PARLIAMENTARY PRIVILEGE AND PUNISHMENT
Parliament has ever been most tenacious of its historic and
traditionary rights and privileges. Of these, freedom of speech and
freedom from arrest may be considered the most important. The right of
personal access to the Crown is claimed by peers, any one of whom may
demand a private audience with the sovereign, and, though the Commons
are not granted a similar privilege, it is permissible for them to
accompany their Speaker when he presents an address to the King, and
to wear ordinary dress on such an occasion.
In olden days peers enjoyed other indulgences denied to their humbler
brethren. They were, for instance, permitted to kill deer in the
King's forests whenever, in obedience to a royal summons, they
journeyed to or from the sovereign. At such times the bag was limited
to two deer, and these might only be slain in the presence of the
King's Forester. If that official were not at hand, the sporting peer
was enjoined to blow several loud blasts upon his hunting-horn before
pursuing his quarry to the death.[256] Peers were further allowed
"benefit of clergy," in the good old days, for such crimes as highway
robbery, horse-stealing and house-breaking, but only for a first
offence. If they took up burglary as a hobby, or if the robbery of
churches became with them a daily habit, they could no longer escape
from the consequences of their misdeeds, and were haled to prison just
as though they had been mere ordinary mortals. "Benefit of clergy"
was a privilege which was repealed by Act of Parliament in 1801, and a
peer to-day cannot steal a single gold watch with impunity.
[256] Pike's "Constitutional History," p. 267.
Exemption from arrest on a civil process during the session, or for
forty days before and after, is a privilege which members of the House
of Commons as well as the Lords have always enjoyed.[257] It extended
to their estates until 1857, and to their servants until 1892. This
immunity does not, however, extend to breaches of the criminal law,
nor can it be claimed in the case of an indictable offence or of
contempt of court, its original object being merely to secure freedom
of arrival and attendance. The Speaker of the Commons, Thomas Thorpe,
who was summoned in Henry VI.'s time for carrying away certain goods
and chattels from the Bishop of Durham's Palace, was fined £1000, and
committed to the Fleet until this sum should be paid. The question of
privilege was raised, but the House of Lords decided that the culprit
must remain in prison, and the Commons were directed to elect another
Speaker.
[257] Peeresses may also claim this as a right.
In the early days of Parliament, privilege from arrest was generally
enforced by a resolution of the House or by a Chancery writ, though
there is at least one instance of a member being released without any
such formality. This occurred in the case of a member named Ferrars,
who had been arrested for debt by the Sheriff of London in 1543. The
Sergeant-at-Arms who went to demand his release was illtreated, and
sent back empty-handed. The House thereupon summoned the sheriff to
the Bar, and with him the creditor who had sued Ferrars, and committed
both to prison.
In 1575 the privilege was extended, the servants of members of the
House of Commons being included within the pale of its protection.
This naturally led to many abuses, culminating in the case of the
notorious Colonel Wanklyn. This member gave a signed "protection" to a
wealthy friend whom he falsely named as his servant in order to
enable him to escape the payment of a debt which he owed to his own
wife. The fraud being made public, the culprit was expelled from the
House, and went away weeping bitterly, "to the scandal of his brother
officers."[258] In the same year a man named Smalley, the servant of
Arthur Hall, member for Grantham, was arrested for debt and released
by the Speaker's order. It was afterwards discovered that he had
arranged his arrest so as to elude his financial liabilities, and the
indignant House ordered him to be imprisoned and fined £100.[259]
Further discredit was cast upon one of the ancient privileges of
Parliament by another member named Benson, who was found guilty of
selling "protections" at sixteen shillings apiece, and was turned out
of the House.
[258] Townsend's "History," vol. i. p. 253.
[259] Raikes's "Journal," vol. i. p. 320.
