The Mother of Parliaments Part 20

[302] Brougham's "Life," vol. iii. p. 117.

[303] Supra, p. 131.

Politicians have learnt to control their feelings, and the present publicity of parliamentary proceedings acts as a salutary deterrent to outbursts of the elemental pa.s.sions. Neither House to-day would dream of expressing its emotion in the open fashion common to Parliaments of long ago. The sight of a Lower Chamber dissolved in tears is no longer possible. Yet, in 1626, when, by the King's command, no discussion was permitted on the question of Buckingham's impeachment, a lachrymose Speaker led the whole House of Commons in a chorus of weeping. Two years later Sir Edward c.o.ke welcomed the introduction of the Pet.i.tion of Right in a voice choked with sobs. Wingfield wept for joy when monopolies were abolished in Queen Elizabeth's reign,[304] and we have already noted the tears shed by Colonel w.a.n.klyn when he was expelled, and by Speaker Finch when he was forcibly detained in the Chair. Fox shed frequent tears in the House of Commons; Pitt wept bitterly when his friend, Lord Melville, was impeached. Lord Chancellors, too, were not ashamed to express their feelings in loud sobs, Eldon's eyes becoming sympathetically moist, while even the "rugged Thurlow"

sprinkled the Woolsack with his tears.

[304] Townshend's "Proceedings of Both Houses," p. 252.

Members no longer weep, except perchance in the privacy of their own homes; nor do they follow their predecessors' fashion of converting the House of Commons into a smoking-room or a lounge, in which to sleep off the effects of their potations. The free and easy habits of seventeenth-century politicians made it necessary for a regulation to be framed that "No tobacco should be taken by any member in the gallery, nor at the table sitting in Committees."[305] And it was no uncommon sight, a hundred years ago, to see members stretched at full length on the benches of the Chamber, with their feet resting on the backs of the seats in front of them, punctuating the proceedings with their stertorous snores.[306]

[305] Regulations in the Journals, March 23, 1693.

[306] "L'lll.u.s.tre enceinte presente souvent l'aspect d'une a.s.semblee de _yankees_ beaucoup plus que celui d'une reunion de _gentlemen_."

Franqueville's "Le Gouvernement et le Parlement britaniques," vol.

iii. p. 74.

Lord North was notorious for his gift of somnolence in the House of Commons. "Behold," said Edmund Burke, with that indifferent taste for which he was noted, as he pointed to the rec.u.mbent figure of the Prime Minister, "the Government, if not defunct, at least nods; brother Lazarus is not dead, but sleepeth." North was dozing on another occasion when a member attacked him fiercely, saying that he ought certainly to be impeached for his misdeeds. "At least," exclaimed the Minister, waking for a moment, "allow me the criminal's usual privilege--a night of rest before the execution!"[307] He felt no shame at giving way to slumber in debate, and when an opponent remarked that "Even in the midst of these perils, the n.o.ble lord is asleep!" "I wish to G.o.d I was!" he replied with heartfelt fervour.[308] He would always take the opportunity afforded by a lengthy speech to s.n.a.t.c.h forty winks. Once, when the long-winded Colonel Barre was addressing the House on the naval history of England, tracing it back to the earliest ages, North asked a friend to wake him up as soon as the speaker approached modern times. When at length he was aroused, "Where are we?" asked the Premier, anxiously.

"At the battle of La Hogue, my lord." "Oh, my dear friend," said North, "you've woken me a century too soon!"[309]

[307] Timbs' "Anecdotal Biography," vol. i. p. 234.

[308] Pryme's "Recollections," p. 114.

[309] Harford's "Recollections of Wilberforce," p. 94.

A marked improvement in the conduct of modern debate is to be noticed in the comparatively inoffensive character of the epithets used by members with reference to their opponents. The decencies of debate are, as a rule, religiously observed. Recriminations are rare.

Measures are attacked, not men. The secession of a statesman is considered a political but not a personal offence, and what Palmerston once called the "puerile vanity of consistency" is no longer worshipped fanatically. Gladstone rightly called the House of Commons a "school of temper," as well as a school of honour and of justice.

Offensive allusions have always been deprecated there, but it is only within the last few score years that members have controlled their tongues to any appreciable extent in this direction. Hasty remarks are nowadays withdrawn at the first suggestion of the Speaker, though on occasion an apology may be as offensive as the original insult. Lord Robert Cecil (afterwards Lord Salisbury) said of a speech of Gladstone's in 1861, that it was "worthy of a pettifogging attorney."

Soon afterwards he rose in the House, and said that he wished to apologise for a remark he had lately made. "I observed that the speech of the right hon. gentleman was worthy of a pettifogging attorney," he said, "and I now hasten to offer my apologies--to the attornies!"

