The sheriff, Sir Roger de Swigville, mounted on a noble steed worthy of so stout a knight, rides up to the county court, the scene of the elections of the period, where is gathered a goodly assemblage of mounted gentry; the sheriff’s javelin-men about him, his silken and broidered banner waving in the breeze; and forthwith is displayed the sacred scrap of parchment, the “king’s writ,” informing the estates of the realm in the learned Latin tongue, that a parliament is to be holden at Westminster, Winchester, York, or elsewhere. The baronage and freeholders are bidden to choose a worthy and discreet knight of the shire for the county, to aid the king with his advice,—duly providing for his expenses during the term while parliament may sit, and for his charges going and returning; but first taking due care to ascertain if the great baron of the county—De Clare or De Bohun—has not already signified, through his steward or attorney, whom he would have chosen. The name of Sir Fulke de Braose is mentioned—yonder handsome “chivaler” who, hawk on wrist, is watching the proceedings; but that gay knight preferreth the excitements of war or sport, and at the Words “election” and “parliament,” he hastily withdraws from the crowd, and spurreth off as fast as his good horse may carry him. The “Chiltern Hundreds” was a sanctuary where knights, anxious to avoid the honour of being sent to the senate, frequently sought refuge.
It was Elizabeth who took a practical course with her faithful Commons, and in businesslike fashion admonished them not to waste their time in long and vain discourses, but to apply themselves at once to their function—that of voting supplies, and, on occasions, of granting “benevolences,” that is, forced loans to the Crown.
According to some writers, the earliest recorded instance of corruption in electioneering matters occurred under date 1571, but the incident hardly comes under the description of bribery. In the “Parliamentary History” (i. 765), it is stated from the journals of 1571, that one Thomas Long was returned for the borough of Westbury, Wilts, who, “being found to be a very simple man, and not fit to serve in that place, was questioned how he came to be elected.” It seems that extreme simplicity was so unusual in the House that its presence was easily detected; in any case, Thomas Long acted up to his reputation, and replied with a frankness not commonly exhibited in the admissions made before election committees and their perquisitions: “The poor man immediately confessed to the House that he gave to Anthony Garland, mayor of the said town of Westbury, and one Watts of the same, £4 for his place in parliament.” This was certainly a modest consideration for a seat, when it is considered that famous electioneering tacticians, like the Duke of Wharton, in a later generation, exhausted ample fortunes in the traffic of constituencies. Moreover, this simple purchaser of a place in parliament, though he forfeited his bargain, did not lose his money; “an order was made that the said Garland and Watts should repay unto the said Thos. Long the £4 they had of him.” Although the actual briber escaped scot-free, the inquiry terminated with the infliction of a severe penalty on those who had been convicted of venality, “a fine of £20 being assessed for the queen’s use on the said corporation and inhabitants of Westbury for their scandalous attempt.” This precept was not without its use, and in the future history of this species of corruption it will be found that mayors and corporations—in whose influence once rested that “merchantable property,” the right of selecting representatives—grew more experienced in iniquitous ways, and exacted the highest tariff for the saleable commodity they offered, besides making choice of more cunning purchasers, and, moreover, generally managed to get not only the best of the bargain, but contrived to avoid being forced to disgorge their ill-gotten gains; the proverb still remains, a relic of the days in which it had its origin, “Money makes the mayor to go.”
The privilege of parliament which protected the persons of members was already sought after in Elizabeth’s days for its incidental advantages; thus, John Smith, whose name is mentioned in the “Parliamentary History,” presented himself to be elected for Camelford, for the purpose of defrauding his creditors—a ruse which was allowed to succeed by a tolerant chamber,—privilege, however, and the continuance of his seat were voted by 112 to 107.
Mr. Norton, in 1571, speaks of “the imperfection of choice, too often seen, by sending of unfit men;” and he notices as one cause, “the choice made by boroughs, for the most part of strangers.”
Interference in elections by the territorial lords, or by the Church, was resented about this time:—
“A penalty of £40 proposed upon every borough that should elect at the nomination of a nobleman, one great disorder, that many young men, not experienced, for learning sake were often chosen. Proposed that none under thirty years of age should be returned.”
From the “Parliamentary History” we secure the account of a disputed return for Buckinghamshire in the year 1603, set down by the sheriff as returning officer:—
“About eight o’clock he came to Brickhill; was there told by Sir George Throckmorton and others that the first voice would be given for Sir Francis Goodwin; he answered ‘he hoped it would not be so,’ and ‘desired every gentleman to deal with his freeholders.’ After eight went to the election.... After the writ was read, he first intimated the points of the proclamation, then jointly proposed Sir John Fortescue and Sir F. Goodwin. The freeholders cried, first, ‘A Goodwin, a Goodwin!’ Every Justice of the Peace on the bench said, ‘A Fortescue, a Fortescue!’”
Election proceedings began early in those days, and parliamentary hours were equally matinal. From the pamphlets, tracts, and broadsides of the Stuart era it may be noted that the Speaker took his place in the House at eight o’clock in the morning.