The Mother of Parliaments Part 13

As a rule, however, modern Speakers seem able to exercise complete self-control, and, bored though they must often be, are polite enough to hide the fact. They cannot now have recourse to that flowing bowl of porter which Speaker Cornwall kept by the side of the Chair, from which he drank whenever he felt the need of a mental fillip, subsequently falling into a pleasing torpor which the babble of debate did nothing to dispel. To-day, indeed, the Speaker neither slumbers nor sleeps, and the advice given by the poet Praed to the occupant of the Chair during one of the debates of the first reformed Parliament would fall on deaf ears.

"Sleep, Mr. Speaker; it's surely fair, If you don't in your bed, that you should in your chair; Longer and longer still they grow, Tory and Radical, Aye and No; Talking by night, and talking by day; Sleep, Mr. Speaker, sleep, sleep while you may!

"Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sweet to men Is the sleep that comes but now and then; Sweet to the sorrowful, sweet to the ill, Sweet to the children who work in a mill.

You have more need of sleep than they; Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sleep, sleep while you may!"

It is very necessary for the proper performance of his duties that a Speaker should possess good eyesight, and a memory exceptionally retentive of names and faces. In 1640, when a heated dispute rose between members of the House, several of whom claimed precedence of speech, a rule was made that whoever first "caught the Speaker's eye"

should have the right to address the House.[197] This rule still holds good. Much confusion may therefore arise if the Speaker happens to suffer from obliquity of vision. Sir John Trevor squinted abominably; consequently two members would often catch his eye simultaneously, and decline to give way to one another.[198] To obviate this, a further rule was framed to the effect that the Speaker should call by name upon the member privileged to address the House--a rule which must often prove a severe tax upon a Speaker's memory.

[197] "People say, when you get on the blind side of a man, you get into his favour; but it is quite the reverse with the members when they get on the blind side of the Speaker." Pearson's "Political Dictionary," p. 53.

[198] When Trevor was Master of the Rolls, a post he combined with that of Speaker, it was said that if Justice were blind, Equity was now seen to squint!

In former days, when there was any doubt as to who should speak, the matter was referred to the House, as is still the practice of the House of Lords. Nowadays it is settled by the Speaker. It is the usual practice of the Chair to fix an alternate eye upon either side of the House, and thus provide both parties with equal opportunities of speech.

The tension of this perpetual strain upon a Speaker's nerves is not altogether relieved when he quits the Chair. As long as the House is sitting it is obligatory upon him to remain within the precincts of the building, close at hand, lest the proceedings in Committee of the whole House come to an end, and the House be resumed, or in case a sudden emergency should arise to demand his immediate presence. And well it is that this should be so. Who that was present on that painful occasion in the summer of 1893, when for once the decencies of debate were violated, and the House degenerated into a bear-garden, can have forgotten the effect of Mr. Speaker Peel's sudden advent upon the scene?

Mr. Chamberlain had drawn a comparison between Herod and Mr.

Gladstone. A Nationalist member retaliated by shouting "Judas!" at the member for West Birmingham. In vain did a weak Chairman seek to restore order, and when a Radical member crossed the floor and sat down in the accustomed seat of the Leader of the Opposition, he was at once pushed on to the floor by an indignant Unionist. This was the signal for an impulsive group of Nationalists to detach itself from the main body of the Irish party, and rush towards the front Opposition bench. In a moment the House was in an uproar. It is not known who struck the first blow, but before many moments had elapsed the floor of the Commons was the arena of a hand-to-hand struggle between hysterical politicians of all parties, while from the Government bench Mr. Gladstone watched this tumultuous scene with all the bitter emotions of one to whom the honour of the House was especially dear.

Meanwhile the Speaker had been sent for, and in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time appeared upon the scene. With his advent hostilities ceased as suddenly as they had begun. The storm died away; pa.s.sion quailed before "the silent splendid anger of his eyes." In the b.r.e.a.s.t.s in which but a moment ago fury had been seething there was now room for no feelings save those of shame.

The authority of the Chair is no doubt enhanced by the distinctive dress which a modern Speaker wears. The flowing wig and full robes have an important use. Mankind pays an involuntary homage to the pomp and circ.u.mstance of such attire. Perhaps it was because Lenthall possessed no peculiar costume to distinguish him from his fellows, but wore the short grey cloak and peaked hat of the Puritan, that he was subjected to the humiliation of having "Baugh!" shouted in his astonished ear. Indeed, were a modern Speaker dressed "in smart buckskin breeches, with well-topped boots, a buff waistcoat and blue frock-coat, with a rosebud stuck in the b.u.t.tonhole," as a Parliamentary writer of the last century suggested, "he might roar to the crack of his voice before he would be able to command order in a tempestuous debate."[199]

[199] Barnes's "Political Portraits," p. 218.

During the first four centuries of Parliament the Speaker received no regular salary adequate to his needs. In 1673, Sir Edward Seymour was paid 5 a day, and relied for the remainder of his income upon the fees on private bills which accompanied the office. Other Speakers in the past were remunerated by the gift of Government appointments or sinecures conferred upon them by the Crown. This casual system was put a stop to in 1790, when a fixed salary was first paid by the House to its chief officer.

