THE HOUSE OF COMMONS
The Witenagemot, as we have already seen, was essentially an
aristocratic assembly. The populace sometimes attended its meetings,
but, beyond expressing their feelings by shouts of approval, took no
part in its deliberations. For many years after the Conquest the
People continued to be unrepresented in the Great Council of the
nation, though they were still present as spectators. From 1066 until
about 1225, says Blackstone, the Lords were the only legislators.
After the latter date the Commons were occasionally summoned, and in
1265 they formed a regular part of the legislature. Then for the first
time did the counties of England return two knights, and the boroughs
and cities two deputies each, to represent them in Parliament.
Seventy-four knights from all the English counties except Chester,
Durham, and Monmouth,[55] and about two hundred burgesses and
citizens, sat in the Parliament of Edward I.; but it was not until the
reign of his successor that any attempt was made to form a
constitutional government.
The Three Estates in those days sat in the same Chamber, but did not
join in debate. The Lords made the laws, and the Commons looked on or
perhaps assented respectfully. The separation of the two Houses took
place in the reign of Edward III., when the knights threw in their
allegiance with the burgesses, and in 1322 the Lower House[56] first
met apart.
[55] Durham, both County and City, was not enfranchised until 1673,
and Monmouth was regarded as a Welsh County.
[56] "The House of Commons is called the Lower House in twenty Acts of
Parliament," says Selden. "But what are twenty Acts of Parliament
amongst friends?"--"Table Talk," p. 36.
The power of the Commons increased gradually as time advanced. By the
end of the thirteenth century they had secured sufficient authority to
ensure that no tax could be imposed without their consent. By the
middle of the fourteenth no law could be passed unless they approved.
But many centuries were yet to elapse before the chief government of
the country passed into their hands.
The expense of sending representatives to Parliament was long
considered a burden, many counties and boroughs applying to be
discharged from the exercise of so costly a privilege. The electors of
those days were apparently less anxious to furnish a Member for the
popular assembly than to save the payment of his salary. Indeed, the
city of Rochester, in 1411, practised the frugal custom of compelling
any stranger who settled within its gates to serve a term in
Parliament at his own expense. He was thus permitted to earn his
freedom, and the parsimonious citizens saved an annual expenditure of
about £9.[57]
[57] "Quarterly Review," vol. xxix. p. 63.
With the gradual growth of parliamentary power the importance of
electing members to the House of Commons began to be recognized, and,
during the Wars of the Roses, fewer and fewer applications were made
by boroughs and cities anxious to be relieved of this duty.
Until Henry VI.'s time, when the modern system of Bills and Statutes
began to come into being, legislation was by Petition. The control of
Parliament was still very largely in the hands of the Crown, and
successive sovereigns took care that their influence over the Commons
should be maintained. With this object in view Edward VI. enfranchised
some two-and-twenty rotten boroughs, Mary added fourteen more, and in
Elizabeth's time sixty-two further members, all under the royal
control, were sent to leaven the Commons.
The attendance in the Lower House was still poor, not more than two
hundred members ever taking part in the largest divisions, and it was
only at the culmination of the conflicts between Parliament and the
Stuart Kings that the Commons began to display a real desire for
independent power.
If the Revolution of 1688 firmly and finally established the supremacy
of Parliament, it was only a supremacy over the Crown. The democratic
element to which we are accustomed in a modern House of Commons was
still conspicuously lacking. Both Houses remained purely aristocratic
in character until long after this. Whigs and Tories might wrangle
over political differences; they were at one in their determination to
uphold the interests of a single privileged class. "This House is not
the representative of the people of Great Britain," said Pitt in the
Commons in 1783; "it is the representative of nominal boroughs, of
ruined and exterminated towns, of noble families, of wealthy
individuals, of foreign potentates." Eight members of Parliament were
then nominated by the Nabob of Arcot, and in 1793 the Duke of
Norfolk's nominees in the House numbered eleven. The Crown, the
Church, and the aristocracy governed the country. The Commons were an
insignificant body, open to bribery, dependent upon rich patrons or
upon electors whose corruption was notorious. Prior to 1832, only 170
out of some 658 members of Parliament were independent; the remainder
were nominated by wealthy individuals. The Reform Bill of 1832,
however, brought about a mighty change for the better. The electorate
of the country was raised from 300,000 to 1,370,000. Fifty-six corrupt
boroughs were disfranchised, thirty-one were deprived of one member
each, and two others were reduced; and the hitherto inadequate
representation of other towns and boroughs was rectified.