It is usual nowadays to wrap up offensive criticisms in a more or less palatable covering, to attack by inference rather than by direct a.s.sault. "I am no party man," said Colonel Sibthorpe, member for Lincoln, after the dissolution of Sir Robert Peel's Government. "I have never acted from party feelings; but I must say I do not like the countenances of honourable gentlemen opposite, for I believe them to be the index of their minds. I can only say, in conclusion, that I earnestly hope that G.o.d will grant the country a speedy deliverance from such a band."[310] This is a good example of an unpleasant thing framed in a manner which does not lay it open to the stigma of disorderly language, and is just as effective as that oft-quoted attack made by a member of the Irish House of Commons on George Ponsonby (afterwards Irish Chancellor), whose sister was sitting in the gallery at the time. "These Ponsonbys are the curse of my country," said the member; "they are prost.i.tutes, personally and politically--from the toothless old hag who is now grinning in the gallery to the white-livered scoundrel who is now shivering on the floor!"[311]

[310] Grant's "Recollections," p. 140.

[311] Hayward's "Essays," pp. 364-5.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN WALPOLE'S DAY

FROM THE ENGRAVING BY A. FOGG

THE FIGURES FROM LEFT TO RIGHT ARE:--SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, THE RT. HON.

ARTHUR ONSLOW, SYDNEY G.o.dOLPHIN (FATHER OF THE HOUSE), SIR JOSEPH JEKYL, COL. ONSLOW, EDWARD STABLES, ESQ. (CLERK OF HOUSE OF COMMOMS), SIR JAMES THORNHILL, MR. AISKEW (CLERK a.s.sISTANT)]

Members who consider themselves aggrieved or insulted have now no redress save by an appeal to the Speaker. In old days they often took the matter into their own hands, and many a duel was the outcome of hasty words spoken in Parliament. So prevalent, indeed, did the habit of duelling become, that in 1641 a resolution was pa.s.sed in the Commons empowering the Speaker to arrest any member who either sent or received a challenge. The practice of parliamentary duelling long continued, in spite of every effort to stifle it. Wilkes was wounded in 1763 in Hyde Park by a member named Martin, who had called him "a cowardly scoundrel." Lord Castlereagh and Canning met in 1809, and had, in consequence, to resign their seats in the Cabinet.[312] Lord Alvanley fought Morgan O'Connell, son of the Liberator, on his father's account. Charles James Fox was challenged by Mr. Adam, of the Ordnance Department, for a personal attack made in the House of Commons, and faced him in the old Kensington Gravel Pits. At the first shot Adam's bullet lodged harmlessly in his opponent's belt. "If you hadn't used Ordnance powder," said Fox, with a laugh, as he shook hands with Adam after the fight, "I should have been a dead man."[313]

[312] Bell's "Life of Canning," p. 251.

[313] Pryme's "Recollections," p. 235.

If duels were fought in those days on very slight provocation, challenges were also occasionally declined on equally poor grounds.

Colonel Luttrell, member for Middles.e.x, and afterwards Lord Carhampton, refused to fight his own father, not because he was his father, but because he was not a gentleman!

The last duel between politicians was that fought by the Duke of Wellington and Lord Winchelsea, as the result of some remarks made by the latter during a debate on the Roman Catholic Emanc.i.p.ation Bill in 1830. Since that time no parliamentary dispute has been referred to the arbitrament of the pistol.

Although there has been a perceptible improvement in parliamentary deportment as the centuries have advanced, the same can scarcely be said of parliamentary dress. In the time of Charles II., knee-breeches, silk stockings, and silver-buckled shoes were absolutely _de rigueur_ for members of the Commons. A hundred years later members of Parliament always wore court dress, with bag-wig and sword, in the House. The formal costume prescribed by etiquette was rigidly adhered to, and none but county members were permitted the privilege of wearing spurs.[314] At this time, too, Cabinet Ministers were never seen in Parliament without the ribbons and decorations of the various orders to which they belonged. The regulation which bids the mover and seconder of the Address to appear in court dress on the first day of the new Parliament is the only relic of this custom.

[314] Lord Colchester's "Diary," vol. i. p. 45.

Fifty years ago no member of either House would have appeared within the precincts of the Palace of Westminster wearing anything upon his head but a high silk hat. Gradually, however, a certain laxity in the matter of head-gear has crept into Parliament, and to-day, not only "bowlers," but even "cricketing caps" may be seen reposing upon the unabashed heads of members. Peers, as a rule, conform to the older fashion, and Cabinet Ministers usually dress in a respectably sombre garb. But among the rank and file of the House of Commons may occasionally be found members wearing check suits of the lightest and loudest patterns, and hats of every conceivable variety, ranging from the aesthetic "Homburg" to the humble cloth cap. The pa.s.sing of the top hat must necessarily appear somewhat in the light of a tragedy to older parliamentarians. In both Houses the hat has long come to be regarded as a sacred symbol. It is with this article of clothing that the member daily secures his claim to a seat on the benches of the House of Commons; with a hat he occasionally expresses his enthusiasm or sympathy; on a hat does he sit at the close of a speech, with the certainty of raising a laugh; and without a hat he cannot speak upon a point of order when the House has been cleared for a division.