If the Commons were justly severe in their treatment of members who
abused this particular privilege, they punished with even greater
severity any unfortunate persons who attempted to violate it. In 1584
an official of the mighty Star Chamber was committed to the Tower for
daring to serve a _subpoena_ on a member of Parliament. At the
beginning of the next century, two officers who had arrested a
member's servant were condemned to ride together upon a single horse,
back to back, through the streets of London. In this insecure and
undignified position they were taken from Westminster to the Exchange,
wearing upon their breasts a placard inscribed with their offence, an
awful example to all who would dream of laying hands on the sacred
persons of parliamentarians or their dependents.
The immunity which members had hitherto enjoyed was slightly modified
in 1700, when an Act was passed permitting civil suits to be commenced
against them after a dissolution or prorogation, or during any
adjournment of more than fourteen days. Later on, in George III.'s
reign, their privileges were still further curtailed, their persons
alone being held sacred, and that for a period of only forty days
before or after the meeting of Parliament. Use was still made of this
privilege as a shield from the power of the law, and as late as 1807
there are instances of the unscrupulous purchase of seats in the
Commons for the sole purpose of obtaining release from prison or
escaping the payment of debt.
To this day members of Parliament are safe from arrest within the
precincts of the Palace of Westminster. Irish members who had been
convicted under the Coercion Act, in the palmy days of the Land
League, found in the House of Commons a useful if only temporary
sanctuary. Dr. Tanner took his seat there at a time when a warrant for
his arrest had been issued, and it was not until the adjournment of
the House and the return to his hotel of this member, so badly "wanted
by the police," that he could be lawfully apprehended.
The jealous care with which Parliament guarded its rights in olden
days often threatened to bring the very name of privilege into
contempt. The Commons especially acquired the pernicious habit of
voting that whatsoever displeased them was an insult to Parliament,
requiring instant and drastic punishment. Books or sermons which
criticized or reflected upon the doings of either House were condemned
wholesale, confiscated, and publicly burnt by the common hangman;
authors or preachers were imprisoned and otherwise penalized. "The
Parliament-men are as great Princes as any in the World," says Selden,
"when whatsoever they please is privilege of Parliament; no man must
know the number of their privileges, and whatsoever they dislike is
breach of privilege."[260]
[260] "Table Talk," p. 109.
Impeachment, imprisonment, fines, confiscation of property, or
committal to the Tower, were among the penalties meted out with a
lavish hand to all who gave offence to the Commons. In 1624, Dr.
Harrys, vicar of Blechingly, was brought to the bar of the Commons for
interfering at elections, and compelled to confess his guilt, and
afterwards to apologise to his parishioners. A Welsh judge named
Jenkins was summoned before the Long Parliament for having called the
House of Commons a den of thieves, and, on refusing to "bow himself in
this house of Rimmon," was sentenced to death.
The most trivial faults, the most innocent acts, were from time to
time voted contempts of Parliament, and the offenders chastised with a
barbarity which was out of all proportion to the nature of their
misdeeds. So harmless an offence as crowding or jostling against a
member of Parliament was at one time considered a crime. In the days
when the great Arthur Onslow occupied the Chair of the House of
Commons, it was his custom to traverse Westminster Hall on his way to
the House, saluting the Judges as he passed. An unfortunate man who
accidentally blocked the Speaker's path on one occasion was instantly
ordered into custody.[261]
[261] Hatsell's "Precedents," vol. ii. p. 241 n.
Poaching the game of a member of Parliament was also adjudged a
misdemeanour worthy of severe retribution. A poacher who trespassed on
the fishing rights of Admiral Griffiths, M.P., in 1759, was
reprimanded on his knees at the bar of the Commons.[262]
[262] Lord Russell's "Essays and Sketches," p. 346.
The presentation of fraudulent petitions has always been regarded as a
breach of parliamentary privilege; and, in 1887, a man named Bidmead,
who presented a petition which was found to be full of false
signatures, was brought to the bar and severely reprimanded. This
process of haling an offender to the bar to receive the censure of the
House was an impressive one, calculated to strike fear into the
boldest heart. The culprit was brought in, in the custody of the
Sergeant-at-Arms, and compelled to kneel at the bar, where the Speaker
sentenced him in his severest tones to such penalties as the House
deemed sufficient to expiate his crime. One wretched prisoner was so
alarmed that he had a fit, and was carried out in an unconscious
condition.
