Constitutional History of England, Henry VII to George II. Volume 1 of 3

by Henry Hallam

Parliament of 1621.—The king's speech on opening the session was, like all he had made on former occasions, full of hopes and promises, taking cheerfully his share of the blame as to past disagreements, and treating them as little likely to recur, though all their causes were still in operation.[589] He displayed, however, more judgment than usual in the commencement of this parliament. Among the methods devised to compensate the want of subsidies, none had been more injurious to the subject than patents of monopoly, including licences for exclusively carrying on certain trades. Though the government was principally responsible for the exactions they connived at, and from which they reaped a large benefit, the popular odium fell of course on the monopolists. Of these the most obnoxious was Sir Giles Mompesson, who, having obtained a patent for gold and silver thread, sold it of baser metal. This fraud seems neither very extraordinary nor very important; but he had another patent for licensing inns and alehouses, wherein he is said to have used extreme violence and oppression. The House of Commons proceeded to investigate Mompesson's delinquency. Conscious that the Crown had withdrawn its protection, he fled beyond sea. One Michell, a justice of peace, who had been the instrument of his tyranny, fell into the hands of the Commons, who voted him incapable of being in the commission of the peace, and sent him to the Tower.[590] Entertaining, however, upon second thoughts, as we must presume, some doubts about their competence to inflict this punishment, especially the former part of it, they took the more prudent course with respect to Mompesson, of appointing Noy and Hakewill to search for precedents in order to show how far and for what offences their power extended to punish delinquents against the state as well as those who offended against that house. The result appears some days after, in a vote that "they must join with the Lords for punishing Sir Giles Mompesson; it being no offence against our particular house, nor any member of it, but a general grievance."[591]

The earliest instance of parliamentary impeachment, or of a solemn accusation of any individual by the Commons at the bar of the Lords, was that of Lord Latimer in the year 1376. The latest hitherto was that of the Duke of Suffolk in 1449; for a proceeding against the Bishop of London in 1534, which has sometimes been reckoned an instance of parliamentary impeachment, does not by any means support that privilege of the Commons.[592] It had fallen into disuse, partly from the loss of that control which the Commons had obtained under Richard II. and the Lancastrian kings; and partly from the preference the Tudor princes had given to bills of attainder or of pains and penalties, when they wished to turn the arm of parliament against an obnoxious subject. The revival of this ancient mode of proceeding in the case of Mompesson, though a remarkable event in our constitutional annals, does not appear to have been noticed as an anomaly. It was not indeed conducted according to all the forms of an impeachment. The Commons, requesting a conference with the other house, informed them generally of that person's offence, but did not exhibit any distinct articles at their bar. The Lords took up themselves the inquiry; and having become satisfied of his guilt, sent a message to the Commons, that they were ready to pronounce sentence. The speaker accordingly, attended by all the house, demanded judgment at the bar: when the Lords passed as heavy a sentence as could be awarded for any misdemeanour; to which the king, by a stretch of prerogative, which no one was then inclined to call in question, was pleased to add perpetual banishment.[593]

The impeachment of Mompesson was followed up by others against Michell, the associate in his iniquities; against Sir John Bennet, judge of the prerogative court, for corruption in his office; and against Field, Bishop of Landaff, for being concerned in a matter of bribery.[594] The first of these was punished; but the prosecution of Bennet seems to have dropped in consequence of the adjournment, and that of the bishop ended in a slight censure. But the wrath of the Commons was justly roused against that shameless corruption, which characterises the reign of James beyond every other in our history.

Proceedings against Lord Bacon.—It is too well known, how deeply the greatest man of that age was tarnished by the prevailing iniquity. Complaints poured in against the chancellor Bacon for receiving bribes from suitors in his court. Some have vainly endeavoured to discover an excuse which he did not pretend to set up, and even ascribed the prosecution to the malevolence of Sir Edward Coke.[595] But Coke took no prominent share in this business; and though some of the charges against Bacon may not appear very heinous, especially for those times, I know not whether the unanimous conviction of such a man, and the conscious pusillanimity of his defence do not afford a more irresistible presumption of his misconduct than anything specially alleged. He was abandoned by the court, and had previously lost, as I rather suspect, Buckingham's favour; but the king, who had a sense of his transcendent genius, remitted the fine of £40,000 imposed by the Lords, which he was wholly unable to pay.[596]