The Reformed Parliament that met in the following year differed in
many respects from its predecessors. Sir Robert Peel was much struck
by the alteration in tone, character, and appearance of the new House
of Commons. "There was an asperity, a rudeness, a vulgar assumption
of independence, combined with a fawning reference to the people out
of doors, expressed by many of the new members, which" (as he told his
friend Raikes) "was highly disgusting."[58] The Duke of Wellington,
who had gone to the Peers' Gallery of the House of Commons to inspect
the new Parliament, expressed his opinion more tersely. "I never saw
so many shocking bad hats in my life!" he said. The spirit of
democracy had crept in, but it was still an unwelcome visitor. For
many years the aristocracy maintained a great preponderance in the
House of Commons--in 1868 that assembly comprised 45 heirs of
peerages, 65 younger sons of peers, and 57 baronets[59]--but its power
decreased year by year, though even now it cannot be said to be wholly
extinct.
[58] Raikes's "Journal," vol. i. p. 157.
[59] "Pall Mall Gazette," December 28, 1860.
By the Reform Acts of 1867 and 1884 the franchise qualifications were
once more extended, and three and a half million names added to the
register. With the election, in 1874, of the first Labour
candidates--of whom one, at least, was a genuine working-man--the
Commons gradually began to assume that representative appearance which
it now presents.
During the last three centuries the Lower House has increased very
considerably in size as well as in importance. It numbered 300 in the
reign of Henry VI., and 506 at the time of the Long Parliament. In
1832, by which time the Acts of Union had added 45 Scottish and 100
Irish members,[60] the numbers had risen to 658, and to-day some 670
members sit in Parliament.
[60] The Irish members were increased to 105 in 1832, but subsequently
reduced to 103, fifty years later.
The House of Commons has long ago shaken off the shackles of the
Crown, and will perhaps some day be almost as wholly emancipated from
the influence of the aristocracy. Its power is increasing yearly,
owing mainly to the fact that it has gained the confidence of the
country, and it is now generally felt that when any great question
arises, the House will solve it, as Disraeli said some fifty years
ago, "not merely by the present thought and intelligence of its
members, but by the accumulated wisdom of the eminent men who have
preceded them."[61]
[61] Hansard, "Debates," 18 April, 1864.
To appreciate the exact nature of those inducements which tempt a man
to enter Parliament must often prove perplexing to the lay mind. To
Charles James Fox the pleasures of patronage seemed the circumstances
which chiefly rendered desirable the possession of political power.
But the patronage in the hands of a private member to-day is of too
insignificant a nature to prove an irresistible temptation, and
political power of an appreciable kind is reserved for the very few.
The life of the modern legislator is a strenuous and an expensive one;
it cannot be successfully undertaken by a poor or an idle man. Before
a candidate may stand for Parliament at all he must deposit a
substantial sum with the Returning Officer, and the mere expenses of
election vary from £350 to £900 in boroughs, and from £650 to as much
as £1800 in counties.[62] Add to this the annual sum--variously
computed at from £200 to £500--which a member spends in subscriptions
within his constituency, and it can readily be imagined that the
parliamentary life is not open to all. There would, indeed, seem to be
some justification for the criticism of that cynical member who said
that he had often heard the House of Commons called "the best club in
London," and supposed that it was so termed because it demanded the
largest entrance fee.[63] A few fortunate candidates have their
election expenses paid by a party or by Trades Unions, but these are
in the minority, and the comparatively large cost of entering
Parliament is the chief reason why, in spite of the democratic
tendency of modern political thought, the House of Commons still
remains in large measure a delegation of the richest if not perhaps of
the most aristocratic class in England. This state of things is likely
to continue unless some system is adopted of remunerating the services
of legislators in the fashion which long prevailed in England and is
still in vogue upon the Continent. But it is certainly open to
argument whether its adoption would improve the quality of the House
or the respect entertained for it in the country.
[62] The General Election of 1880 cost £1,700,000. This expenditure
was reduced to about a million pounds after the passing of the Corrupt
and Illegal Practices Prevention Act and the Redistribution Bill of
1883 and 1885. By the former the expenses in boroughs are limited to
£350, if the number of electors does not exceed 2000; and to £380 if
it does exceed 2000, with an extra £30 for every further 1000
electors. In counties, where the electors do not exceed 2000, the
expenses are limited to £650, and to £710 if they exceed 2000, with an
extra £60 for every further 1000 electors. These sums do not include
personal expenses up to £100 and the charges of the returning officer.
[63] Hansard, "Debates," vol. 288, p. 1563. (5 June, 1884.) (The
phrase was first used in a novel entitled, "Friends of Bohemia, or
Phases of London Life," published in 1857, by a Parliamentary writer
named E. M. Whitty.)