The rule requiring an offender to kneel was not finally repealed until
the middle of the eighteenth century. In 1751 an attorney named
Crowle was reprimanded on his knees for misconduct of some kind or
other at an election. On rising to his feet Mr. Crowle carefully wiped
the knees of his trousers, remarking contemptuously that he had never
before been in so dirty a house.[263] In this same year Alexander
Murray, brother of the Jacobite Lord Elibank, was summoned for
obstructing the High Bailiff of Westminster at election time. He
resolutely declined to kneel when brought to the Commons bar, nor
could the threats or entreaties of the Sergeant-at-Arms prevail upon
him to conform to the rules of the House in this respect. "I never
kneel but to God," he said. "When I have committed a crime I kneel to
God for pardon, but, knowing my own innocence, I can kneel to no one
else." As a punishment for his obstinacy, Murray was committed to
Newgate, and remained there until the prorogation of Parliament. The
close of the session operated as his release, and he was acclaimed in
triumph by the City populace. When Parliament met again he was once
more committed, but fled abroad, and so escaped further imprisonment.
[263] Oldfield's "History of the House of Commons," vol. i. p. 420.
This ceremony of enforced kneeling was a humiliation repulsive to
many. Windham told Fanny Burney that the sight of Warren Hastings on
his knees at the bar was so repugnant to his feelings that he looked
the other way to avoid seeing the degradation of the impeached
statesman. "It hurt me," he says, "and I wished it dispensed
with."[264] This wish soon became universal, and the practice was
discontinued in 1772, Baldwin, the printer of the "St. James's
Chronicle," who was reprimanded for publishing a report of the
parliamentary proceedings, being the last man to kneel at the bar of
the House.
[264] "Diary and Letters of Mme. D'Arblay," vol. iv.
When a member of Parliament incurs the displeasure of the House its
censure may be visited upon him in various ways, either by a
reprimand, or by fine, or by committal to prison. The first instance
of the Commons punishing one of their own number occurs in 1547, when
a member named Storie was arrested by the Sergeant-at-Arms for
speaking disrespectfully of the Duke of Somerset, and was confined to
the Tower. The House of Commons has never allowed its members to
reflect upon the conduct of those in high places. It also forbids any
criticism of a Resolution of the House, unless the critical member
intends to conclude with a motion for rescinding it. Eight years after
the committal of Storie, another member, Dr. Parry by name, was
brought to the bar for speaking in the House against a Bill that had
already passed its third reading, saying that it was "full of
confiscations, blood, danger, despair, and terror to the English
subjects of this realm, their brothers, uncles, and kinsfolk."[265]
Dr. Parry absolutely declined to give his reasons for holding this
view, nor would he deign to explain why the Bill should cause his
uncles to become desperate and terrorstricken. He was therefore
committed to the Tower, and expelled from the House. Later on an
accusation of treason was brought against him, and a motion made (but,
let us hope, not carried) that he be executed. In 1581, another
member, Arthur Hall, was fined and imprisoned in the Tower for
publishing a book of a slanderous character.
[265] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 341.
When the House of Commons punished in those days it certainly never
erred on the side of leniency. A Roman Catholic member named Floyd,
who had made use of insulting expressions with reference to the
daughter of James I., was found guilty of gross breach of privilege.
He was sentenced to be degraded, branded, whipped, fined £1000, and to
stand twice in the pillory. After this, whatever was left of him was
to be imprisoned for life. The pillory was evidently a favourite
punishment for recalcitrant members, and as late as 1727 we find a
legislator named Ward suffering this unpleasant penalty in addition to
expulsion from the House.[266]
[266] Ward was expelled for forgery. He is referred to in Pope's
"Dunciad"--
"As thick as eggs at Ward in pillory."--
Book iii. line 34.
In James I.'s reign a certain Sir Giles Mompesson, member of
Parliament, was accused of "being a Monopolist." For this crime he was
turned out of the House, perpetually outlawed, excepted from all
general pardons, bereft of his goods, imprisoned for life, and, last
of all, sentenced to be "for ever held an infamous person."[267]
Another member was sent to the Tower for "speaking out of season," an
offence which is fortunately no longer considered particularly
heinous, or perhaps few members would be at liberty to-day.
