The Mother of Parliaments Part 21

The speeches of Burke, whom Macaulay has described as the greatest man since Milton, are perhaps the most suitable for perusal of any ever delivered in Parliament. They read better than they sounded as delivered; they are rather pamphlets than orations. Burke himself was deficient in many of the qualities of an orator. His voice was harsh and his gestures ungainly. He never consulted the prejudices of his audience. His lapses from good taste were frequent, and among his most splendid pa.s.sages may be found occasional coa.r.s.e and vulgar epithets and expressions. Yet so great was his eloquence, so marvellous his oratorical powers, that Byron has included him with Pitt and Fox among the "wondrous three whose words were sparks of immortality." And the florid Dr. Parr can scarcely find words sufficiently eulogistic to sing his praises.[322]

[322] "Burke ... By whose sweetness Athens herself would have been soothed, with whose amplitude and exuberance she would have been enraptured, and on whose lips that prolific mother of genius and science would have adored, confessed, the G.o.ddess of Persuasion."

Prior's "Burke," p. 484.

[Ill.u.s.tration: EDMUND BURKE

FROM AN ENGRAVING BY J. WATSON AFTER THE PAINTING BY SIR J. REYNOLDS]

In the seventeenth century parliamentary attendance and eloquence were equally poor. Not only did many members speak indifferently; at times there would be long intervals of silence when members did not speak at all. "A pause for two or three minutes," ... "The House sat looking at each other,"[323] are some of the entries in the reports which must strike the modern mind, accustomed to the present House of Commons, as peculiar. Steele described the House of his day as being composed of silent people oppressed by the choice of a great deal to say, and of eloquent people ignorant that what they said was nothing to the purpose.[324]

[323] Townsend's "History of the House of Commons," vol. ii. p. 427.

[324] Forster's "Biographical Essays," vol. ii. p. 197.

It was not until the Georgian age that parliamentary oratory reached its heyday. Then, too, speeches began to lengthen, and by the time Lord North became Prime Minister it was not unusual for a member to address the House for two or three hours on end. Lord Brougham once spoke for six hours on the amendment of the law. Even in Walpole's day occasional prolixity was not unknown. One Hutcheson, member for Hastings, when the Septennial Bill of 1716 was under discussion, made a speech of which the summary fills more than twenty-five pages of the Parliamentary History.[325] Again, when David Hartley, a notorious bore, rose to speak one day, Walpole went home, changed his clothes, rode to Hampstead, returned, changed once more, and came back to the House to find this tiresome member still upon his legs.[326]

[325] Vol. vii. pp. 339-367.

[326] Pryme's "Recollections," p. 218 n.

Chatham was the first statesman to make a habit of delivering long speeches. The practice was never popular, and has now fallen into desuetude. The rising to his feet of a tedious member has ever been the signal for the House to clear as though by magic. Sergeant Hewitt, member for Coventry in 1761, was a well-known parliamentary emetic.

"Is the House up?" asked a friend of Charles Townshend, seeing the latter leaving St. Stephen's Chapel. "No," replied Townshend, "but Hewitt is!"[327] The departure of his audience is, however, a hint to which the habitual bore is generally impervious. A dull and lengthy speaker, addressing empty benches in the House of Commons, whispered to a friend that the absence of members did not affect him, as he was speaking to posterity. "If you go on at this rate," was the unkind reply, "you'll see your audience before you!"[328]

[327] O'Flanaghan's "Lives of the Irish Chancellors," vol. ii. p. 128.

[328] Townsend's "House of Commons," vol. ii. p. 394.

When Gladstone brought in his first Budget in 1853 he spoke for five hours. He had been advised by Sir Robert Peel to be long and diffuse, rather than short and concise, seeing that the House of Commons was composed of men of such various ways of thinking, and it was important to put his case from many different points of view so as to appeal to the idiosyncrasies of each.[329] In the days of his Premiers.h.i.+p, however, Gladstone's speeches were considerably shortened, and even the introduction of so momentous and intricate a measure as the Home Rule Bill of 1886 was accomplished in three and a half hours. Lengthy speeches are no longer fas.h.i.+onable, though Mr. Biggar spoke for four hours on a famous occasion in 1890, and Mr. Lloyd George occupied the same time in unfolding the much-discussed Finance Bill of 1909.

