Chapter IX · THE KING’S PARLIAMENTARY REPORTER

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During the session of Parliament the King receives every night a report of the proceedings of the House of Commons. It is written by the Comptroller of the Household, a political office held by a Member of the Government, whose duty it is to convey all messages from the Commons to the Sovereign. In his absence the report is supplied by one of the Junior Lords of the Treasury, who are assistant Whips. The report was formerly written by the Prime Minister, if he were a Member of the House of Commons, or by the Leader of the House when the Prime Minister was a peer, and it was delivered to the Sovereign next morning, giving an account of the chief subject of discussion in the House, with descriptive particulars and personal comment, of the kind now so familiar to newspaper readers in the “Parliamentary Sketch.” During Mr. Balfour’s last term of office as Prime Minister the writing of the letter was taken over by the Home Secretary. Later on another change took place by which a telegram was substituted for the autograph letter, and the sending of the report in this form devolved upon the Comptroller of the Household, or, failing him, to one or other of the Whips. The custom now is to telegraph a summary of the proceedings, running to 500 or 600 words, to the King every night about ten o’clock.

The story of “The King’s Parliamentary Reporter,” as the office may be called, tells of an interesting development in the relations between the Sovereign and the Parliament which is practically unnoticed in the great text-books on the British Constitution.

The King of England labours under one curious disability. He may not hear a debate in the House of Commons. Admission to the Representative Chamber, which is open to his lowliest subject, is constitutionally denied to the Sovereign. The King is the head of Parliament. According to the theory of the Constitution, his Majesty summons Parliament to meet in order that it might advise him in the government of the realm. Indeed, he is supposed theoretically to preside over its deliberations. Yet it has long since come to pass that the actual presence of the Sovereign in Parliament, except on certain ceremonial occasions, would be regarded as unconstitutional. The King cannot appear at all in the House of Commons. He may attend in the House of Lords to open Parliament, to give the Royal Assent to Bills which have passed both Houses, or to prorogue Parliament at the end of the session. The Royal Assent is given, as we have seen, by Lords Commissioners on behalf of the Sovereign. The functions of prorogation are similarly discharged. It may therefore be said that the only occasion on which the King may appear in person in Parliament is at the State opening of a new session.

Is it not an extraordinary circumstance that Queen Victoria, during the course of her long reign of sixty-three years, was never in the House of Commons? She never saw “her faithful Commons” at work! It happened that in a letter to one of her Prime Ministers she chanced to use the expression, “If I were in the House of Commons.” The Indian Mutiny was raging. News of disaster after disaster was coming by every mail. In those dark days her Majesty wrote the note in which the words occurred to Lord Palmerston, then Prime Minister, asking, perhaps rather impatiently, whether the Government were really alive to the gravity of the situation. Palmerston, in his reply dated July 18, 1857, assured her Majesty that the Government were taking every possible measure to meet the terrible emergency. Then he became awkwardly gallant and heavily jocose in the following fashion:

Viscount Palmerston may perhaps be permitted to take the liberty of saying that it is fortunate for those from whose opinions your Majesty differs that your Majesty is not in the House of Commons, for they would have had to encounter a formidable antagonist in argument, although, on the other hand, those whose opinions your Majesty approves would have had the support of a powerful ally in debate.

The presence of a member of the Royal Family in the House of Commons on an historic occasion aroused the ire of a section of the Members. On January 27, 1846, Prince Albert sat in the Peers’ Gallery of the House of Commons to hear the opening of the debate on Sir Robert Peel’s resolution for leave to introduce a Bill for the abolition of the Corn Laws. A few nights subsequently, before the debate had terminated, Lord George Bentinck, a vehement opponent of the resolution, and the leader of the Protectionists, charged the Prince with having come to the House to show his sympathy with Peel’s proposal. “The Prince Consort allowed himself,” said the Tory squire, “to be seduced by the Minister of the Crown to come down to this House, to usher in, to give éclat, and, as it were by reflection from the Queen, to give the semblance of a personal sanction of her Majesty to the measure.” Queen Victoria, as well as Prince Albert, keenly resented this insinuation and taunt. The Prince was never again seen in the House of Commons. It would seem, however, as if there was some foundation for the belief that the Prince did come to the House of Commons at the earnest wish of Sir Robert Peel and the Duke of Wellington, who both thought his presence might in some way appease the wrath of the great county magnates at the proposal to repeal the Corn Laws. Greville mentions in his Journal that the Prince was present “to mark the confidence of the Court” in the Government. It was the first time that a member of the Royal Family attended a debate in the House of Commons. The Prince of Wales is sometimes seen in the Peers’ Gallery nowadays, and no one dreams of suggesting that the visit is meant to influence the House.