In the Parliaments of Edward III. members received regular payment,
the wages varying from year to year. At the beginning of the
fourteenth century, for example, the knights of Dorsetshire were paid
5_s._ a day; later on this was reduced to 1_s._ 6_d._ In 1314 the
daily wage of county members was 4_s._, and they were also allowed a
small sum to cover travelling expenses. In Henry VIII.'s reign
boroughs were expected to pay their own members' expenses. Frugal
constituencies occasionally bargained with their would-be
representatives, and candidates, stimulated to generous impulses by
the idea of imminent election, would agree to defray their own
expenses or even to go without wages altogether. Sometimes, too,
members appear to have been willing to pay for the privilege of
election. In 1571 a certain Thomas Long was returned for the Wiltshire
borough of Westbury by the simple process of paying the mayor a sum of
£4. Long's unfitness for a seat in Parliament--he was a simple
yeoman--became apparent as soon as he entered the House. On being
questioned, he admitted having bribed the constituency to elect him,
and was at once informed that the House had no further need of his
services. The inhabitants of Westbury were fined £20, and the Mayor
was compelled to refund his money.[64]
[64] "Parliamentary History," vol. i. p. 766.
The practice of paying members long continued. In the year 1586 we
find the member for Grantham suing the borough for his salary. The
House of Commons does not, however, appear to have been anxious to
uphold this claim, and requested that it should be withdrawn. By this
time, indeed, it had become usual for members to forego the financial
advantages of election--though there still remained some notable
exceptions who were not satisfied with the honorary rewards attaching
to the possession of a seat in Parliament--and in 1677 the Commons
repealed the Statute by which wages were paid to members.[65]
[65] Andrew Marvell continued to receive a salary from Hull until his
death in 1678 (see his "Works," vol. ii., xxxv.), and the member for
Harwich obtained a writ against that borough for his salary in 1681.
Samuel Pepys deplored the gradual neglect of the old practice
requiring constituencies to allow wages to their representatives,
whereby, he said, "they chose men that understood their business and
would attend it, and they could expect an account from, which now they
cannot."[66] But this view was not the popular one, and electors
gladly availed themselves of the change in public opinion to
discontinue the earlier system. Motions have been brought forward on
more than one occasion, "to restore the ancient constitutional custom
of payment of members,"--notably in 1870 and 1888--but have always
been rejected by a large majority.[67] Nowadays, however, there seems
some inclination to revert to the old-fashioned and more expensive
method, and within recent years a Liberal Prime Minister has promised
to provide payment for members whenever funds for the purpose are
available. In other respects the desire of the member of Parliament
today would appear to be rather in the direction of relinquishing than
of adding to his personal privileges. In the eighteenth century, for
example, he would never have dreamt of paying postal fees. Members
transmitted their correspondence without charge by the simple process
of inscribing their names in one corner of the envelope. The privilege
of "franking," as this was called, was afterwards limited by its being
required that the date and place of posting should be added in the
member's handwriting, and the daily number of free letters was
restricted to ten sent and fifteen received. In those free and easy
days kind-hearted members would provide their friends with large
bundles of franked half-sheets of paper, and the number of persons who
paid any postage on their correspondence two hundred years ago must
have been very small indeed. In a letter written by Mrs. Delany to a
friend in 1749 we find the subject mentioned in a way that shows how
universally available had become such opportunities for defrauding the
revenue. "I have been so silly as to forget franks," she writes. "I
must beg the favour of you to get _a dozen or two_ for me from Sir
Charles Mordaunt.... I don't know," she adds, "but you will find a few
of the Duke of Portland's in the drawer with the paper."[68]
[66] "Diary," 30 March, 1668.
[67] Irving's "Annals of Our Time," p. 912. (The majority in 1870 was
187.)
[68] "Autobiography of Mrs. Delany," vol. ii. p. 511.
[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF OF COMMONS IN 1742
FROM AN ENGRAVING BY JOHN PINE]
By the end of the eighteenth century the improper franking of letters
threatened to become a public scandal. Covers were transmitted by the
hundred, packed in boxes, the only limit to their distribution being
the good nature of members. A London banker once received thirty-three
covers containing garden seeds from a Scottish member, and it became
apparent to the postal authorities that some effort must be made to
put a stop to the practice.[69] This was eventually done in 1840, not
without a struggle, and the modern member of Parliament who writes
letters to his friends must do so at his own expense. He is still,
however, allowed to send a certain number of printed copies of bills
to his constituents, free of charge, by writing his name in a corner
of the packet.