[329] Morley's "Life of Gladstone," vol. i. p. 143.

Though the oratorical masterpieces of the past may, for the most part, be dull reading, to the student or historian they must always prove interesting and instructive, as revealing those peculiar qualities which appeal to a parliamentary audience. They explain to a certain extent what it is that a speech must possess in order to meet with the approval of either House.

Parliament--and more especially the House of Commons--is no very lenient critic; but it is a sound one. It pardons the faults of style or manner due to inexperience; it tolerates homeliness that is the outcome of sincerity. It has a keen eye for motives, and anything pretentious or dishonest is an abomination to it. Matter is of far greater importance than manner, and Parliament agrees with Sir Thomas More that whereas "much folly is uttered with pointed polished speech, so many, boisterous and rude in language, see deep indeed, and give right substantial counsel."[330] Sincerity, in fact, has far more influence in the House of Commons than either brilliancy or wit, and any attempt at platform heroics is certain to fail. There is nothing the House is so fond of, Sheil used to say, as facts.[331] There is nothing it so much resents, we might now add, as violations of good taste. This fastidiousness is no doubt of modern growth, for we find Burke's coa.r.s.eness readily condoned, and Sheil himself lapsing into occasional vulgarity.[332]

[330] Roper's "Life of More," p. 16.

[331] MacCullagh's "Memoirs of Sheil," vol. ii. p. 99.

[332] Speaking on Church reform, Sheil once said that when this was effected, "the bloated paunch of the unwieldy rector would no longer heave in holy magnitude beside the shrinking abdomen of the starving and miserably prolific curate." Francis's "Orators," p. 274.

Like all a.s.semblies of human beings, Parliament has always welcomed an opportunity for laughter. In the House of Commons the poorest joke creates amus.e.m.e.nt; the man who sits upon his hat at once becomes a popular favourite; a "bull" is ever acceptable. When Sheridan, in 1840, attacked another member, saying, "There he stands, Mr. Speaker, like a crocodile, with his hands in his pockets, shedding false tears!" the House rocked with laughter.[333] Yet the phrase did not originate with Sheridan, but was one of the many "bulls" that had been coined by that prince of bull-makers, Sir Boyle Roche. It was Roche who declared that he could not be in two places at once "like a bird"; who attempted to "shunt a question by a side-wind"; and announced that he was prepared to sacrifice not merely a part but the whole of the Const.i.tution to preserve the remainder! "What, Mr. Speaker!" he inquired on a famous occasion in the Irish House of Commons, "are we to beggar ourselves for fear of vexing posterity? Now, I would ask the honourable gentleman, and this _still more_ honourable House, why we should put ourselves out of our way to do anything for _posterity_; for what has posterity done for us?"[334]

[333] Raikes's "Journal," vol. ii. p. 256.

[334] Barrington's "Personal Sketches," vol. i. p. 213. (Curran once made a happy retort to Roche. "Do not speak of my honour," said the latter, "I am the guardian of my own honour." "Faith!" answered Curran, "I knew that at some time or other you would accept a sinecure." Philips's "Life of Curran," p. 59.)

"The House loves good sense and joking, and nothing else," said Sir T.

F. Buxton, in 1819; "and the object of its utter aversion is that species of eloquence which may be called Philippian."[335]

Sentimentality of any kind is rarely tolerated in Parliament, as may be seen by the indifference with which Burke's dagger and Lord Brougham's melodramatic prayer were greeted. When Bright, during the Crimean War, delivered himself of that famous phrase, "The Angel of Death has been abroad throughout the land; you may almost hear the beating of its wings!" it was a question as to how members would take so sentimental a simile. Had the speaker subst.i.tuted the word "flapping" for "beating," as Cobden afterwards observed to him, they would have roared with laughter.