[267] "Lex Parliamentaria," pp. 94, 101.
In 1642 Parliament appears to have been especially pitiless,
dispensing fines and imprisonments right and left upon any one who
displeased it. Sir Edward Dering was impeached for promoting a
petition from the county of Kent, and the petition itself was ordered
to be burnt at the hands of the common hangman. Sir Ralph Hopton was
imprisoned in the Tower for saying in the House that his
fellow-members seemed to ground their views of the King's apostacy
upon evidence insufficient to convict a horse-thief; and a wretched
tradesman named Sandeford, who cursed Parliament and all its works,
was fined a hundred marks, pilloried, whipped, and sentenced to
life-long confinement in a House of Correction. So assertive of their
power and so jealous of their privileges were the Commons at this time
that they even made an order to issue a warrant for the apprehension
of all such persons as one of their members, Sir Walter Erie, should
name.[268]
[268] Sir Walter had lodged information of scandalous words spoken by
certain individuals. See Lister's "Life of Clarendon," vol. iii. p.
125.
Peers and prelates were no safer than the humbler members from the
vindictive spirit of Parliament, and any breach of its privileges on
their part brought instant punishment. In 1603 the Bishop of Bristol
published a book which was considered by Parliament to be most
offensive. At a conference of both Houses he was sternly rebuked "for
presuming to see more than a Parliament could," when he at once
recanted, withdrew his obnoxious presumptions, and declared, "first,
that he had erred; secondly, that he was sorry for it; and, thirdly,
that if it were to do again, he would not do it."[269] Only on these
abject terms could he expiate his offence. A hundred years later, in
1712, a volume of sermons written by the Bishop of St. Asaph,
deploring the terms of the peace with France and Spain, was condemned
to be burnt in Palace Yard.
[269] Petyt's "Miscellanea Parliamentaria," p. 64.
The Sergeant-at-Arms is the official entrusted with the duty of
enforcing the penal decisions of the House of Commons. All warrants
issued by the House are executed by him. He brings witnesses and
culprits to the bar, sees that members and strangers do not infringe
its resolutions, and has the custody of such persons as may be
committed to his charge. The doorkeepers, messengers, and police
employed in the Commons are under his control, as are the buildings
themselves while Parliament is sitting. As an officer of the Crown, he
may be summoned to attend upon the sovereign on such occasions as the
opening of Parliament, when the Deputy Sergeant-at-Arms takes his
place as the personal escort of the Speaker. Like his colleagues, the
Sergeant used formerly to eke out a precarious living upon fees, and
received all or a part of the fines inflicted upon members for absence
or unpunctuality. To-day, however, he enjoys a regular salary, and an
official residence.[270]
[270] In bygone days his duties evidently entailed much pedestrian
exercise, as may be gathered from an Order of the House issued in
Queen Elizabeth's time. "Upon Motion of the House" (say the records),
"in regard to the Infirmity and Pains in the Sergeant's Feet, he is
licensed by the House to ride a Footcloth Nag." "Observations, Rules,
and Orders Collected out of Divers Journals of the House of Commons"
(1717), p. 138.
Only once since the attempt of Colonel Pride to purge the House have
representatives of the law traversed the bar of the Commons. The
Palace of Westminster, within and without, is guarded by members of
the Metropolitan Police, but they studiously refrain from trespassing
upon the sacred ground that lies within the bar of either House.
During the Speakership of Mr. Gully, however, in 1901, several Irish
members declined to leave the House when ordered to do so for a
division, and resisted the Sergeant-at-Arms and his myrmidons. Stout
police-constables were therefore summoned, and bore the unwilling
members struggling to the door in that kindly but determined grasp
which, as Suffragettes have since learnt by experience, is one of the
chief charms of the A Division.