For the next fifty years the Speaker could also claim valuable perquisites in the shape of equipment money, amounting to 1000, at the commencement of each new Parliament, a service of plate (valued at about the same sum), and a sessional allowance of 100 for stationery.

He was also permitted to carry the Chair away with him at the end of every Parliament, and Speaker Onslow is said to have thus acquired five of these bulky pieces of furniture, the disposal of which in his private residence must have afforded him a perplexing problem.[200]

[200] None of these chairs is to be found at Clandon, nor has the Onslow family any record of their existence, so perhaps the story of this particular perquisite is nothing but a legend and a myth.

The Speaker also received a gift of wine and a Christmas present of broadcloth from the Clothworkers' Company; and, as a buck and doe were sent to him annually from the Royal Park at Windsor, had probably more opportunities of burying venison than any of his contemporaries. The 1000 equipment money is still provided, and a service of plate, while an adequate supply of stationery is subst.i.tuted for the allowance.

As "First Commoner" the Speaker takes precedence of all others, and among his many honorary dignities is the Trusteeship of the British Museum, to which all Speakers, since and including Arthur Onslow, have been appointed. His present salary amounts to 5000 a year, and he is also provided with an official residence in the Palace of Westminster, exempt from the payment of all rates and taxes.

Out of this income he is expected to entertain, and invitations to the "Speaker's Dinners" have come to be looked upon as one of the minor delights of membership. During the eighteenth century the Speaker was in the habit of giving evening parties and official dinners on the Sat.u.r.days and Sundays of the session.[201] Speaker Abbot, in his Diary, describes one of these dinners at which twenty guests were entertained. "The style of the dinner was soup at the top and bottom, changed for fish, and afterwards changed for roast saddle of mutton and roast loin of veal." The wine was champagne, Hock, Hermitage, and (which sounds unpleasant) iced Burgundy.[202] His successors have always continued the practice of holding regular weekly entertainments of a social character, at which the members attend in _levee_ dress, and it is doubtful whether any guest to-day would follow the example of Cobbett, who declined an invitation to dine with Speaker Manners Sutton on the grounds that he was "not accustomed to the society of gentlemen."[203]

[201] Pellew's "Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 368.

[202] "Diary of Lord Colchester," February 2, 1796.

[203] Dalling's "Historical Characters," vol. ii. p. 181.

In old days, as we have seen, the Speakership was often a stepping-stone to some higher appointment. Sir Thomas More, "the first English gentleman who signalized himself as an orator; the first writer of prose (as Townsend calls him) which is still intelligible"[204]-- whatever that may mean--was also the first lay Chancellor of England.

It was not considered strange for the Speaker to hold some ministerial appointment both while he sat in the Chair and after his retirement.

Sir Edward c.o.ke was Solicitor-General as well as Speaker; Harley occupied the office of Secretary of State and the Chair simultaneously. Spencer Compton was Paymaster-General as well as Speaker, and, as Lord Wilmington, became Prime Minister in 1742. Nor was he the only Speaker to exchange the Chair for the Premiership.

Addington succeeded Pitt in that office in 1801; Grenville became Prime Minister in the Government of "All the Talents," five years later; and Manners Sutton is said to have been urged by the Duke of Wellington to form a Ministry in 1831-2.[205]

[204] Townsend's "History of the House of Commons."

[205] "Croker Papers," vol. ii. p. 164.

Nowadays, when a Speaker finally relinquishes the Chair, it would be considered derogatory to his dignity for him to reappear in the House as a simple member of Parliament. Addington did so, but soon realized the difficulty of his position, and requested that he might be elevated to the House of Lords.

It has long been the custom for the Commons to ask the Crown to recognize in a material fashion the services of a retiring Speaker. He is allowed a pension of 4000 a year, and, ever since the retirement of Abbot in 1817, a peerage of the rank of a viscountcy has been conferred upon him.

Placed in a position of extraordinary trust, hedged about with the lofty traditions of his office, weighed down by heavy responsibilities, engaged in a sedentary occupation during the greater part of the day or night, a Speaker may well agree with that candid correspondent who, in congratulating Addington on his elevation to the Chair in 1789, referred to the Speakership as "one of the most awful posts I know."[206]

In the long list of those who have so ably guided and controlled the proceedings of the House of Commons during the last hundred years, many names stand forth conspicuously--Manners Sutton, Shaw Lefevre, Denison, Brand, Peel. No Speaker has ever fallen short of the trust reposed in him, or failed in his duty to the House, and it may confidently be a.s.serted that so long as the standard of English political life maintains its present high level, no difficulty will ever be experienced in providing the Chair with an occupant who shall fill it, not only worthily, but with distinction.

[206] Pellew's "Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 66.

CHAPTER VIII

THE OPENING OF PARLIAMENT

Parliament, like everything else, must have a beginning. The opening of a session which is also the commencement of a new Parliament is an event which tradition invests with all the accompaniments of what Cobden contemptuously referred to as "barbaric pomp." The inaugural rites are performed with a stately ceremonial of which Selden himself would have approved[207]; everything is done to make the pageant as impressive as possible.

