Sir Charles Barry's design has the great advantage that it renders an increase in the size of the House of Commons possible and practicable without a complete reconstruction of all that part of the vast building which belongs to the representative chamber and its various offices. In the opinion of many leading members of the House of Commons the number of representatives is needlessly large for the purposes demanded by an adequate and proportionate system of representation, and it is not difficult to foresee changes which might lead, with universal satisfaction, to a reduction in the number of members in the House of Commons. It may also be anticipated that the system that relegates the details of legislative measures to the consideration of Grand Committees may be gradually extended as time goes on, and that thus the committee work of the House of Commons itself may grow less and less by degrees. In either case, or in both cases together, it might easily come to pass that the present debating-chamber would supply ample sitting room to all its members on every ordinary occasion, although it is hardly possible to understand how, on a night of great debate, with a momentous division impending, the present chamber could be expected to accommodate the full number of members entitled to claim seats there. At all events, it is hardly possible to imagine any condition of things arising which could call for any alteration in the construction of the representative chamber which would be likely to affect, in the slightest degree, the general character of that palace of legislation which was planned and founded during the reign of William the Fourth, was opened in the reign of Queen Victoria, and will bear down to posterity the name of its architect, Sir Charles Barry.
Before leaving this subject it is of interest to note that the question of providing accommodation for ladies desiring to listen to the debates in the House of Commons {273} was brought up more than once during the reign of William the Fourth. Miss Martineau, in her "History of the Thirty Years' Peace," makes grave complaint of the manner in which the proposal for the admission of ladies to hear the debates was treated alike by the legislators who favored and by those who resisted the proposition. The whole subject, she appears to think, was treated as a huge joke. One set of members advocated the admission of ladies on the ground, among other reasons, that their presence in the House of Commons would tend to keep the legislators sober, and prevent them from garnishing their speeches with unseemly expressions. Another set stood out against the proposal on the ground that if ladies were allowed to sit in a gallery in sight of the members, the result would be that the representatives would cease to pay any real attention to the business of debate, and would occupy themselves chiefly in studying the faces and the dresses of the fair visitors, and trying to interchange glances with the newly admitted spectators.
The conditions under which ladies may be permitted to listen to the debates in the House of Commons form a subject of something like periodical discussion up to the present day. There is, as everybody knows, a certain number of seats set apart behind the Press gallery in the House of Commons for the accommodation of women, who are admitted by orders which members can obtain who are successful in a balloting process which takes place a week in advance. About twenty members only out of more than six hundred can win two seats each for any one sitting of the House, and no member can approach the ballot for at least a week after he has accomplished a success. The Ladies' Gallery holds only a very small number of women, and it is jealously screened by a gilded grating something like that through which the women of an Eastern potentate's household are permitted to gaze upon the stage from their box in the theatre.
It will perhaps be news to some readers to hear that this ladies' gallery, such as it is, is technically not within the precincts of the House of Commons at all. It is not an {274} institution of the House, nor does it come under the rules of the House, nor is it recognized by the authorities of the House. It is there, as a matter of fact, but it is not supposed to be there, and the Speaker of the House, who is omnipotent over all other parts of the chamber, has no control over the occupants of that gilded cage, and is technically assumed to be ignorant of their presence. The Speaker can, on proper occasions, order strangers "to withdraw" from all the other galleries set apart for the use of outsiders, but he has no power over the ladies who sit in the gallery high above his chair. It has even happened that when subjects had, as a matter of necessity, to be discussed in the House of Commons which the Speaker did not consider quite suitable for an audience of both sexes, he has sent a private and unofficial intimation to the Ladies' Gallery that it would, in his opinion, be more seemly if its occupants were to withdraw. But on some occasions a few of the ladies declined to withdraw, and the Speaker had no power to enforce his advice, seeing that, technically, there was no Ladies' Gallery within his jurisdiction. Some time, no doubt, the House of Commons will adopt more reasonable regulations, and will recognize the right of women to be treated as rational creatures, as members of the community, as citizens, and allowed to sit, as men do, in an open gallery, and listen to the debates which must always more or less concern their own interests. It is a curious fact that the galleries and other parts of the House of Lords to which women have admission are open to the public gaze just as are those parts of the House in which male strangers are permitted to listen to the debates of the peers.
[Sidenote: 1835—The Orange Associations]
In the year 1835 the public mind of these countries was much surprised, and even startled, by the discovery, or what at least seemed to be the discovery, of a great and portentous plot against the established order of succession to the throne. This plot was declared to be carried on by the Orange societies which had for many years been growing up in Great Britain and Ireland, and throughout many of the colonies and dependencies. This Orange {275} organization began in the North of Ireland, and was originally intended to crush out the Catholic associations which were then coming into existence all over Ireland for the political and religious emancipation of the Roman Catholics, and for strengthening the national cause in the Irish Parliament. There is so little to be said in defence, or even in excuse, of the Orange organization in its earlier years that it seems only fair to admit the possibility of its having been seriously intended, in the beginning, for the defence of Great Britain against an Irish rebellion fomented and supported by France.