The right of the Houses of Parliament to regulate their own internal
concerns has always been admitted. In Henry VI.'s reign the Lord Chief
Justice informed the House of Lords that the High Court of Parliament
"is so high and mighty in its nature that it may make law, and that
that is law it may make no law, and the determination and knowledge of
that privilege belongs to the Lords of the Parliament, and not to the
Justices."[271] Courts of law have never interfered with anything that
took place in Parliament unless it were of an essentially criminal
character. Parliament, however, has not always shown the same
consideration for courts of law. In 1703, a man named Ashby brought an
action against the constables of Aylesbury for refusing to record his
vote at an election. The Commons thereupon declared it a gross breach
of privilege that any court other than themselves should presume to
try a case that had any reference to an election, and proceeded to
take into custody everybody concerned in the affair. The Speaker went
in person to the Court of Queen's Bench to summon the Lord Chief
Justice to attend upon the Commons and explain the law's unjustifiable
interposition. For once, however, the representative of Parliament was
forced to beat an undignified retreat. Old Lord Chief Justice Holt was
a quick-tempered man, and not at all awed by the presence of Speaker
Smith. "If you do not depart from this court," he said to him in his
sternest voice, "I will commit you, though you have the whole House of
Commons in your belly!"
[271] "Rot. Parl;" vol. v. 239-240.
This was but one example of the numerous collisions between Parliament
and the law, resulting from the former's rigid insistence upon bygone
privileges, and the difficulty of settling which questions should be
left to the arbitrament of either authority. If matters were left to
the decision of the Commons, it is clear that everything would
probably be brought within the scope of privilege; if to courts of
law, all privilege would possibly be abolished. Some thought the
former alternative was the least to be feared. "While men are but
men," said Lord Jeffrey, "we must be at the mercy of a fallible and
irresponsible despotism at best; and if we have to choose, as in an
open question, few would hesitate to say that they would rather have
the House of Commons for a despot than the courts of law."[272] But
the matter became ridiculous when Parliament insisted on interfering
in questions which it had clearly no right to decide. In 1721, for
instance, the House of Commons committed the proprietors of a paper
called "Mist's Journal" to Newgate for publishing an article favouring
the restoration of the Pretender. This could scarcely be considered a
breach of privilege, but the House thought itself empowered to deal
with all political offenders. Since that time no one has been
committed, except for a distinct breach of privilege, or for contempt
of Parliament. The latter term, however, embraces the most trivial
offences. In 1827, a stranger who was visiting the House of Lords left
his umbrella in the cloak-room, by order of the attendant. On
returning to claim his property at the end of the sitting, he found
that his umbrella--following the universal fashion of that elusive
article--had disappeared. He proceeded to bring an action against the
doorkeeper, and was awarded damages amounting to £1 0_s._ 4_d._ Lord
Chancellor Eldon thereupon summoned him to the bar of the Lords, and
forced him, on pain of imprisonment, to refund the value of his
umbrella and apologise. Four years later, the printer of "The Times"
was fined £100 and sent to Newgate for having dared to call the Earl
of Limerick "a thing with human pretensions."
[272] Cockburn's "Life of Jeffrey," vol. ii. p. 354.
The House of Lords has always considered itself empowered to inflict
fines as well as imprisonment for a fixed period. When the Commons
confine an offender they may put no term to his sentence, and he is
released automatically on a prorogation. For the last two hundred
years they have ceased to exercise the right of fining delinquents,
but in early days, as we have seen, they often inflicted financial
penalties, and stimulated the attendance of their own members by an
inroad upon their pockets.
At the very commencement of parliamentary history the shires or
boroughs whose representatives did not appear in their places in
Parliament were fined £100. In 1580, any knight who stayed away for a
whole session was fined £20, while citizens and burgesses were fined
£10. Besides this, members lost their pay during absence, and, by an
Act of Henry VIII., boroughs and shires were exonerated from the
payment of wages to members who left Parliament before the end of the
session without the Speaker's permission.