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It is out of order to use the name of the Sovereign in debate. During the public excitement aroused in 1876 by the proposal of Disraeli, then Prime Minister, to confer the title of “Empress of India” on Queen Victoria, Robert Lowe, who had been Chancellor of the Exchequer in the preceding Liberal Government, speaking at a political dinner, said the Queen had unsuccessfully endeavoured to induce two previous Prime Ministers to confer the title upon her, and that then, it would appear, a more pliant tool had been found. Attention was called to the speech in the House of Commons on May 2, 1876. Lowe contented himself with denying the right of any Member to call him to account for anything he might choose to say outside the House, so long as he violated none of the privileges of Parliament.

Disraeli rose and said he was authorized to make a statement on behalf of the Queen. He had pointed out to her Majesty, he said, that the name of the Sovereign could not be introduced in debate, and therefore it rested with the House to say whether or not he should make the statement. Mr. Speaker Brand said that if the statement related to matters of fact, and was not intended to influence the judgment of Members, he was not prepared to say that, with the indulgence of the House, her Majesty’s name might not be introduced. Disraeli then stated, on the authority of the Queen, that she had never made any proposal to any Minister for any change in the Royal title. Lowe, speaking in the House two days later, withdrew his statement and expressed extreme and sincere regret that it had put the Queen to the disagreeable necessity of making a communication to the House.

The point arose in the House of Commons again on March 29, 1908. The House was in Committee of Supply, when it was urged that in the administration of Crown property every opportunity should be availed of to encourage a system of small agricultural holdings. Then followed this curious dispute between an Irish Member and the Chairman of Committees, Mr. Emmott.

Mr. W. Redmond (Clare, E.) said he was sure the Sovereign would be delighted to get the people back on the land, and would not stop to consider whether he could get a few pounds more from this tenant or that. (Cheers.)

The Chairman: The hon. Member has used the Sovereign’s name in order to influence the House. That is out of order.

Mr. W. Redmond: I have had the satisfaction of saying what I wanted to say.

The Chairman: That is an improper remark to make. I must ask the hon. gentleman to withdraw it.

Mr. W. Redmond: With great respect, I decline to withdraw it.

The Chairman: I must ask the hon. gentleman not to disregard the authority of the Chair.

Mr. W. Redmond said his remark elicited the sympathy of the House, and he ought not to be penalized for making it. (Cheers.) If he could not use the name of the Sovereign he would say the Crown, and he hoped that would be in order. (Laughter and cheers.)

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But in early times it was customary for the Sovereign to be present in the House of Lords, and even to take part in its proceedings. Later on the Sovereign visited the Upper Chamber merely as a spectator. Charles II found a few hours spent there a pleasant interlude in the gaieties of the Court at Whitehall. “It is as good as a play,” said the Merrie Monarch. On the first occasion that Charles entered the House of Lords for this purpose the peers were in Committee on some Bill, and the House immediately resumed to ascertain the meaning of the unexpected and unceremonious visit of the Sovereign. He told them, in reply, that he meant to follow the example of his ancestors, who often attended the debates in the House of Lords. But he was kind enough to add that their lordships need not be disconcerted by his Royal presence, and that he would not mind if they were even to wear their hats.

James II, William III, and Anne also frequently attended the debates in the House of Lords. The custom was discontinued by George I on his accession to the Throne in 1714, but solely for the reason that as he did not know a word of English the debates were not likely to afford him instruction or amusement. The last occasion on which a Sovereign was present at a debate in the House of Lords was on January 12, 1710, when Queen Anne came down to hear the peers on the subject of the war with Spain. Since then no King or Queen has been present in the House of Lords, save at the opening or proroguing of Parliament.