The Orange associations took their title from the name of the royal house which had given William the Third as a sovereign to England, and the name of Orange was understood to illustrate its hostility to all Jacobite plots and schemes, which were naturally assumed to have the countenance and the favor of England's foreign enemies. We have seen already, in the course of this history, how the Orange societies acted before the rebellion of '98 in Ireland, and how orange and green became the rival colors of those who denounced and those who supported every Irish national movement. When the rebellion was suppressed, and Grattan's Parliament was extinguished, the Orange associations were not in the least disposed to admit that their work had been accomplished and that there was no further need for their active existence. On the contrary, they increased their efforts to spread their power all over the country, and, claiming for themselves the credit of having been a main influence in the suppression of the Irish rebellion, they appealed for the support of all loyal Englishmen to increase their numbers and strengthen their hands. Orangeism, which had at first only been known in Ireland, began to spread widely throughout Great Britain. Orange Lodges were everywhere formed; Orange Grand Masters were appointed; a whole vocabulary of Orange titles, passwords, and phrases was invented; a complete hierarchy of Orange officialism was created, and an invisible network of Orangeism held the members of the organization together. The Orange conspiracy, if {276} we may call it so, had been spreading its ramifications energetically during the later years of George the Fourth's reign, and had succeeded in obtaining the countenance, and indeed the active support, of many peers, of at least some bishops, and even of certain members of the royal family. The Duke of York, who at that time stood nearest in the succession to the throne, was a patron of the societies, and was invited to become Grand Master of the whole organization. The invitation would in all probability have been accepted if the Duke had not been assured, on the most authoritative advice, that a secret organization of such a nature was distinctly an illegal body. When the Duke died, and it seemed all but certain that the next King of England must be his brother William, Duke of Clarence, the Orange lodges transferred their allegiance to the Duke of Cumberland, who consented to become their Grand Master.
[Sidenote: 1835—Wellington and the British Crown]
The Duke of Cumberland, as we have already seen, was a Tory of the most extreme order; an inveterate enemy to every kind of reform and every progressive movement, a man who was not merely unpopular but thoroughly detested among all classes who valued political freedom, religious liberty, and the spread of education. Soon after William the Fourth's accession to the throne a new impulse was given to Orangeism by the King's yielding to the demand for popular reform, and by the measures and the movements which began to follow the passing of Lord Grey's Reform Bill. The Orangemen all over these countries then began to look upon the Duke of Cumberland as their natural leader, and there can be little doubt that in the minds of many of them, in the minds of some of the most influential among them, there was growing up the wild hope that the Duke of Cumberland might become King of England. The Orange lodges became a vast secret organization with signs and passwords, a mysterious political confraternity, the Grand Master of which was a sort of head centre, to adopt a phrase belonging to a more modern conspiracy, and performing, indeed, something like the part which Continental Freemasonry at one time {277} aspired to play. The Orange lodges in Great Britain and Ireland swelled in numbers until they had more than three hundred thousand members solemnly and secretly sworn to obey all the orders of the leaders. More than that, the emissaries of the Orange lodges contrived to make their influence widely felt in the Army, and it became clear afterwards that a large number of soldiers were sworn confederates of the association.
Some of the explanations which were afterwards given to account for the sudden spread of Orangeism might well appear incredible at first to an intelligent reader of our day not acquainted with this singular chapter of history. But it was afterwards made perfectly certain that a large number of credulous persons were prevailed upon to join the Orange ranks by the positive assurance that the Duke of Wellington had formed the determination to seize the crown of England and to put it on his own head, and that the Duke of Cumberland was the only man who could save the realm from this treasonable enterprise. It seems hardly possible now to understand that there could have been one human creature in England silly and ignorant enough to believe the Duke of Wellington capable of so preposterous and so wicked a scheme. Lord John Russell has left it on record that when he visited Napoleon in his exile at Elba, the fallen Emperor, during the course of a long conversation, expressed his strong belief that Wellington would seize the crown of England. Lord John endeavored to convince him that such an idea went entirely outside the limits of sober reality; but Napoleon refused to be convinced, and blandly put the question aside with the manner of one who knows better but does not particularly care to impress his opinion on unwilling ears. One can easily understand how such an idea might come into the mind of Napoleon, who knew little or nothing about the actual conditions of English political and social life, and who had experience of his own to demonstrate the possibility of a great military conqueror becoming at once the ruler of a State. But it seems hard indeed to understand how any sane Englishman could have believed that {278} the simple, loyal, unselfish Duke of Wellington could allow such an idea to enter his mind for a moment, or could see his way to make it a reality even if he did entertain it. Yet it cannot be doubted that numbers of Englishmen were induced to join Orange lodges by the positive assurance that thus only could they save the State from Wellington's daring ambition.