4

This being disposed of, the Speaker rises and says: “The Clerk will now proceed to read the Orders of the Day,” and the Clerk, with a copy of the Order Paper in his hand, reads the title of the first of the list of Bills down for consideration. It may be the second reading or the third reading stage, at which, on all great Bills, there is usually a big debate. Disraeli is said to have described the House of Commons as a dull place, with some great moments. In my opinion, it would be difficult for the House of Commons ever to be downright dull. Its great moments are, indeed, many. The variety and vitality of the questions at issue there and its personalities secure it against tediousness. For Disraeli—as for most of those who have once breathed its intoxicating atmosphere—it always had an absorbing charm. Joseph Gilles Biggar, one of the best known of the Irish Party, lived in the House and for the House. Outside it he had no interest or amusement. I happened to be talking to him in the Lobby during a sitting that was supposed to be dull, when a colleague asked him whether he might go to a theatre for the evening. Biggar was then the Chief Whip of the Nationalist Party, and a stern martinet. “Theatre!” he exclaimed contemptuously. “This is better than a play, Mister. It is all real here.” Yet he was the man who, by the invention of obstruction, and its use, did most violence to its time-honoured and dearly cherished customs. The House of Commons is, indeed, a most alluring place. It has an interest of the highest dramatic intensity on the occasion of a big debate relating to the predominant political question of the day, which deeply stirs Party passions and prejudices, and brings down into the arena of the floor the great chiefs to fight for principle with the keen and subtle weapon of the tongue.

“Mr. Speaker.” So begins each Member who rises to address the House. Of all the speakers in the Chamber, Mr. Speaker speaks seldomest, and in the fewest words. The Speaker sits in his high-canopied Chair, not to talk but to listen to talkers. Hours may pass, and “Order, order,” may be the only words spoken by Mr. Speaker. He guides the deliberations of the House. He names the Member who is to continue the debate. This is not a matter simply of “catching the Speaker’s eye,” as it is popularly called. The Speaker does not always name the Member upon whom his eye may first rest. On both sides of the House Members jump to their feet, eager to join in the debate, each straining forward, or shaking his notes to attract the attention of Mr. Speaker. The Speaker’s selection of one from among these competitors to fix his wandering eye is careful and deliberate. If an opponent of the Bill has just spoken, it is almost certain that a supporter will be selected to follow. The aim of the Speaker is to secure that, as far as possible, every phase of opinion shall find expression. In this he is assisted by lists given to him beforehand by the Whips of the different Parties, containing the names of their chief spokesmen in the debate. Therefore it is that Members on opposite sides follow each other alternately, the only exception to the rule being that should a Minister, or one of the leading occupants of the Front Opposition Bench, intervene at any moment, he has the right, more or less prescriptive, to be called on by the Speaker.

The Speaker follows the flow of discursive talk with what appears to be the most absorbing interest. Indeed, it is into his ears that the Member “in possession of the House”—to use the traditional phrase—pours all his views and prognostications, all his fears and expectations. It is, “Now, Mr. Speaker, let me say,” or “With great respect, Mr. Speaker, I submit.” Accordingly, the Speaker may not betake himself, even for a little while, to his own select and profitable thoughts. He must always be seized of the drift of the argument of the Member who is addressing him. At any moment he may be called upon to rule a point of order. His faculties must always be wide awake. At any moment some emergency may arise, without the least forewarning, when all his authority, tact, and common sense will be needed.

It is said there are Judges of the High Court who can sleep during the speeches of counsel, and wake up at the moment that the slumberous presentation of argument is concluded. The atmosphere of the House of Commons is often drowsy. Members may be seen asleep on the benches at all hours. Yet it is a remarkable fact that there is only one instance on record of a Speaker—impassive figure though he be, in a big wig and a flowing gown, reclining in a large Chair under a spreading canopy—having been caught nodding or napping. It was to Shaw-Lefevre, the only Speaker over whom tired Nature asserted itself, and whose weighted lids, despite his desperate resistance, were finally closed in slumber, that Mackworth Praed addressed these lines:

Sleep, Mr. Speaker; it’s only fair,

If you don’t in your bed, you should in your Chair,

Longer and longer still they grow,

Tory and Radical, Aye and No.

Talking by night and talking by day;

Sleep, Mr. Speaker, sleep while you may.

End Vol. I.

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