Charles I was the only Sovereign that ever crossed the threshold of the House of Commons. The occasion was the memorable January 4, 1642, when he sallied out of Whitehall, and, leaving 300 armed men in Westminster Hall, suddenly entered the House to seize the five Members—Hampden, Pym, Halles, Strode and Hazelrig—who, along with Lord Kimbolton, had been the day before impeached for high treason in the name of the King at the Bar of the House of Lords. The peers, nevertheless, refused to order the accused Members to be taken into custody, and Charles came to effect their capture himself. He strode up to the chair, wearing his hat, and, addressing Mr. Speaker Lenthall, said: “By your leave, Mr. Speaker, I must borrow your chair a little.” Lenthall came down and stood by the table, as the King from the dais looked around to see if the five who dared to dispute his Royal will were present. But, as he said himself, “the birds were flown”; and so commanding Lenthall to “send them unto him as soon as they returned hither,” he left the Chamber, followed by a shout of “Privilege, privilege!” from Members incensed by this unconstitutional intrusion upon their deliberations.

The Commons’ Journal deals in a perfunctory fashion with the historic episode. “His Majesty,” it states, “came into the House and took Mr. Speaker’s chair: ‘Gentlemen, I am sorry to have this occasion to come unto you,’” and then the record breaks off abruptly. But as the King stood on the dais haranguing the Commons, he observed John Rushworth, the assistant Clerk, who sat at the table beneath him, apparently taking down his words in strange characters. What could those curious dots and strokes and curves mean? Immediately after he left the Chamber the King made inquiries to satisfy his curiosity, and on being informed that Rushworth wrote a system of shorthand, he at once sent “Black Rod” for the Clerk, and commanded him to give him a copy of his speech. Rushworth in vain represented the danger he ran of punishment by the Commons if, in breach of its ancient privilege, he reported to his Majesty anything that had been spoken in the House. “I do not ask you to tell me what was said by any Member of the House, but what I said myself,” said the King. So the Clerk wrote out the speech, and his Majesty had it printed and circulated next morning.

It was George III who first thought of having a parliamentary report all to himself. If he could not go down to the House of Commons to listen to the debates, he arranged to have an account of them furnished to him at the earliest possible moment and from the highest and most authentic source. It was useless for him to go to the newspapers for the information. In fact, his Majesty took care that the newspapers should publish parliamentary intelligence only at the risk of heavy fines and long terms of imprisonment. During the exciting contest between John Wilkes and the House of Commons, from 1763 to 1770, as to whether, in consequence of his writings in his newspaper, the North Briton, he was a fit and proper person to sit as the representative of Middlesex, the populace, who sympathized with Wilkes, were anxious to know how it fared with their hero, and they naturally turned to the newspapers for news. Some of the newspapers tried to justify their existence by publishing brief summaries of the debates. Their enterprise aroused the ire of George III. “It is highly necessary,” he wrote in deep dudgeon to Lord North, the Prime Minister, “that this strange and lawless method of publishing debates in the papers should be put a stop to.” “Strange and lawless!” How strange—aye, and how lawless!—these adjectives sound in these days of unfettered parliamentary reporting! The ordinary courts of justice were unreliable, apparently, for the purpose of punishing the editors. “Is not the House of Lords, as a court of record on which we can rely, the best court to bring such miscreants before, as it can fine as well as imprison,” the King continues, “and as the Lords have broader shoulders to support any odium that this salutary measure may occasion in the minds of the vulgar?” But while George III thus endeavoured to keep from his subjects all knowledge of what their representatives were doing and saying, he determined that he himself should be duly informed of the proceedings of the House of Commons. He therefore commanded Lord North, the Leader of the House of Commons, to send him a report nightly, and North complied, despite the regulation which Parliament enacted years before, in the times of the Stuart Kings, that in order to guard against the arbitrary interference of the Crown in its proceedings the Sovereign should neither hear its debates nor give credit to reports of them. In this way was the post of the King’s Parliamentary Reporter created.

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It was the custom for the Minister to use the third person, and to address the Sovereign in the second, in these communications. One of the earliest examples available was sent to William IV, dealing with a motion by Mr. Spencer Perceval, a religious fanatic, for a General Fast owing to the disturbed condition of the country. It is as follows:

Downing Street, January 27, 1832.