[69] Wraxall's "Posthumous Memoirs."
To-day the privileges of membership are certainly not of a material
kind. A few men enter the House of Commons for social purposes, and
must be sadly disappointed in the result. The simple letters, "M.P."
on a card are indeed no longer, as the author of that entertaining
work, "Men and Manners in Parliament," declared them to be thirty
years ago, "the surest passport to distinction for mediocrity
travelling on the continent."[70] Bitter experience has shattered the
simple faith in human nature which was once the chief charm of the
Swiss innkeeper. The sight of a British member of Parliament signing a
cheque no longer inspires him with confidence. He is only too well
aware that among those--
"Types of the elements whose glorious strife
Form'd this free England, and still guard her life,"
there exist a few who are not above leaving their hotel bills
permanently unpaid; and this knowledge has endowed him with a caution
which is both galling to the sensitive soul of the average M.P. and
extremely inconvenient to the tourist who has momentarily mislaid his
letter of credit.
[70] p. 270.
If the member cannot now enjoy the unmixed respect of the foreigner,
it is equally certain that at home he is no longer looked upon with
the veneration with which his predecessors were commonly regarded. His
constituents treat him as their servant no less than as their
representative. And though he may find some comfort in that definition
of a member's duties for which Edmund Burke is responsible--which
perhaps cost that statesman his seat at the General Election of
1780--this will prove but a slight consolation when he is suddenly
called upon by his local committee to explain some change of views or
to account for constant neglect of his parliamentary duties.
Parliament is not, indeed, as Burke told the electors of Bristol, a
congress of ambassadors from different and hostile interests, which
interests each must maintain, as an agent and advocate, against other
agents and advocates. It is a deliberate assembly of one nation, with
one interest, that of the whole; where not local purposes, not local
prejudices, ought to guide, but the general good, resulting from the
general reason of the whole. "You choose a member indeed," he said;
"but when you have chosen him, he is not a member of Bristol, but he
is a member of _Parliament_."[71] At the same time a member cannot
afford to forget that he owes much to his constituents; his existence
in Parliament depends very greatly upon their good pleasure. He must
be to a certain extent at their beck and call, willing to subscribe to
their local charities, to open their bazaars, visit their hospitals,
kick off at their football matches, take the chair at their farmers'
dinners or smoking-concerts. He must have a welcome hand ever extended
in the direction of the squire, a smile for the licensed victualler, a
kindly nod of the head for the meanest elector, and (at election
times) a kiss for the humblest voter's stickiest child. When
constituents call upon him at the House he must greet them with a
display of effusiveness which gives no hint of his annoyance at being
interrupted in the middle of important business. They may want to be
shown round the House, and such a natural desire on their part must be
acquiesced in, though it is not every one who has the courage to
escort a band of six hundred constituents round the Chamber, as did a
member in 1883. Every morning the postman will bring him--besides that
voluminous bundle of parliamentary papers and bluebooks, with the
contents of which he is mythically supposed to make himself
acquainted--a score of applications of various kinds from his
constituents, all of which must be attended to. The day is long past
when he can emulate the cavalier methods of Fox who, as Secretary of
State for Foreign Affairs, affixed a notice to the door of his office:
"No letters received here on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays,
Fridays or Saturdays! and none answered on any day!"[72]
[71] Speech at Bristol in 1774. ("Works and Correspondence of E.
Burke," vol. iii. p. 236). Algernon Sidney anticipated this remark.
"It is not therefore for Kent or Sussex, Lewes or Maidstone, but for
the whole nation, that the members chosen in those places are sent to
serve in Parliament."--"Discourse Concerning Government," vol. ii. p.
370.
[72] Bell's "Biographical Sketches," p. 82.
The modern member's duties are by no means confined to the House of
Commons, nor are they limited to the duration of the session. Formerly
it would never have occurred to a member to make a speech in his
constituency, once he was elected; though as a candidate he would of
course address the voters, and might even be compelled to attend a
banquet or a provincial dance.[73] The idea of paying a visit to the
electors of any constituency other than his own would, a century ago,
have been considered in the worst possible taste. Nowadays, however,
the point of view is changed. No sooner has he completed his share in
the arduous work of the session--the long tedious hours of debate, the
wearisome attendance on committees, the continual tramping through the
division lobbies--and shaken the dust of Westminster from his feet,
than he must hasten to the country to give some account of his
stewardship, to dazzle his constituents with the oratorical platitudes
which have failed to move the more fastidious audience of the House of
Commons. He must even be ready to rush off to the assistance of a
fellow-member in some distant shire, and purge his bosom of the same
perilous stuff upon various platforms all over the country.