[207] "Ceremony," says Selden, "keeps up all things; 'tis like a penny gla.s.s to a rich spirit, or some excellent water; without it the water will be spilt, the spirit lost."

The actual business of the opening may be described as extending over several days, the climax being reached when the sovereign arrives in person to deliver his speech.

The opening itself is nowadays performed by a Commission issued for that purpose under the Great Seal. On the day appointed by royal proclamation for the meeting of a new Parliament, the Houses a.s.semble in their respective chambers. Before doing so, however, special precautions have been taken to ensure the safety of our legislators. A picturesque procession, composed of Yeomen of the Guard in their striking uniforms, makes its way through the numerous subterranean vaults of the Palace of Westminster, seeking diligently for the handiwork of some modern Guy Fawkes. This now familiar search is an ancient custom kept up more in accordance with popular sentiment than for any practical reason. The duties of the Beefeaters have no doubt already been antic.i.p.ated by the police, but though the fruitlessness of their quest is now a matter of regular recurrence, they persistently refuse to be discouraged, and the search is prosecuted with renewed hopefulness at the commencement of every session.[208]

[208] They even carry lighted lanterns, though the whole place is ablaze with electric light!

At two o'clock in the afternoon, the Lord Chancellor, preceded by the Mace and Purse, and attended by his Train Bearer, enters the House of Lords by the Bar. He is dressed in his robes, and when he has taken his seat, places his c.o.c.ked hat upon his head. Four other Lords Commissioners, similarly attired, are seated beside him on a bench situated between the Woolsack and the Throne. From this point of vantage the Chancellor summons the Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, and commands him to inform the Commons that their immediate attendance is desired in the House of Lords to hear the Commission read.

The post of Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod dates from the reign of Henry VIII. By the const.i.tution creating the Order of the Garter, he was to be an officer "whom the Sovereign and Companions will shall be a gentleman famous in Arms and Blood, and live within the Dominions of the Sovereign, and, for the dignity and honour of the Order, shall be chief of all Ushers of this Kingdom, and have the care and custody of the doors of the High Court called Parliament." Black Rod, either personally or through his deputy, the Yeoman Usher, fulfils in the House of Lords the functions which are performed in the Lower House by the Sergeant-at-Arms of the Commons. As custodian of the doors of Parliament, he once had the right to appoint all the doorkeepers and messengers of the House of Lords, as well as his a.s.sistant, the Yeoman Usher. He used in old days to sell these appointments for large sums, and as his fees brought him in a substantial income--in 1875 they amounted to 5300--and he was also provided with an official residence, his post was one to be coveted. The system of paying officials by fees was, however, abolished in 1877, and Black Rod's annual salary was fixed at 2000, which to-day has been reduced by half, while his residence has been taken from him and given to the Clerk of the Parliaments.

On receipt of the Lord Chancellor's command, Black Rod at once obeys--he is usually a retired naval or military officer and the spirit of discipline is still strong within him--and repairs to the Lower House to deliver his message.

Meanwhile a busy scene is being enacted in the House of Commons. From the earliest hours before the dawn members have been gradually a.s.sembling at Westminster. At the gates of Palace Yard a respectful crowd collects to watch the arrival of the nation's lawmakers.

Motor-cars, carriages, and the more humble public conveyances flow in a ceaseless stream through the Commons' gates. The traffic at the corner of Whitehall is perpetually held up to allow some member to cross the street in safety, much to the annoyance of travellers who desire to catch a train at Waterloo Station. Smiling police constables salute the old familiar faces, carefully scrutinizing the new ones for future reference.

The House within presents something of the appearance of a school on the first day of a new term. The old boys welcome each other effusively, exchanging holiday reminiscences; the new boys wander timidly about the precincts, seeking to increase their topographical knowledge. Friend greets friend with all the warmth engendered by separation; colleagues describe their own, and inquire tenderly after one another's ailments. Even the bitterest opponents may be seen congratulating each other on re-election, or exchanging accounts of their individual experiences during the recess. An atmosphere of peace and goodwill pervades the whole House.

All is bustle and confusion in the Chamber itself, where members hasten to secure places on the green benches upon either side of the Speaker's Chair. By the rules of the House no member has a right to reserve a seat unless he has been present within the precincts during prayers, and has staked out his claim either with a hat or a card provided for the purpose. The hat used on this occasion must be a member's own "real working hat." He may not arrive with two hats, one to wear and the other to employ as a seat-preserver; nor is he permitted to borrow the headgear of a friend who has already secured a seat. A story is told of some wily member appearing at Westminster, on the morning of an important debate, in a four-wheeler br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with hats which he proposed to distribute upon the benches in order to retain places for his party. Such conduct, however, though ingenious, is strictly contrary to regulations, and could scarcely hope to escape the vigilant eye of the Sergeant-at-Arms.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE TREASURY BENCH IN 1863

FROM AN ENGRAVING AFTER THE PAINTING BY J. PHILIP]