[335] "Memoirs," p. 89.

The House of Commons, as a writer has remarked, is a body without any principles or prejudices, except against bores. "He who comes to it with a good reputation has no better chance than he who besieges it with a bad one. It rejects all pretensions it has not of itself justified, and all fame it has not itself conferred."[336] It has, indeed, always been remarkable for a great reluctance in confirming reputations for oratory gained elsewhere. Wilkes could sway the populace with his grandiloquent declamations, but failed ignominiously in Parliament; Kenealy was refused a hearing. The chastening effect of the Lower House is notorious, and many a conceited, self-opiniated individual has found his level after a brief course of subjection to what Sir James Mackintosh called the "curry-comb of the House of Commons."[337]

[336] Whitty's "History of the Session" (1852-3), p. 7.

[337] "Journal," vol. i. p. 342.

Besides bores and demagogues, of which it is justly intolerant, the House of Commons may at one time be said to have numbered lawyers among its pet aversions. The latter are apt to lecture their fellow-members as though they were addressing a jury, explaining the most patent facts, and generally a.s.suming a didactic air which the House finds it difficult to brook.[338] This perhaps explains the failure of such distinguished men as Lord Jeffrey and Sir James Mackintosh, both eloquent lawyers who made little or no mark in Parliament, and of many other "gentlemen of the long robe," as Disraeli contemptuously called them.

[338] "Accustomed in their courts to consider every matter of equal importance," says Barnes, "they adopt the same earnest and stiff solemnity of manner, whether they are disputing about violated morality or insulted liberty, or about a petty affray where a hat, value one s.h.i.+lling, has been torn in a scuffle." "Parliamentary Sketches," p. 79.

Speaking in Parliament is indeed a matter very different to addressing an audience in the country, on the hustings, or in some local town hall. The plat.i.tudes that evoke such enthusiasm when delivered from a village platform fall very flat in either House. The chilling atmosphere and spa.r.s.e attendance of the Lords is not conducive to feelings of self-confidence: the critical gaze of fellow-members in the Commons is little calculated to alleviate a sudden paroxysm of shyness.

The unknown parliamentary speaker is greeted with a respectful but ominous silence when he rises to his feet. He misses the applause of electors or tenantry to which he is accustomed in his const.i.tuency or on his estate. He has no table on which to place his sheaf of notes; there is no water-bottle at hand to moisten his parched lips or give him a moment's pause when the stream of his eloquence runs temporarily dry. He cannot choose the best moment for delivering his speech, but must be content to take such opportunities as are afforded by circ.u.mstances. In the House of Commons a member may have waited half the night to catch the elusive eye of the Speaker--though a man who wishes to make his maiden speech is usually accorded this privilege--and, by the time his turn comes, most of his choicest and brightest thoughts have already been antic.i.p.ated by former speakers.

It is not, therefore, to be wondered at that many men find themselves unequal to the task of pa.s.sing successfully through this ordeal, and that the maiden speech of a future statesman has often proved a complete fiasco.

In 1601, we read of a Mr. Zachary Lock, a member who "began to speak, who for very fear shook, so that he could not proceed, but stood still awhile, and at length sat down."[339] This same experience has since befallen many another politician. The bravest men become inarticulate in similar circ.u.mstances. After the naval victory of June 1, 1794, Vice-Admiral Sir Alan Gardiner received a vote of thanks from the House of Commons, and, though he had taken the precaution of fortifying himself with several bottles of Madeira, could scarcely summon up courage to mumble a reply.[340] And in our own time we have seen another gallant officer overcome with "House-fright" to such an extent as to be unable to deliver the message which, in his official capacity as Black Rod, he had brought to the Commons. John Bright never rose in the House without what he called "a trembling of the knees." Gladstone was always intensely nervous before a big speech.