[73] Croker, in 1820, complains of having to attend a three o'clock
dinner and dance at Bodmin, when he stood as candidate; the whole
affair being, he says, "at once tiresome and foolish." "Croker
Papers," vol. i. p. 166.
Sir Edward Coke declared three hundred years ago that every member of
Parliament should in three respects at least resemble the elephant;
"first, that he hath no gall; secondly, that he is inflexible, and
cannot bow; thirdly, that he is of a most ripe and perfect
memory."[74] He might well have added some of the other qualities of
that admirable beast--patience, docility, the capacity for hard work,
and, above all, a thick skin. Though outwardly inflexible, a modern
member must be prepared to bow to the wishes of his party; and in his
ripe and perfect memory there should be room for the names and faces
of his constituents and their wives. He must be patient when he has
failed for the hundredth time to "catch the Speaker's eye"; he must be
docile when the Whip urges him to vote in favour of a motion with
which he disagrees fundamentally; and if he be of a thin-skinned
disposition or of a delicate constitution, the labours of the House of
Commons may soon prove too much for him. If he is unambitious and
anxious to lead a peaceful life, he will do well to remember the
advice given by Ferguson of Pitfour, who summed up his parliamentary
experiences, in 1826, as follows: "I was never present at any debate I
could avoid, or absent from any division I could get at. I have heard
many arguments which convinced my judgment, but never one that
influenced my vote. I never voted but once according to my own
opinion, and that was the worst vote I ever gave. I found that the
only way to be quiet in Parliament was always to vote with the
Ministry, and never to take a place."[75]
[74] "Institute of the Laws of England," 4th part, p. 3.
[75] Sir H. C. Robinson's "Diary and Reminiscences," vol. ii. pp.
315-6.
No doubt the member of Parliament enjoys many privileges which are
denied to the mere layman. He is stimulated by the excitement of
participating in a perpetual political conflict; he delights in the
intellectual pleasure of hearing the most interesting questions of the
day debated by the shrewdest men of the age; he is conscious of being
in a sense a public benefactor, with a direct (if somewhat slight)
influence upon the policy of his country. He is given a front seat in
what Mr. Biggar once called the "best theatre in London," and there is
always the chance that some day he may himself be cast for a leading
part in that great political drama which is performed night after
night on the boards of the Theatre Royal, Westminster. Politics--"l'art
de mentir à propos," as Voltaire defined them--may have their origin
in the perversity rather than in the grandeur of the human soul, but
the attraction they exercise over the average Englishman is very
great.[76] But for the privileges of a parliamentary career--one of
the worthiest to which a patriot can devote himself, in Mr. Balfour's
opinion--a heavy price has to be paid, and to the toll of toil and
treasure levied by Parliament must be added the sacrifice of
independence as well as of time.
[76] Moore wrote to Lady Donegal in 1807: "I begin at last to find out
that _politics_ is the only thing minded in this country, and that it
is better even to _rebel_ against government than have nothing to do
with it." "Memoirs," vol. i. p. 225.
In this twentieth century the initiative of the private member has
almost disappeared. The Government is alone responsible for
legislation; all the most important measures brought in are Government
measures. The time of the House is placed, very early in each session,
at the disposal of the Government, its business is arranged to suit
their convenience, and the private member must be content to make the
most of such fragmentary opportunities as are flung to him. He is
controlled by his party and by his Whip; he may not leave the House
without permission; he must vote at the word of command. At one moment
he may be called upon to speak at length upon a subject of which he is
sublimely ignorant, in order to allow his party a chance of gathering
their forces to meet an unexpected division; at another he is
compelled to refrain from good words, though it may be pain and grief
to him, in order to save the precious time of the Government. And
perhaps he will occasionally be inclined to agree once more with Burke
that the same qualifications, nowadays, make a good member of
Parliament that formerly made a good monk: "Bene loqui de superiore,
legere breviarum taliter qualiter, et sinere res vadere ut vadunt"--to
speak well of the minister, read the lesson he sets you, and let the
State take care of itself![77]
[77] Prior's "Life of Burke," vol. ii. p. 454.