In similar fashion peers and bishops were punished for non-attendance,
the size of their fines varying in proportion to the rank of the
offender. An ordinance framed in Henry VI.'s time, about 1452, imposed
fines of from £40 to £100 upon absentee peers, the sum thus raised to
be appropriated to the defence of Calais.[273] In 1625 a fine of 5_s._
per day was imposed upon peers who disregarded their summons to
Parliament, and we read of the Cinque Ports being mulcted in the sum
of a hundred marks because their baron absented himself.[274] When the
Bill for degrading Queen Caroline was before the Lords a fine of £100
was imposed during the first three days, and £50 for any subsequent
day, on which any peer did not attend, unless he could prove illness
or unavoidable absence. By a former Standing Order, every lord who
entered the House after prayers was fined, if a baron or a bishop,
1_s._; if of higher rank, 2_s._ What a contrast to these degenerate
days in which the Lord Chancellor, the bishop, and one peer, hunted
up for the purpose, form a reluctant congregation!
[273] Nicholas's "Proceedings of the Privy Council," vol. vi. p. lxv.
[274] "Modus Tenendi Parliamentum," p. 28.
In the days of Charles I. penalties were extremely necessary if the
business of Parliament was to be carried on at all. Members took their
duties lightly, and at times not more than a dozen would appear in
their places at Westminster. Prynne describes them as wasting their
time in taverns, playhouses, dicing-houses, cockpits, and bowling
alleys, "rambling abroad to such places at unreasonable Hours of the
Night in antique Parliamentary Robes, Vestments fitter for a Mask or
Stage than the gravity of a Parliament House." They would only come to
peep into the House once or twice a week, he says, to show themselves
in such disguises, and ask, "What news?"[275]
[275] "Brief Register of Parliamentary Writs," p. 672.
In the Parliament which passed the Grand Remonstrance there were
sometimes as many as two hundred absentees. To remedy this evil it was
proposed by Strode that any member who stayed away without leave
should be fined £50, or expelled. This proposal, says D'Ewes, "was
much debated, but laid aside."[276] Even those members who attended
did so in a casual and perfunctory fashion, which proved a source of
great inconvenience to colleagues who took their responsibilities more
seriously. In order, therefore, to enforce punctuality, minor fines
were inflicted, and in 1628 an order was made that any member who came
in late for prayers must contribute 1_s._ to the poor box. The House
met at seven or eight o'clock in the morning in those days; members
therefore had some excuse for arriving late, and the system had to be
temporarily abandoned in 1641, owing to the interruption of business
resulting from the cries of "Pay! Pay!" with which unpunctual persons
were greeted. "Scenes" would often take place when members arrived
just as the clock was striking, and either refused to pay their
shillings, or flung them angrily upon the floor for the Sergeant to
pick up. Later on, when the House rose at midday, instead of in the
afternoon, the regulation was revived. Speaker Lenthall himself was
late on one occasion, much to the delight of the House, and, his
attention being drawn to the fact, threw his shilling down on to the
table with every sign of annoyance.
[276] Forster's "Grand Remonstrance," p. 316 n.
[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF COMMONS IN 1835
FROM AN ENGRAVING BY SAMUEL COUSINS FROM THE PAINTING BY H. W.
BURGESS]
As late as the middle of the eighteenth century members did not allow
their parliamentary duties to interfere with their social pleasures.
Burke once complained because the Commons rose early in order to
attend a _fête-champêtre_ given by Lady Stanley.[277] And in 1751
Horace Walpole told a friend that on the day appointed for the debate
on the Naturalization Bill the House "adjourned to attend Drury
Lane."[278]
[277] Townsend's "History," vol. iii. p. 377.
[278] "Letters," March 7, 1731.
From time to time attempts were made to secure the attendance of
members by means of a "call of the House," of which due notice was
given, members who failed to answer their names being punished. A
"call" which was taken in October, 1647, resulted in the discovery
that one hundred and fifty members were absent, and after a prolonged
debate it was decided that they should be ordered to pay a fine of £20
each. This system has fallen into disuse, the last "call" taking place
in 1836.[279] Five years before this date, however, on March 17, 1831,
three members, including Lord F. L. Gower, who were not in their
places when their names were called, were given into the custody of
the Sergeant-at-Arms, and compelled to pay fines ranging from £8 to
£10.[280]
[279] The last "call" of the Lords took place in 1901 on the trial of
Earl Russell.
