The delivery of this royal message to the Commons is the signal for a stampede of members towards the Upper House; grave politicians vieing with one another in the endeavour to be first at the Bar of the Lords. O'Connell compared the rush of members on such occasions to that of a pack of boys released from school, scrimmaging together to get out of the class-room. In their haste to arrive at the goal, the Commons are apt to hurry the unhappy Speaker before them like the sacrificial ox, urged along reluctant to the horns of the altar.[230] The rude incursion of the Commons once provoked the Yeoman of the Guard, who kept the doors of the Lords, to shut it in their faces. "Goodmen burgesses," said the Sergeant of the Guard, in 1604, "ye come not here!" much to the Commons' indignation.[231] Members have often had their clothes torn in the confusion and tumult of this rush, and one at least has suffered a dislocated shoulder. Sir Augustus Clifford, who was Black Rod in 1832, lost his hat and was physically injured in a melée on the opening day. In 1901, the first opening of Parliament by the sovereign in a new reign, after a long discontinuance of the ceremony, and the number of new members after a general election, combined to make the occasion exceptional. In spite of the employment of eighty extra police, engaged to keep the way clear for the Speaker's procession, several persons were badly hurt, owing to the overpowering rush of members struggling to secure the limited number of places available below the Bar of the Lords, and many policemen lost their helmets in the struggle.[232]
Headed by their Speaker, then, the Commons surge into the Upper Chamber, and stand at the Bar, awaiting the reading of the King's Speech.
The anxiety of the Commons to gain good places from which to listen to the Speech is all the greater nowadays, since it has ceased to be customary to publish it beforehand. In Walpole's time the Government used to meet at the Cockpit in Whitehall on the eve of the opening to consider the royal speech.[233] This practice came to an end with the eighteenth century, but the Speech was still made public property by being sent to the papers on the evening of the Ministerial and Opposition dinners which precede the opening of Parliament. It is still read aloud by the official hosts at these banquets, but does not appear in the Press on the following morning, and the contents of the Speech are not made public until it is read by the King (or the Lords Commissioners) at the Opening of Parliament.[234] In 1756 a spurious speech was published and circulated, just before the opening, much to the annoyance of the authorities. King George, however, took a lenient view of this outrage. He even expressed a hope that the printers might not be too severely punished. He had read both speeches carefully, he said, and, as far as he could understand either, infinitely preferred the spurious one to his own.[235]
The King's Speech is not usually a very remarkable production, either from a literary or any other point of view, though many of those for which Gladstone, Disraeli, or Lord Salisbury were responsible were exceptionally lucid and well written. Macaulay has described it as "that most unmeaningly evasive of human compositions." As a rule, it exudes platitudes at every paragraph; its phraseology is florid without being particularly informing. "Did I deliver the Speech well?" George III. inquired of the Lord Chancellor, after the opening of Parliament. "Very well, Sire," was Lord Eldon's reply. "I am glad of it," answered the King, "for there was nothing in it!"[236] If speech was given us to conceal thought, the King's Speech may often be said to fulfil its mission as a cloak to drape the mind of the Ministry. Lord Randolph Churchill once declared that the Cabinet had spent some fifteen hours eliminating from it anything that might possibly have any meaning. From the ambiguous suggestions it contains, the public is left to infer the exact form of legislation foreshadowed. The King's Speech is popularly supposed to be written by His Majesty himself. But though approved by him, it is composed by the Prime Minister and the Cabinet, of which probably each member contributes the paragraphs referring to his own department. It expresses, therefore, the Government's rather than the sovereign's views.
Queen Victoria discontinued the reading of her Speech after the death of the Prince Consort, delegating this duty to the Lord Chancellor. Other monarchs, however, have usually been their own spokesmen on this occasion—sometimes at great personal inconvenience. William IV., in his old age, found much difficulty in reading his Speech, one gloomy winter's afternoon. The light in the Upper House was so poor that he could scarcely decipher a word, and he was forced to refer perpetually for assistance to Lord Melbourne. At last two wax tapers were brought, and the King, quietly remarking that the Speech had not received the treatment that it deserved, proceeded to read it right through again from beginning to end.
Another royal personage treated the Speech with far less respect. George IV., when Prince Regent, is said to have bet Sheridan a hundred guineas that he would introduce the words "Baa, baa, black Sheep!" into the King's Speech without arousing comment or surprise. He won his bet, and afterwards, when Sheridan asked Canning whether he did not think it extraordinary that no one should have noticed so strange an interpolation: "Did you not hear His Royal Highness say, 'Baa, baa, black sheep'?" he asked. "Yes," replied Canning; "but as he was looking straight in your direction at the moment, I deemed it merely a personal allusion, and thought no more about it!"
After the delivery of the King's Speech, His Majesty and the other members of the Royal Family retire from the Chamber, and the Commons return to their own House. Here the Speaker "reports" or reads the Speech once more. In the House of Lords the Chancellor is undertaking a similar duty, standing in his place at the Woolsack. Lords and Commons remain uncovered while the Speech is being read.
Before this happens, however, a Bill pro formâ is read a first time in both Houses, on the motion of the two Leaders, as a sign that Parliament has a right to deal with any matter in priority to those referred to in the King's Speech.
When this formality has been carried out and the Speech read, an Address of thanks to the King is moved by two members of each House. The motion for the Address is proposed and seconded by some rising young politicians selected by the Government, who are thus given an opportunity of displaying their oratorical prowess, and a debate ensues. The debate on the Address originated in Edward III.'s reign, and sometimes lasted two or three days. It was the regular preliminary of Parliamentary deliberations. To-day in the Commons it occasionally extends over a whole fortnight, or even longer.
After the Address has been agreed to, and ordered to be presented to His Majesty, both Houses proceed to make various arrangements for the conduct of their internal affairs, committees of different kinds are appointed, and other preparations made for facilitating the labours of the Legislature.