Even so, the advantages of membership are not to be despised; and once
a man has tasted the sweets of political life, all other professions
fade into insignificance. He may have been moved to enter Parliament
by some ambitious yearning after fame; he may have been prompted by
patriotic motives, or merely the desire to prove himself a useful
member of society, his serious opinion being (like that of Buxton, the
great opponent of Slavery) that "good woodcock-shooting is a
preferable thing to glory."[78] His contributions to debate may be of
poor quality, but they will not be altogether valueless, and, after an
arduous day in the House, he will listen with a glow of conscious
rectitude to the ancient and welcome cry of "Who goes Home?" which
rings through the lobbies and announces the close of the sitting.[79]
Though he may never, perhaps, wake to find himself famous, he will
often sink comfortably to sleep on his return home from the House in
the early hours of the morning, soothed by the consciousness of duty
done. That in itself is a thing not to be despised, and there may
possibly be other benefits in store for him. If he is sufficiently
painstaking and intelligent he may perchance have greatness thrust
upon him in the form of an under-secretaryship, and, when he has
scaled the outer breastworks of that Cabinet zareba to which access is
so difficult, the suspicion that he has long cherished of being a
heaven-born politician is at length confirmed.
[78] Buxton's "Memoirs," p. 154.
[79] In olden days members used to return from Westminster to London
through lanes infested with robbers. This cry enabled them to assemble
and leave the House in one another's company.
Socrates was right when he said that whereas no man undertook a trade
that he had not thoroughly learnt, everybody considered himself
sufficiently qualified by nature to undertake the trade of government,
probably the most difficult in the world. There are, however, certain
disqualifications which prevent the most ambitious man from serving in
Parliament.[80]
[80] It is curious to reflect that a man may be a member of Parliament
even though he is not entitled to a vote as an elector. The Rt. Hon.
Austen Chamberlain was not only a member, but even a Cabinet Minister,
at a time when he had no vote.
Infants and minors may not be elected to the House of Commons. But
though they have always been excluded by custom or statute, their
presence was winked at until the end of the eighteenth century. The
members of those bygone times seem generally to have been more
youthful than the members of to-day. Even the Chair was occupied by
men comparatively young, Seymour, Harley, and Sir Thomas More each
being elected Speaker before he had reached the age of forty. The
last-named speaks of himself as a "beardless boy resisting greybeards
and Kings themselves," referring no doubt to the time when Cardinal
Wolsey came to the House of Commons in 1523, to ask for money for his
royal master, and he actively opposed the grant.
In Queen Elizabeth's time the Lower Chamber was not weakened by the
admission of too many infants; but during the reign of James I. the
ancient custom for old men to make laws for young ones seems to have
been inverted, there being as many as forty members of Parliament who
were minors, and several who were not more than sixteen years old.[81]
The poet Waller sat in the Commons before he was seventeen, while Lord
Torrington (afterwards Duke of Albemarle) took part in debate when he
was only fourteen, and at that age addressed the House in 1667, on the
subject of Clarendon's impeachment.[82] The infant members of that day
were singularly precocious and well able to look after themselves.
When, for instance, some one urged that Lord Falkland was too young to
sit in Parliament, as he had not yet sown his wild oats, that young
nobleman rudely replied that he could imagine no more suitable place
for sowing them than the House of Commons, where there were so many
geese to pick them up.[83]
[81] Naunton's "Fragmenta Regalia," p. 21.
[82] Shaftesbury's "Life," vol. i. p. 30 n.
[83] Townsend's "History," vol. ii. p. 400.
The Crown saw no disadvantage in having youthful legislators, who
could all the more easily be influenced. When Parliament assembled in
1661 and the tender age of many of the members was pointed out to King
Charles, he answered that he found no great fault in that, "for he
could keep them till they got beards."[84] By the Act of 1695,
however, infants were formally excluded from Parliament, but for a
long time they continued to sit in the House, though they most
probably abstained from voting.
[84] Reresby's "Memoirs," p. 51.
Extreme youth was not considered a bar to parliamentary success in
days when it was possible for a politician to become Prime Minister,
as Pitt did, at the age of twenty-five, though that statesman's father
found it necessary on one occasion to defend himself against the
charge of immaturity.[85] Both Fox and Philip Stanhope (afterwards
Lord Chesterfield) delivered their maiden speeches a month or so
before they came of age,[86] and Lord John Russell was returned to
Parliament when he was still a minor.
[85] "Sir," he said in debate, "the atrocious crime of being a young
man, which the hon. gentleman (Horace Walpole) has with such decency
and spirit charged against me, I shall neither attempt to palliate or
deny; but content myself with wishing that I may be one of those whose
follies may cease with their youth, and not of that number who are
ignorant in spite of experience."
[86] Chesterfield's "Letters," vol. ii. p. 339. In order to escape the
fine of £500 Chesterfield retired from political life for a short
time.
As the years advanced the House of Commons became more and more
particular in this respect, and at the beginning of the nineteenth
century an eye-witness was struck by the large proportion of
bald-headed men--nearly a third of the whole number--in the Lower
Chamber.[87] To-day no one who has not reached the mature age of
twenty-one can stand for Parliament, much less sit upon the sacred
green benches.