Viscount Althorp presents his humble duty to your Majesty, and has the honour to inform your Majesty that the debates in the House of Commons began last night by a motion by Mr. Perceval for an address to your Majesty to appoint a General Fast. Mr. Perceval excluded strangers on this occasion; there is not, therefore, any account of the debate—or, rather, of his speech—in the newspapers. Viscount A. had endeavoured to prevent him from making the motion by informing him that it was the intention of your Majesty’s servants to advise your Majesty to issue a proclamation for this purpose. Mr. Perceval was not, however, satisfied by this, and persevered in making the motion, stating that he thought the suggestion ought to originate in the House of Commons. Mr. Perceval spoke under the highest state of excitement, with a Bible in his hand, from which he made quotation for an hour and three-quarters; but was at last persuaded to allow the motion to be negatived without a division.

The first parliamentary report received by Queen Victoria was written by Lord John Russell, as Leader of the House of Commons, on June 22, 1837, a few days after her Majesty’s accession to the Throne:

Lord John Russell presents his humble duty to your Majesty, and has the honour to report that he presented to the House of Commons this day your Majesty’s Gracious Message. He then moved an Address of Condolence and Congratulation which was seconded by Sir Robert Peel. Sir Robert Peel very properly took occasion to speak in terms of high admiration of the deportment of your Majesty before the Privy Council on Tuesday. The address was agreed to without a dissentient voice, and your Majesty may rest assured that the House of Commons is animated by a feeling of loyalty to the Throne, and of devotion to your Majesty.

The library at Buckingham Palace contains all the reports, bound in volumes, which Queen Victoria received during her reign. The writers of the reports were great parliamentarians and statesmen—Lord John Russell, Sir Robert Peel, Lord Palmerston, Disraeli, Sir Stafford Northcote, Gladstone, Lord Randolph Churchill, W. H. Smith, Sir William Harcourt and Arthur Balfour, acting either as Prime Minister or Leader of the House of Commons. What interesting reading they must make, these descriptions of many memorable nights in the House of Commons from the pens of the Leaders of the Assembly! The writers would naturally aim at making their reports bright and descriptive, and conveying to her Majesty incidents which she might look for in vain in the newspapers. At any rate, the glimpses we have been given of the contents of these volumes show that Lord Palmerston and Disraeli, at least, sent pictorial sketches of scenes in the House, and indulged in humorous and critical comments on the speeches and personal peculiarities of Members. Sir Theodore Martin was the first writer to be allowed to give extracts from the reports in his Life of the Prince Consort (1874-80). Some Selections from the Correspondence of Queen Victoria, edited by Lord Esher and A. C. Benson, and published in 1907, includes many of the reports, and a few more are given in the Life of Disraeli by Moneypenny and Buckle (1912-20).

On the night of Friday, February 17, 1843, there was great excitement in the House of Commons. Lord Howick moved that the House do go into Committee to consider the prevailing depression in manufacturing industry. The debate turned mainly on the Corn Laws as a cause of the depression. Cobden attacked Sir Robert Peel, who was Prime Minister, and not yet converted to Free Trade. A couple of weeks earlier, Peel’s private secretary, Edward Drummond, was shot as he was walking down Whitehall by a lunatic named Daniel Macnaghten, who, it appeared, had mistaken him for Peel. It is obvious that Peel had this tragic event in mind as he wrote the following report of the debate for Queen Victoria:

Sir Robert Peel presents his humble duty to your Majesty, and begs leave to acquaint your Majesty that the debate was brought to a close this morning about half-past three o’clock. The motion of Lord Howick was rejected by a large majority, the numbers being—

For the motion Against it 191 305

Majority 114

The chief speakers were Mr. R. Cobden and Lord John Russell in favour of the motion; Mr. Attwood, Lord Francis Egerton and Sir Robert Peel against it.

In the course of the evening there was much excitement and animated discussion, in consequence of the speech of Mr. Cobden, who is the chief patron of the Anti-Corn Law League.

Mr. Cobden with great vehemence of manner observed more than once that Sir Robert Peel ought to be held individually responsible for the distress of the country.

Coupling these expressions with the language frequently held at the meetings of the Anti-Corn Law League, and by the Press in connection with it, Sir Robert Peel in replying to Mr. Cobden charged him with holding language calculated to excite to personal violence.