Disraeli declared that he would rather lead a forlorn hope than face the House of Commons.

[339] D'Ewes' "Journal," p. 666.

[340] "Life of Sidmouth," vol. i. p. 119.

[Ill.u.s.tration: RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

FROM AN ENGRAVING BY J. HALL AFTER THE PAINTING BY SIR J. REYNOLDS]

A good description of the sensations felt by a panic-stricken member making his debut is given by Lord Guilford, son of Lord North, whose appearance in the House was brief, if not exactly meteoric. "I brought out two or three sentences," he says, "when a mist seemed to rise before my eyes. I then lost my recollection, and could see nothing but the Speaker's wig, which swelled and swelled and swelled till it covered the whole House."[341]

[341] Harford's "Recollections of Wilberforce," p. 95. (Guilford hastily resumed his seat, shortly afterwards applied for the Chiltern Hundreds, and retired into comfortable obscurity.)

The failure of a first speech has not always been the presage of a politician's future non-success. Addison broke down on the only occasion on which he attempted to address the House, yet he reached high office as Irish Secretary before he had been nine years in Parliament.[342] Walpole's first speech was a complete failure, as was, in a lesser degree, Canning's, though both were listened to in silence. Even the silver-tongued Sheridan himself made a poor impression upon the House with his earliest effort. After delivering his maiden speech, he sought out his friend Woodfall, who had been sitting in the gallery, and asked for a candid opinion. "I don't think this is your line," said Woodfall. "You had much better have stuck to your former pursuits." Sheridan pondered for a moment. "It is _in_ me," he said at length with conviction, "and, by G.o.d, it shall come out!"[343] It certainly did.

[342] His first effort in the Irish House, in 1709, was singularly abortive. "Mr. Speaker, I conceive----" he began. "Mr. Speaker, I conceive----" he stammered out again. Shouts of "Hear! hear!"

encouraged him. "I conceive, Mr. Speaker----" he repeated, and then collapsed. A cruel colleague at once rose and remarked that the hon.

gentleman had conceived three times and brought forth nothing!

O'Flanagan's "Irish Chancellors," vol. ii. p. 8.

[343] Moore's "Life of Sheridan," vol. i. p. 348.

Disraeli, as is well known, was not even listened to, and had to bring his maiden speech to an abrupt end. "The time will come when you _shall_ hear me!" he exclaimed prophetically as he resumed his seat.

Such treatment was, however, unusual, for though the House of Commons is occasionally, as Pepys called it, a beast not to be understood, so variable and uncertain are its moods, new members are commonly accorded a patient and attentive hearing.

Sometimes a momentary breakdown has been retrieved under the stimulus of encouraging cheers from the House, and an infelicitous beginning has led to an eloquent peroration. Lord Ashley, afterwards Earl of Shaftesbury, had prepared a speech on behalf of the Treason Bill of 1695, which enacted that all persons indicted for high treason should have a copy of the indictment supplied to them and be allowed the a.s.sistance of counsel. He was, however, so overcome with nervousness on rising to his feet, that he could not proceed. Wittily recovering himself, "If I, who rise only to give my opinion on the Bill now depending, am so confounded that I am unable to express the least of what I proposed to say," he observed, "what must be the condition of that man who without any a.s.sistance is pleading for his life, and is under apprehensions of being deprived of it?" He thus contrived to turn his nervousness to good account. Again, when Steele was brought to the bar for publis.h.i.+ng "The Crisis," a young member, Lord Finch, whose sister Steele had defended in the "Guardian" against a libel, rose to make a maiden speech on behalf of his friend. After a few confused sentences the youthful speaker broke down and was unable to proceed. "Strange," he exclaimed, as he sat down in despair, "that I cannot speak for this man, though I could readily fight for him!" This remark elicited so much cheering that the member took heart, rose once more, and made an able speech, which he subsequently followed up with many another.[344]

[344] Forster's "Biographical Essays," vol. ii. p. 195.