[87] Grant's "Recollections," p. 62.
Lunatics and idiots are also disentitled to parliamentary election. A
member who goes mad after having taken his seat can only be removed,
however, if his case is proved to be a hopeless one, the House being
then petitioned to declare the seat vacant, and the Speaker issuing a
new writ. In one well-known instance a committee of the House found
that a member's lunacy was not so incurable as to justify his removal,
and he retained his seat. In 1881 the case of a lunatic recording his
vote in a division was the occasion of a painful and futile debate.
The member in question suffered from periodical bouts of insanity, and
had recently been certified "dangerous" at his own request, in order
that he might retire temporarily to an asylum. It was therefore
obviously improper for him to vote. The House, however, declined to
take any serious notice of the incident, the motion for an inquiry by
a Select Committee into the circumstances of the case being negatived,
and the matter tactfully allowed to drop.[88]
[88] See Hansard, vol. clxii. p. 1941.
Aliens cannot sit in Parliament until they have taken the precaution
of becoming naturalised British subjects. In William III.'s time all
persons born outside the dominions were disqualified, and when the
Test and Corporation Acts were repealed in George IV.'s reign, an
amendment was inserted by the Bishop of Llandaff in the House of Lords
by which Jews were excluded from Parliament. They were finally
admitted to the House of Commons in 1858, and during the reign of
Queen Victoria naturalisation was held to carry with it full political
rights.
English and Scottish peers are incapacitated from serving in the
Commons. Irish peers, however, may do so, provided that they are not
already sitting as representative peers in the House of Lords.[89] The
eldest sons of peers were excluded from the Lower House down to the
middle of the sixteenth century, when they were gratefully admitted
and given seats of honour on the front bench with the Privy
Councillors.
[89] When the Lords were temporarily abolished in 1648, peers were
elected to the Commons, but only a few seem to have availed themselves
of this privilege. Porritt's "Unreformed House of Commons," vol. i. p.
123.
Irishmen enjoy parliamentary privileges not only as peers but also as
bankrupts. The occasional combination of the two therefore carries
with it some slight compensation. A bankrupt Englishman or Scotsman is
disabled from even standing as a candidate for Parliament, whereas his
more fortunate Irish brother may be elected. Members of Parliament who
become bankrupt after election may continue to sit and vote in the
Commons until the Speaker has received official notification of their
bankruptcy, or the House has ordered their withdrawal.
The election of clergymen and other ministers was prohibited by an Act
of 1801, passed in order to deal with the case of the Rev. J. Horne
Tooke, the "Father of Radicalism," who had been elected for Old Sarum.
It did not succeed in its object, however, for he continued to sit for
the remainder of the Parliament.[90] And by another Act, passed about
1870, any one who has relinquished the office of priest or deacon is
eligible for election. Otherwise no minister of the Established Church
may sit in Parliament.
[90] Horne Tooke was a man of strength and determination. Upon all
great public questions, as he once declared, "neither friends nor
foes, nor life nor death, nor thunder nor lightning, would ever make
him give way the breadth of one hair." When Lord Temple claimed a
superior right to sit in Parliament because he had "a stake in the
country," "So have I," said Tooke, "but it was not stolen from a
public hedge!"
Many other persons are similarly debarred, among whom may be mentioned
the holders of offices under the Crown created since 1705, Crown
pensioners (exclusive of civil servants and diplomats), and Government
contractors. Persons guilty of treason or felony (who have neither
served their sentence nor been pardoned), or of corrupt practices at
elections are likewise disqualified,[91] as are also those who are
unable to take the Oath of Allegiance or to affirm. There are,
besides, a number of officials connected with the administration of
justice, or concerned with the collection of the Revenue, or
representatives of the Crown--judges, colonial governors, etc.--who
are incapacitated by their positions from sitting in the House of
Commons.
[91] In 1558 it was voted by a small majority that one outlawed or
guilty of various frauds might sit in the House if duly elected, his
crimes being apparently purged by virtue of his election. See Raikes's
"English Constitution," vol. i. p. 323.
At one period of parliamentary history lawyers were excluded from the
House of Commons, enactments in favour of keeping out "gentlemen of
the long robe" being passed in Edward III.'s time. They were always
unpopular members, it being supposed that they only entered Parliament
as a stepping-stone to wider practice at the Bar or to some sort of
Government employment. The legal profession was looked upon as one
into which no one entered without views of self-aggrandisement, and
the use of a seat in Parliament as a means of advertising oneself did
not appeal to the country at large.[92] Lawyers are allowed to sit in
the House to-day, but they may not practise as counsel before
Parliamentary Committees, nor even advise professionally upon any
private Bill.