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The most graphic of the reports are those written by Disraeli. On his first appointment to office, as Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons, during the brief Derby Administration in 1852, he set himself assiduously to win the confidence of the Queen, by whom he was at this time regarded with disfavour. His letters are fine examples of the best descriptive reporting. The different speakers are epigrammatically portrayed, and the atmosphere and feeling of the House conveyed. Here is a quotation from one of his earliest reports, dated March 15, 1852, relating to a debate which turned on the speculation whether the new Government would attempt to reimpose the old duties on corn:

The great speech on the Opposition side was that of Sir James Graham, elaborate, malignant, mischievous. His position was this: that Lord Derby as a man of honour was bound to propose taxes on food, and that if he did so revolution was inevitable.

Describing a debate raised by Lord John Russell on June 21, 1852, on a Minute issued by the Committee of Council on Education, Disraeli says:

Lord John Russell made a languid statement to a rather full House. His speech was not very effective as it proceeded, and there was silence when he sat down. Then Mr. Walpole rose and vindicated the Minute. He spoke with animation and was cheered when he concluded.

Sir Harry Verney followed, and the House very much dispersed; indeed the discussion would probably have terminated when Sir Harry finished, had not Mr. Gladstone then risen. Mr. Gladstone gave only a very guarded approval to the Minute, which he treated as insignificant. It was not a happy effort, and the debate, for a while revived by his interposition, continued to languish until this hour (nine o’clock), with successive relays of mediocrity, until it yielded its last gasp in the arms of Mr. Slaney.

The style of the openings and conclusions of Disraeli’s reports are characteristic of the man. They commenced: “The Chancellor of the Exchequer, with his humble duty to your Majesty, informs your Majesty of what occurred in the House of Commons this evening”; and ended with this flourish: “All which is most humbly submitted to your Majesty by your Majesty’s most dutiful subject and servant, B. Disraeli.” In one communication he gives his opinion as to the proper purpose of the reports, and describes the conditions in which they were written:

The Chancellor of the Exchequer fears that he sent to your Majesty a somewhat crude note from the House of Commons on Thursday night, but he humbly begs your Majesty will deign to remember that these bulletins are often written in tumult, and sometimes in perplexity; and that he is under the impression that your Majesty would prefer a genuine report of the feeling of the moment, however miniature, to a more artificial and prepared statement.

Queen Victoria tells her uncle, Leopold, King of the Belgians, what she thought of Disraeli’s reports, in a letter dated March 30, 1852. She says: “Mr. Disraeli (alias Dizzy) writes very curious reports to me of the House of Commons proceedings—much in the style of his books.”

Disraeli’s first Budget, which was introduced late in 1852, proposed to increase the house tax, reduce the duties on malt and tea, and give concession to farmers in the payment of income tax. The letter to the Queen was written by the Prime Minister, and is in the following terms:

Lord Derby, with his humble duty, ventures to hope that your Majesty may feel some interest in hearing, so far as he is able to give it, his impression of the effect of Mr. Disraeli’s announcement of the Budget this evening. Lord Derby was not able to hear quite the commencement of the Speech, having been obliged to attend the House of Lords, which, however, was up at a quarter-past five, Mr. Disraeli having then been speaking about half an hour. From that time till ten, when he sat down, Lord Derby was in the House of Commons, and anxiously watching the effect produced, which he ventures to assure your Majesty was most favourable, according to his own judgment after some considerable experience in Parliament, and also from what he heard from others.

Mr. Disraeli spoke for about five hours, with no apparent effort, with perfect self-possession, and with hardly an exception to the fixed attention with which the House listened to the exposition of the views of your Majesty’s servants. It was altogether a most masterly performance, and he kept alive the attention of the House with the greatest ability, introducing the most important statements, and the broadest principles of legislation, just at the moments when he had excited the greatest anxiety to learn the precise measures which the Government intended to introduce.

The Derby Government were defeated on the resolution to increase the house tax and resigned, and in the Government formed by Lord John Russell, Gladstone succeeded Disraeli as Chancellor of the Exchequer. The Budget of 1853—the first of a long series introduced by Gladstone—inheritors of real property were made to pay a duty, and the income tax was extended to Ireland. In his letter to Queen Victoria, written from the House of Commons on the night of April 19, 1853, Lord John Russell is very eulogistic of Gladstone’s speech. He says:

Lord John Russell presents his humble duty to your Majesty, and is happy to say that Mr. Gladstone’s statement last night was one of the most powerful financial speeches ever made in the House of Commons. Mr. Pitt in the days of his glory might have been more imposing, but he could not have been more persuasive.

