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But although the Commons have chosen one of their number “to take the Chair of this House as Speaker,” the Constitution requires that before he can enter upon the duties of his office he must submit himself in the House of Lords for the Sovereign’s ratification of his election. Until the approval of the Crown has been signified he continues to be styled “Mr. Speaker-Elect.” Next day sees the completion of the ceremony of Mr. Speaker’s election. He enters the Chamber, by way of the lobby, heralded by the ushers who preceded him, crying “Way for the Speaker-Elect” with an emphasis on “elect,” and attended by the Serjeant-at-Arms. It is also evident from the dress of the choice of the Commons, that his evolution as Mr. Speaker is not yet complete. He is still, as it were, in the chrysalis or transition state. He is seen to be only half-made up, wearing, it is true, the customary Court dress—cutaway coat, knee-breeches, silk stockings, and shoes—but not the customary full-flowing silk gown, and with only a small bob-wig—that is, the short wig of counsel when practising in courts of law—instead of the customary full-bottomed wig with wings, which fall over his shoulders. Further, it is noticeable that the Serjeant-at-Arms does not carry the Mace on his shoulder—as he usually does—but holds it reclining in the hollow of his left arm, his right hand grasping its end.
The Lords assemble on the second day of the new Parliament at the same hour as the Commons, and once more is “Black Rod” despatched to invite the attendance of Members of the Lower House to the House of Peers, to hear the Royal will in regard to the election of the Speaker. On arriving at the Upper Chamber, the Speaker-Elect stands at the centre of the Bar, with “Black Rod” to his right, the Serjeant-at-Arms (who has left the Mace outside) to his left, and his proposer and seconder immediately behind in the forefront of the crowd of Commons who have followed him across the lobbies. He bows to the Lords Commissioners, who, in all the glory of scarlet robes and cocked hats, are again seated on the form in front of the Throne, and they who yesterday encountered the Commons without lifting a hat, now acknowledge the salutation of the Speaker-Elect by thrice respectfully bending their uncovered heads. Then the Speaker-Elect addresses them as follows:
I have to acquaint your Lordships that, in obedience to his Royal commands, his Majesty’s faithful Commons have, in the exercise of their undoubted right and privilege, proceeded to the choice of a Speaker. Their choice has fallen upon myself, and I therefore present myself at your Lordship’s Bar humbly submitting myself for his Majesty’s gracious approbation.
To this the Lord Chancellor, addressing the Speaker-Elect by name, replies:
We are commanded to assure you that his Majesty is so fully sensible of your zeal for the public service, and your undoubted efficiency to execute all the arduous duties of the position which his faithful Commons have selected you to discharge, that he does most readily approve and confirm your election as Speaker.
His election having thus been ratified by the Sovereign, Mr. Speaker “submits himself in all humility to his Majesty’s royal will and pleasure”; and if, says he, in the discharge of his duties, and in maintaining the rights and privileges of the Commons’ House of Parliament, he should fall inadvertently into error, he “entreats that the blame may be imputed to him alone, and not to his Majesty’s faithful Commons.” Assertions of the rights and privileges of the House of Commons follow fast on expressions of loyalty to the Throne during the ten minutes that the Speaker, surrounded by “the faithful Commons,” stands at the Bar of the House of Lords, and holds this significant historical colloquy—which has been repeated at every election of Speaker on the assembling of a new Parliament for many centuries—with the Lord Chancellor, not as the President of the House of Lords, but as the representative of the Sovereign; for the next duty of the Speaker is to request from the Sovereign recognition of all the ancient rights and privileges of Members of Parliament, which are “readily granted” by the Sovereign, speaking through the Lord Chancellor. This ends the ceremonial. The Speaker and the Commons return to their Chamber as they came. But, see, the Mace is now borne high on the shoulder of the Serjeant-at-Arms, and hear the usher announcing “Mr. Speaker” and “Way for Mr. Speaker.” The Speaker passes through the Chamber to his rooms, and in a few minutes comes back arrayed in the complete robes of his office. Then, standing on the dais of the Chair, he reports what took place in the House of Lords. It is one of the curious customs of Parliament that the Speaker always assumes that he has been to the House of Lords alone, and that the Commons are in absolute ignorance of what has happened there. Without the slightest tremor of emotion, or the faintest indication of satisfaction, the Commoners learn that their “ancient rights and undoubted privileges” have been fully confirmed, particularly freedom from arrest and molestation, liberty of speech in their debates, and free access to the Sovereign. They know full well that if they do anything criminal they may feel the dread touch of the policeman on their shoulders—freedom from arrest for debt was abolished long ago—and they know also that even if they would they could not disturb the domestic privacy of the King. So the solemn announcement evokes not a solitary cheer. But there is loud applause upon the Speaker thus finally concluding: “I have now again to make my grateful acknowledgments to the House for the honour done to me in placing me again in the Chair, and to assure it of my complete devotion to its service.” The ancient and picturesque ceremony of the election of Speaker of the House of Commons is completed.