[92] See the "Black Book," p. 61.
Having successfully eluded all these disqualifications, paid a large
sum for the privilege of serving his country, talked himself hoarse on
the platforms of his constituency, and finally been returned in
triumph to the House of Commons, the private member may consider
himself safely launched upon the parliamentary sea. It now remains to
be seen whether or not political life comes up to his expectations. If
he is energetic, ambitious, and eloquent he will find free scope for
his talents on the green benches at Westminster. He will be given a
chance of proving his worth upon Select Committees. Here he can serve
his apprenticeship in preparation for that glorious day when he may be
inspired to thrill and enrapture a delighted assembly with such an
outburst of oratory as shall at once establish his claim to the
consideration of his party. Then indeed does Fortune seem ready to
smile upon the embryo statesman. In imagination he sees himself
lounging upon the Treasury bench, his feet cocked up against the
historic Table, while he writes a report of the debate for the
edification of his Sovereign. To the political enthusiast the
prospect is a rosy one. But alas! it is not every man who can aspire
to the giddy heights of the front bench. After many a session of
laborious days and sleepless nights, after many a recess devoted to
the tiresome art known as "nursing" his constituency, after many
disappointments and trials, our member may still find himself at the
bottom of the parliamentary ladder. Even if he ascends to what Mr.
Gladstone would have called "measurable distance" of the top, his
tenure is precarious; in the defeat of a Government at a General
Election he too may fall. And though his constituents remain loyal and
his seat secure, there arrives a day when he begins to weary of the
slavery of parliamentary life, of the drudgery of a political career.
Like Macaulay, he may at length come to define politics as a pursuit
from which the most that those who are engaged in it can expect is
that by relinquishing liberal studies and social pleasures, by passing
nights without sleep and summers without one glimpse of the beauty of
nature, they may attain "that laborious, that invidious, that closely
watched slavery which is mocked with the name of power."[93] When this
tragic moment arrives, or when through physical infirmity, advancing
years, or penury, he wishes to bid a long farewell to the scene of his
parliamentary labours, he has still a minor obstacle to contend with.
[93] "Edinburgh Review" (October, 1838), vol. lxviii. p. 114. The two
happiest days of a statesman's life are said to be the day when he
accepts high office and the day when he resigns it (Campbell's "Lives
of the Chancellors," vol. i. p. 561). Lord Rosebery defined the
acceptance and resignation of office as "the two supreme
pleasures--one ideal, the other real."
A member cannot resign his seat, nor is it permissible for him to
exchange it for any other. Only his own death or the dissolution of
Parliament can enable him to cease from being a member, unless the
House itself declares his seat to be vacant. Even expulsion from the
House does not prevent his immediate re-election by a constituency
determined to retain his services, as was shown in the case of
Walpole--twice expelled from the House, and re-elected by the voters
of Lynn--and of Wilkes and Bradlaugh. The only thing that can prevent
a man from sitting in the House, or allow a member to escape from its
service, is the fact of his coming within the range of that long list
of disqualifications already enumerated.
How then can a member vacate his seat in the simplest fashion? Many
members would think twice before becoming bankrupt or committing a
felony in order to avoid parliamentary duty. It is not given to every
one to be a Colonial Governor, an Auditor General, or even a Charity
Commissioner. But, by the merciful connivance of the powers that be,
it is always possible for a member to incapacitate himself by holding
a Crown appointment. For this beneficent purpose two ancient
stewardships of a purely nominal value are upheld, that by accepting
either of these offices a member may be enabled to retire gracefully
from Parliament.
The steward or bailiff of the three Chiltern Hundreds of Stoke,
Desborough and Boneham, and the steward of Northstead, were officers
appointed by the Crown in past ages to look after certain
Buckinghamshire forests in which brigands abounded. The brigands are
long since dead, and the forests themselves have been converted into
parks and pasture lands, but the stewardships remain, a convenient
city of refuge for members who desire to escape from the active strife
of Parliament, to whom they are sometimes presented as often as nine
times in one session. "The parliamentary constitution of England,"
said Disraeli, "was born in the bosom of the Chiltern Hills; as to
this day our parliamentary career is terminated among its
Hundreds."[94] And since no county is fraught with greater historical
and political interest than Buckinghamshire, it is perhaps fitting
that it should be the means of providing a merciful release for the
jaded parliamentarian whose course is run.
[94] Speech made to the farmers at Amersham Market, 1847.