Prince Albert sent a copy of Russell’s report to Gladstone, with a letter of congratulation on his success.

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Examples of the reports made by Lord Palmerston, as Leader of the House of Commons, are also available. The famous debate on Roebuck’s motion for an inquiry into the conduct of the Crimean War in 1855, the carrying of which brought about the downfall of the Government of Lord Aberdeen, is thus described by Palmerston, writing to Queen Victoria from 144 Piccadilly on January 26, 1855:

Mr. Roebuck rose to make his motion, but the paralytic affection under which he has for some time laboured soon overpowered him; and before he had proceeded far in his speech he became so unwell that he was obliged to finish abruptly, make his motion and sit down. Mr. Sidney Herbert, who was to reply to Mr. Roebuck, rose therefore, under great disadvantage, as he had to reply to a speech which had not been made; but he acquitted himself with great ability, and made an excellent statement in explanation and defence of the conduct of the Government.

The report thus concludes: “Viscount Palmerston regrets to say that the general aspect of the House was not very encouraging.” Writing to the Queen at 2 a.m., on the morning of January 30, he reports that Roebuck’s motion was carried by 305 votes against 148, the majority being composed mainly of Conservatives, but including a large number of Liberals. Palmerston adds: “The Conservative Party abstained, by order from their chiefs, from giving the cheer of triumph which usually issues from a majority after a vote upon an important occasion.”

Palmerston indulged in some characteristically jaunty and humorous remarks in his reports. Describing a debate on a motion relating to India he mentions that Mr. Hadfield “shortly stated in his provincial dialect that—‘we can never keep our ’old upon Hindia by force of harms.’” The following is an extract from a report written in August, towards the close of the session:

Members are leaving town; but the tiresome ones, who have no occupation of their own, and no chance of seeing their names in the newspapers when Parliament is up, remain to obstruct and delay by talking. The Speaker, who has not been quite well, grows as impatient as any official who has hired a grousing moor and cannot get to it; and a few nights ago, when a tiresome orator got up to speak just as the end of the debate had been expected, the Speaker cried out, “Oh, oh!” in chorus with the rest of the House.

Disraeli was again Chancellor of the Exchequer and Leader of the House of Commons in the second Derby Administration. His sense of humour and love of the picturesque are shown in two reports of that period. Writing to Queen Victoria from the House of Commons on April 13, 1858, he says:

The Chancellor of the Exchequer with his humble duty to your Majesty.

The night tranquil and interesting. Lord Bury, with much intelligence, introduced the subject of the Straits Settlements; the speech of Sir J. Elphinstone, master of the subject, and full of striking details, produced a great effect. His vindication of the convict population of Singapore, as the moral element of that strange society, might have been considered as the richest humour, had it not been for its unmistakable simplicity.

His inquiry of the Governor’s lady, who never hired any servant but a convict, whether she employed in her nursery “thieves or murderers,” and the answer, “Always murderers,” was very effective.

In 1859 the Government introduced a Reform Bill, only to be defeated on an amendment moved by Lord John Russell. On the night of March 22nd, in the course of the debate, two important speeches were delivered—one against the Bill by Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, and the other in its support by Sir Hugh Cairns, the Solicitor-General. Disraeli thus describes the scene for Queen Victoria:

A night of immense power and excitement. Two of the greatest speeches ever delivered in Parliament—by Sir Edward Lytton and the Solicitor-General.... Both spoke in a crowded House; one before dinner, the other concluding, just down. Never was a greater contrast between two orators, resembling each other in nothing but their excellence. Deaf, fantastic, modulating his voice with difficulty—at first almost an object of ridicule to the superficial—Lytton occasionally reached even the sublime, and perfectly enchained his audience. His description of the English Constitution; his analysis of democracy—as rich and more powerful than Burke. Sir Hugh Cairns devoted an hour to a reply to Lord John’s Resolutions, and to a vindication of the Government Bill, which charmed everyone by its lucidity and controlled everyone by its logic. When he had, in the most masterly manner, and with concinnity which none can equal, closed the business part of his address, he directed himself to the political portion of the theme, and, having literally demolished the mover of the amendment, sat down amid universal cheers.