There was much to commend in the severity practised by the house towards public delinquents; such examples being far more likely to prevent the malversation of men in power than any law they could enact. But in the midst of these laudable proceedings, they were hurried by the passions of the moment into an act of most unwarrantable violence. It came to the knowledge of the house that one Floyd, a gentleman confined in the Fleet prison, had used some slighting words about the elector palatine and his wife. It appeared in aggravation, that he was a Roman catholic. Nothing could exceed the fury into which the Commons were thrown by this very insignificant story. A flippant expression, below the cognisance of an ordinary court, grew at once into a portentous offence, which they ransacked their invention to chastise. After sundry novel and monstrous propositions, they fixed upon the most degrading punishment they could devise. Next day, however, the chancellor of the exchequer delivered a message, that the king, thanking them for their zeal, but desiring that it should not transport them to inconveniences, would have them consider whether they could sentence one who did not belong to them, nor had offended against the house or any member of it; and whether they could sentence a denying party, without the oath of witnesses; referring them to an entry on the rolls of parliament in the first year of Henry IV., that the judicial power of parliament does not belong to the Commons. He would have them consider whether it would not be better to leave Floyd to him, who would punish him according to his fault.

This message put them into some embarrassment. They had come to a vote in Mompesson's case, in the very words employed in the king's message, confessing themselves to have no jurisdiction, except over offences against themselves. The warm speakers now controverted this proposition with such arguments as they could muster; Coke, though from the reported debates he seems not to have gone the whole length, contending that the house was a court of record, and that it consequently had power to administer an oath.[597] They returned a message by the speaker, excepting to the record in 1 H. 4, because it was not an act of parliament to bind them, and persisting, though with humility, in their first votes.[598] The king replied mildly; urging them to show precedents, which they were manifestly incapable of doing. The Lords requested a conference, which they managed with more temper, and notwithstanding the solicitude displayed by the Commons to maintain their pretended right, succeeded in withdrawing the matter to their own jurisdiction.[599] This conflict of privileges was by no means of service to the unfortunate culprit; the Lords perceived that they could not mitigate the sentence of the lower house without reviving their dispute, and vindicated themselves from all suspicion of indifference towards the cause of the Palatinate by augmenting its severity. Floyd was adjudged to be degraded from his gentility, and to be held an infamous person; his testimony not to be received; to ride from the Fleet to Cheapside on horseback without a saddle, with his face to the horse's tail, and the tail in his hand, and there to stand two hours in the pillory, and to be branded in the forehead with the letter K; to ride four days afterwards in the same manner to Westminster, and there to stand two hours more in the pillory, with words in a paper in his hat showing his offence; to be whipped at the cart's tail from the Fleet to Westminster Hall; to pay a fine of £5000, and to be a prisoner in Newgate during his life. The whipping was a few days after remitted on Prince Charles's motion; but he seems to have undergone the rest of the sentence. There is surely no instance in the annals of our own, and hardly of any civilised country, where a trifling offence, if it were one, has been visited with such outrageous cruelty. The cold-blooded deliberate policy of the Lords is still more disgusting than the wild fury of the lower house.[600]

This case of Floyd is an unhappy proof of the disregard that popular assemblies, when inflamed by passion, are ever apt to show for those principles of equity and moderation, by which, however the sophistry of contemporary factions may set them aside, a calm judging posterity will never fail to measure their proceedings. It has contributed at least, along with several others of the same kind, to inspire me with a jealous distrust of that indefinable, uncontrollable privilege of parliament, which has sometimes been asserted, and perhaps with rather too much encouragement from those whose function it is to restrain all exorbitant power. I speak only of the extent to which theoretical principles have been carried, without insinuating that the privileges of the House of Commons have been practically stretched in late times beyond their constitutional bounds. Time and the course of opinion have softened down those high pretensions, which the dangers of liberty under James the First, as well as the natural character of a popular assembly, then taught the Commons to assume; and the greater humanity of modern ages has made us revolt from such disproportionate punishments as were inflicted on Floyd.[601]