When the Labour Party began to take an important place in the popular a.s.sembly, it was thought that this democratic invasion would have an actively detrimental effect upon the dress of the House. Old-fashioned members shook their heads and prophesied an influx of hobnailed artisans, clad in corduroys, their trousers confined at the knee with string, and in their mouths a short clay pipe. These gloomy forebodings have not been realised. With very few exceptions the dress of Labour members is little calculated to offend the most sensitive eye, though it was certainly one of their number who first entered a startled House of Commons in a tweed stalking-cap--a form of head-dress which it is certainly difficult to forgive.

CHAPTER XII

PARLIAMENTARY ELOQUENCE

When Pitt was asked what he considered most to be lamented, the lost books of Livy, or those of Tacitus, he replied that to the recovery of either of these he would prefer that of a speech by Bolingbroke. Not a fragment of what Dean Swift called the "invincible eloquence" of that statesman is left to us. But though we are compelled to take his reputation as an orator on trust, we should do wrong to complain, for it is more than probable that a perusal of Bolingbroke's speeches to-day would prove disappointing.

"Words that breathed fire are ashes on the page," and the utterances that have stirred a thousand hearts in the Senates of old days too often leave the modern reader cold and unmoved. We miss the inflections of a magical voice, the stimulating plaudits of friends or followers, the magnetism that can only be communicated by a personal intercourse between a speaker and his audience. The reading of old speeches is, as Lord Rosebery has observed, a dreary and reluctant pilgrimage which few willingly undertake. It supplies, as a rule, but a poor explanation of the effect which the eloquence of past orators produced upon their contemporaries. It is like attending an undress rehearsal of a play in an empty theatre on a cold winter's afternoon.

The glamour of costume, of limelight, is lacking; the atmosphere of appreciation, excitement, enthusiasm, is absent. The difference between the spoken and the published oration has been aptly defined as the difference between some magnificent temple laid open to the studious contemplation of a solitary visitant, and the same edifice beheld amidst the fullest accompaniments of sacrificial movement and splendour, thronged with adoring crowds, and resounding with solemn harmonies.[315]

[315] "Quarterly Review," vol. xxii. p. 496.

It has often been affirmed that no speech in Parliament has ever resulted in the winning of a division. Byron declared that "not Cicero himself, nor probably the Messiah, could have altered the vote of a single lord of the Bedchamber or Bishop."[316] There are, however, one or two instances of orations which have been so moving in their appeal that they may claim to be exceptions to this rule. Plunket's famous speech in the debate on Grattan's motion for Catholic Emanc.i.p.ation in 1807 is said to have gained many votes. Macaulay won the support of several opponents by an eloquent speech on the second reading of Lord Mahon's Copyright Bill in 1842, and, on a Bill introduced by Lord Hotham to exclude certain persons holding offices from the House of Commons, actually caused the antic.i.p.ated majority to be reversed.

[316] Moore's "Life of Byron," 185.

On one memorable occasion when Sheridan, with that impa.s.sioned oratory for which he had already become famous, was advocating the prosecution of Warren Hastings, the House of Commons was so stirred that a motion for adjournment was made in order to give members time to recover from the overpowering effect of his eloquence.[317] Again, during the debate on Commercial Distress in December, 1847, Peel roused the fury of the Protectionists by a violent and able speech, and, when he resumed his seat, an adjournment was moved on the ground that the House was not in a condition to vote dispa.s.sionately. Burke, too, seems at times to have stimulated his hearers to an active expression of their emotion; and when he was lamenting the employment of Indians in the American War, a fellow-member was so moved that he offered to nail a copy of his speech upon the door of every church in the kingdom.[318]

[317] Barnes' "Reminiscences," p. 203.

[318] Prior's "Life of Burke," vol. i. p. 337.

Yet the speeches of Burke and Sheridan do not affect us to-day with anything but a mild enthusiasm, chiefly founded upon our admiration of their literary excellence. We remain comparatively indifferent to their appeal; our hearts beat no faster as we read.

Sheridan's two orations on the subject of Warren Hastings'

impeachment--the one delivered in the House of Commons on February 7, 1787, and the other in Westminster Hall during the trial--have been considered among the very finest ever made in Parliament. It was after the first of these, which lasted for five hours, that the House adjourned to enable members to survey the question calmly, freed from the spell of the enchanter. Sheridan's style, according to Burke, was "something between poetry and prose, and better than either."[319]

Even the fastidious Byron declared him to be the only speaker he ever wished to hear at greater length. He was offered 1000 by a publisher for his great "Begum Speech," if he would but consent to correct the proofs; but for long he refused. Eventually he agreed to its publication, but by that time popular interest had subsided.[320] As much as fifty guineas was paid for a seat to hear his speech at the trial of Hastings, when, as Ben Jonson wrote of Bacon, "the fear of every man that heard him was lest he should make an end."[321]

[319] Moore's "Life of Sheridan," vol. i. p. 523.

[320] He never received the promised 1000. (See Harrington's "Personal Sketches of His Own Times," vol. i. p. 429.)

[321] "Cornwallis Papers," vol. i. p. 364 n.