In a letter written in March 1858, Disraeli says: “Your Majesty once deigned to say that your Majesty wished in these remarks to have the temper of the House placed before your Majesty, and to find what your Majesty could not meet in newspapers. This is the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s excuse for these rough notes written on the field of battle, which he humbly offers to your Majesty.” Yet very soon afterwards the Queen met with something in the newspapers as to what had happened in the House of Commons the night before which made her very angry, especially as there was no mention of it in Disraeli’s report of the proceedings. Writing to Derby, the Prime Minister, in sharp terms she said that in reading in the papers the debate on the India Bill—transferring the Government of India from the East India Company to the Secretary of State for India in Council—she “was shocked to find that in several points her Government had surrendered the prerogatives of the Crown”; and she complained that Mr. Disraeli not alone did not tell her of this, but overbore the Opposition which “attempted to guard the Queen’s prerogative.”

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Sir Erskine May, the classic authority on parliamentary procedure, and for many years Clerk of the House of Commons, considered this practice of sending reports of the proceedings of the House to the Sovereign a violation of the privileges of Parliament. In order to guard against the arbitrary interference of the Crown in its proceedings, had not Parliament established the ancient constitutional doctrine that the Sovereign should neither hear its debates nor give credit to reports of them? However, this opinion, when quoted, in the House of Commons in 1879, in presence of Sir Erskine May, received but scanty support. The occasion was a debate on a Radical motion, which declared “that to prevent the growing abuse by her Majesty’s Ministers of the prerogative and influence of the Crown, it is necessary that the modes and limits of the action of the prerogative should be more strictly observed.” Mr. Leonard Courtney, who supported the motion, contended that it was “an undoubted breach of the Constitution” for a Minister to send a report of the proceedings of the House to the Queen, and when Members laughed in derision of his argument, he supported it by quoting Sir Erskine May. But Gladstone, who was in Opposition at the time, effectively disposed of the contention. The House might, he said, fairly object to the details of its proceedings being conveyed to the Sovereign during the eighteenth century, when the people were denied any information about the doings of Parliament; but, in his opinion, it was ridiculous to say that it was a breach of privilege to communicate them to the Queen in days when they were published in every newspaper in the land. The House evidently agreed with Gladstone. At any rate, the motion was not pressed to a division.

Gladstone, who filled the post of Parliamentary Reporter to Queen Victoria in five Parliaments, used to write his report on the Treasury Bench towards the close of each sitting. Often have I seen him taking a quarto sheet of notepaper and blotting-pad from the Table, seize the nearest quill pen to hand, and, writing on his knee, dash off the report with characteristic eagerness and celerity. Scratch, scratch, scratch went his pen unceasingly—unless interrupted to receive a report from his chief Whip, or to exchange a few words with a colleague in the Ministry, or to give a prompt contradiction of some statement by the Member addressing the House—until the four sides of the sheet of notepaper were covered.

What a painful duty it must have been to the “Old Parliamentary Hand” (as he called himself), with his intense love of the House of Commons, and all its historic associations, his high conception of its dignity as the governing body of the British Empire, to have to inform the Queen, on Thursday, July 27, 1893, that blows were exchanged between honourable Members on the floor of the House that very night. He cannot have given a detailed account of the scene which occurred in Committee on the second Home Rule Bill, for, as he told the Speaker subsequently, neither his eyes nor his ears were sharp enough to enable him to describe what had actually occurred; and I saw him myself, from the Reporters’ Gallery, half-reclining on the Treasury Bench, during the brawl, gazing sorrowfully at the Chairman (Mr. Mellor), who was vainly endeavouring to restore order, while the crowd of Members on the floor prevented him from seeing—if he had cared to see—the fight between Ulster Unionist and Nationalist Members on the Opposition benches. But the angry shouts and fierce ejaculations of the brawling Members must have reached the aged Premier, however desirous he might have been to shut his ears to the clamour. That was at ten o’clock. Before midnight I saw Gladstone again on the Treasury Bench writing his report of the proceedings. I noticed that it was rather a slow process. He would pause for a few seconds after finishing a sentence, and delete or alter a word or two of what he had written. Obviously he was devoting much painstaking care and premeditation to the composition of the report for Queen Victoria.