellor is undertaking a similar duty, standing in his place at the Woolsack. Lords and Commons remain uncovered while the Speech is being read.

Before this happens, however, a Bill _pro forma_ is read a first time in both Houses, on the motion of the two Leaders, as a sign that Parliament has a right to deal with any matter in priority to those referred to in the King's Speech.

When this formality has been carried out and the Speech read, an Address of thanks to the King is moved by two members of each House.

The motion for the Address is proposed and seconded by some rising young politicians selected by the Government, who are thus given an opportunity of displaying their oratorical prowess, and a debate ensues. The debate on the Address originated in Edward III.'s reign, and sometimes lasted two or three days. It was the regular preliminary of Parliamentary deliberations. To-day in the Commons it occasionally extends over a whole fortnight, or even longer.

After the Address has been agreed to, and ordered to be presented to His Majesty, both Houses proceed to make various arrangements for the conduct of their internal affairs, committees of different kinds are appointed, and other preparations made for facilitating the labours of the Legislature.

Parliament is now open, and the serious business of the Session begins.

CHAPTER IX