Everything had hitherto proceeded with harmony between the king and parliament. His ready concurrence in their animadversion on Mompesson and Michell, delinquents who had acted at least with the connivance of government, and in the abolition of monopolies, seemed to remove all discontent. The Commons granted two subsidies early in the session without alloying their bounty with a single complaint of grievances. One might suppose that the subject of impositions had been entirely forgotten, not an allusion to them occurring in any debate.[602] It was voted indeed, in the first days of the session, to petition the king about the breach of their privilege of free speech, by the imprisonment of Sir Edwin Sandys, in 1614, for words spoken in the last parliament; but the house did not prosecute this matter, contenting itself with some explanation by the secretary of state.[603] They were going on with some bills for reformation of abuses, to which the king was willing to accede, when they received an intimation that he expected them to adjourn over the summer. It produced a good deal of dissatisfaction to see their labour so hastily interrupted; especially as they ascribed it to a want of sufficient sympathy on the court's part with their enthusiastic zeal for the elector palatine.[604] They were adjourned by the king's commission, after an unanimous declaration ("sounded forth," says one present, "with the voices of them all, withal lifting up their hats in their hands so high as they could hold them, as a visible testimony of their unanimous consent, in such sort, that the like had scarce ever been seen in parliament") of their resolution to spend their lives and fortunes for the defence of their own religion and of the Palatinate. This solemn protestation and pledge was entered on record in the journals.[605]

They met again after five months, without any change in their views of policy. At a conference of the two houses, Lord Digby, by the king's command, explained all that had occurred in his embassy to Germany for the restitution of the Palatinate; which, though absolutely ineffective, was as much as James could reasonably expect without a war.[606] He had in fact, though, according to the laxity of those times, without declaring war on any one, sent a body of troops under Sir Horace Vere, who still defended the Lower Palatinate. It was necessary to vote more money, lest these should mutiny for want of pay. And it was stated to the Commons in this conference, that to maintain a sufficient army in that country for one year would require £900,000; which was left to their consideration.[607] But now it was seen that men's promises to spend their fortunes in a cause not essentially their own are written in the sand. The Commons had no reason perhaps to suspect that the charge of keeping 30,000 men in the heart of Germany would fall much short of the estimate. Yet after long haggling they voted only one subsidy, amounting to £70,000; a sum manifestly insufficient for the first equipment of such a force.[608] This parsimony could hardly be excused by their suspicion of the king's unwillingness to undertake the war, for which it afforded the best justification.

Disagreement between the king and Commons.—James was probably not much displeased at finding so good a pretext for evading a compliance with their martial humour; nor had there been much appearance of dissatisfaction on either side (if we except some murmurs at the commitment of one of their most active members, Sir Edwin Sandys, to the Tower, which were tolerably appeased by the secretary Calvert's declaration that he had not been committed for any parliamentary matter),[609] till the Commons drew up a petition and remonstrance against the growth of popery; suggesting, among other remedies for this grievance, that the prince should marry one of our own religion, and that the king would direct his efforts against the power (meaning Spain) which first maintained the war in the Palatinate. This petition was proposed by Sir Edward Coke. The courtiers opposed it as without precedent; the chancellor of the duchy observing that it was of so high and transcendent a nature, he had never known the like within those walls. Even the mover defended it rather weakly, according to our notions, as intended only to remind the king, but requiring no answer. The scruples affected by the courtiers, and the real novelty of the proposition, had so great an effect, that some words were inserted, declaring that the house "did not mean to press on the king's most undoubted and royal prerogative."[610] The petition, however, had not been presented, when the king, having obtained a copy of it, sent a peremptory letter to the speaker, that he had heard how some fiery and popular spirits had been imboldened to debate and argue on matters far beyond their reach or capacity, and directing him to acquaint the house with his pleasure that none therein should presume to meddle with anything concerning his government or mysteries of state; namely, not to speak of his son's match with the princess of Spain, nor to touch the honour of that king, or any other of his friends and confederates. Sandys's commitment, he bade them be informed, was not for any misdemeanour in parliament. But to put them out of doubt of any question of that nature that may arise among them hereafter, he let them know that he thought himself very free and able to punish any man's misdemeanours in parliament, as well during their sitting as after, which he meant not to spare upon occasion of any man's insolent behaviour in that place. He assured them that he would not deign to hear their petition, if it touched on any of those points which he had forbidden.[611]