[280] Grant's "Recollections," p. 52.
A member who offends against any of the rules or orders of the House
of Commons may be dealt with in several ways, either by being
silenced, suspended, expelled, or committed to prison. If any member
indulges in irrelevance or tedious repetition the Speaker can call
upon him to discontinue his speech. Should the offence against order
be more serious the Speaker may either order the offender to
withdraw from the House or may "name" him, whereupon, on the motion of
the Leader of the House, he is suspended from its service. The
practice of "naming" originated in 1841, when Speaker Lenthall, after
trying in vain to silence certain noisy members who were chatting
together under the gallery, called upon Sir W. Carnabie by name. In
former days little unpleasantness seems to have attached to the
process of "naming," and when Speaker Onslow was asked what the result
would be of "naming" a refractory member he could but answer, "Heaven
only knows!"[281]
[281] Fox asked Sir Fletcher Norton the same question. "What will
happen?" replied the Speaker: "hang me if I either know or care!"
"Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 69 n.
To-day a Speaker may order any member whose conduct is unruly to
withdraw from the House for the remainder of the sitting. By a
Standing Order any member wilfully abusing the regulations of the
House can be "named" by the Chairman or Speaker, and suspended until
the end of the session, unless the House decides to re-admit him
sooner. When a member is "named," the Sergeant-at-Arms escorts him
from the precincts of the chamber, and he is seen off the premises by
the police. Should he decline to obey the Sergeant's invitation to
accompany him beyond the bar, a couple of elderly attendants step
forward and prepare to expedite his progress towards the door. If
force has to be used in order to make a member withdraw, his
suspension lasts unquestionably until the end of the session.
The punishment of suspension had not been used for two hundred years
when it was revived in 1877. Immediately following the extraordinary
scenes of obstruction which gave rise to Speaker Brand's resolute
action, a wholesale suspension of Irish members took place. On
February 3, 1881, Parnell and more than a score of his colleagues were
named and suspended for refusing either to take part in a division or
to withdraw from the House. When the "closure" was applied for the
first time in February, 1885, a scene of uproar ensued, as a result
of which Mr. O'Brien was suspended, and in March, 1901, as already
mentioned, twelve Irish members who declined to leave their places for
a division were forcibly removed by the Sergeant-at-Arms and police,
and subsequently suspended.
Committal to the custody of the Sergeant-at-Arms is nowadays an
uncommon parliamentary punishment, Bradlaugh being one of the last
members to be confined in the Clock Tower.[282] Both Houses, however,
have the legal right of imprisoning (at Holloway or elsewhere) any
British subjects who offend against their privileges.
[282] In 1834 Lord Althorp and Sheil were locked up by the
Sergeant-at-Arms, by order of the Speaker, until they had apologised
to the House and one another for the use of unparliamentary language.
Cf. O'Connell's "Recollections and Experiences," vol. i. p. 169.
Expulsion from the House of Commons is, perhaps, the direst penalty
that can be inflicted upon a member. In 1714, Lord Cochrane and Steele
the essayist were both expelled--the one for spreading false reports
on the Stock Exchange, the other for publishing "The Crisis," a
pamphlet antagonistic in tone to the Government. Some fifty years
later Wilkes, who had been prosecuted for his articles in the "North
Briton," was also expelled from the House. The voters of Middlesex at
once re-elected him, but Parliament declared his opponent, the
defeated candidate, to be duly elected. In 1782, however, the
resolution against Wilkes was erased from the journals of the House.
At the time of the South Sea Bubble a number of members were turned
out for fraud. Since then, however, the list of expulsions has
dwindled, until to-day such a thing would be considered a rare and
unique occurrence. Though expulsion does not preclude re-election, a
grave moral stigma attaches to the penalty, and a modern member who
incurred it would find but little consolation in the reflection that
he shared this invidious distinction with men of no less eminence than
Steele and Walpole.