Houses of Parliament in 1900: The House of Lords

Arthur H. Beavan had this to say about the House of Lords in Imperial London, published in 1901:

Antiques from London on eBay

Antique Faudels London German Hand Cranked Sewing Machine In Case With Key
8 Jan 2012 at 8:54am
US $170.00
End Date: Tuesday Feb-07-2012 6:59:30 PST
Buy It Now for only: US $170.00
Buy it now | Add to watch list
Pair Of Victorian Sterling Silver Salt Cellars Robert Harper London England 1859
8 Jan 2012 at 9:22am
US $350.00
End Date: Tuesday Feb-07-2012 7:27:31 PST
Buy It Now for only: US $350.00
Buy it now | Add to watch list
s

Acquaintance with a peer of the realm, or any of the higher officials of the House of Lords, will usually enable strangers to obtain an order to see not merely the legislative chamber, but the less frequently visited state-rooms, libraries, and other apartments for the use of the peers temporal and spiritual, which, during the sitting of Parliament, are of course particularly interesting.

A dignified mental atmosphere pervades the Upper House, which distinguishes it, perhaps, from every other assembly of its kind in existence.

Henry Cockton, author of Valentine Vox the Ventriloquist, describes how his hero, whose success in raising a storm by feigned interruption had been everywhere, including the House of Commons, most signal, found himself entirely baffled by the sedateness of the House of Lords, although party feeling was as strong there as elsewhere; and a visitor to the new Palace of Westminster in 1901 will perceive that former traditions have in no way faded, but are, if anything, accentuated by the impressive surroundings of the beautiful gilded chamber.

Undoubtedly it is one of the finest specimens of Gothic civil architecture, and its harmonious proportions can hardly be excelled.

The plan is simple.

In the body of the noble Hall are the woolsack and the clerks' table, etc., flanked right and left by rows of comfortable seats for the Government and Opposition, with some cross benches in the middle.

Facing the stranger's entrance, and elevated in dignified isolation behind the woolsack, are the two Thrones side by side beneath a splendid canopy, with a state chair on a lower level on either side of them.

Visitors' movements are restricted by the "bar," which forms, as it were, a northern boundary of the House beyond which no unqualified person may pass.

A touch of ecclesiasticism is given, not so much by the presence of the two primates and sundry bishops, whose ordinary garb is in no way impressive, as by the beautiful stained-glass windows, six on either side, representing the Kings and Queens of the United Kingdom; by the archiepiscopal and episcopal arms filling the wall spaces at the northern end; and by the three noble frescoes in the archways at each extremity of the chamber, two of which, viz. the Baptism of St. Ethelbert, immediately above the Throne, and the Spirit of Religion facing it above the Diplomatic, Strangers', and Reporters' Galleries, are distinctly spiritual in character; while the dim religious light and a certain resemblance to an ancient college-chapel induce a sense of solemnity totally absent in what is technically called, the "other place."

Truly it is a grand apartment, quite spacious enough for the few hundreds who have the right of entry, and all too large for its ordinary assemblages.

Yet there have been occasions when an additional human being could hardly have found standing-room.

In the days gone by, when our late Sovereign used to open Parliament in person, the ceremony was impressive in the extreme.

Approaching the House by way of the Victoria Tower, the Robing-room, the Royal Gallery, and the Prince's Chamber, the Queen, with Prince Albert, entered and took her place in front of the Throne.

Waiting to receive Her Majesty in an apartment glowing with gold and colours, its walls of carved panelling, its balconies of burnished brass, and its elaborately-painted ceiling uniting to form a fitting scene of royal magnificence, were the great officers of state in gorgeous uniform, the ambassadors, the peers in their robes, and the privileged peeresses radiant with the supreme efforts of Court dressmakers and fashionable jewellers.

As the Queen's presence became evident, the buzz of conversation was hushed, and everybody in the House rose, while the Sovereign, with a graceful gesture, indicated that it was her pleasure that all should resume their seats.

Then the formality of summoning by Black Rod, her faithful Commons, produced a momentary silence, suddenly broken by a distant murmuring of
voices and much shuffling of feet outside.

Presently, the Speaker advanced to the Bar, impelled by a crowd of members who jostled and pushed one another in the vain effort to secure a good place in the very limited area assigned to them.

At last every sound was stilled, and as the Queen, taking the written speech from the Minister of State, proceeded to read it in her own peculiar and silvery accent, the proverbial pin might have been heard, had it dared to drop.

The speech ended, the brilliant assemblage rose once more, and respectfully acknowledging the graceful salutation made by Her Majesty as she retired, melted away, and the pageant was at an end; leaving behind an enduring sense of the reality of the three-stranded cord that binds together (never to be loosened, let us hope) our national constitution, the Queen, the Lords, and the Commons; no mere theoretic system of Government, but a very tangible and visible reality.

The last opening of Parliament in person by Queen Victoria was in the year 1886.

Behind the Throne are several splendid apartments set apart for the Sovereign, which the public are rarely allowed to inspect.

St. Stephen's is nominally a Royal Palace under the jurisdiction of the Lord Great Chamberlain, by whose orders on certain occasions, such as the funeral of Royalty, it is closed to the public.

They are approached from beneath the great fifty-feet archway in the Victoria Tower, by way of the Royal staircase on the left which leads to the Norman Porch, whence a door on the right opens out to the Queen's Robing-room, a splendid place, whose most striking features are the paintings illustrative of the Legend of King Arthur.

Across a corridor is the Royal Gallery, larger than the House of Lords, its walls richly decorated with English historical pictures.

From it is gained the Prince's Chamber, which serves as a kind of ante-room to the Lords, where the Sovereign is received by the chief of the nobility before entering.

The ceiling of this room is remarkable for its decoration, and the fire-places are of very elaborate design.

The Peers' libraries are delightful retreats for study or contemplation.

Many an author, harassed by the incessant noise of the London street wherein Fate compels him to dwell, has looked with pardonable envy at the inviting recessed windows overlooking the river, and craved for the complete isolation and security from interruption which they suggest.

All the fittings of the libraries are designed in strict accordance with the architecture of the Palace; the walls are completely lined with dark oaken book­shelves laden with rare volumes, the friezes above the shelves are decorated with the armorial bearings of the Chief Justices of England in chronological order, and the ceilings are panelled and lavishly painted.

Close to the libraries, and approached by a corridor leading out of the Peers' Lobby, are the refreshment-rooms (dining, tea-rooms, etc.), with kitchens immediately beneath accessible by a lift; but as, unlike the Commons, the members of the House of Lords are seldom detained by their duties beyond the dinner-hour, the resources of this department are never subjected to any extraordinary strain.

As to the procedure and customs of the Peers, as a rule the House conducts its business in a very leisurely fashion, the Lord Chancellor rarely taking his seat earlier than a quarter past four o'clock on ordinary occasions.

The attendance varies considerably; sometimes there are barely fifty Peers present, at others only the metaphorical handful, whatever that may imply.

If fewer than thirty be present at a division on any stage of a bill, the vote is void and the debate stands postponed, though the rule does not hold good in relation to a mere resolution of the House; and when Parliament was adjourned last Easter only three Peers were present besides the occupant of the woolsack, and on June 25, 1900, only a couple of Peers turned up.

But should any keen party discussion of a bill that has been hotly contested in the Lower Chamber be expected, there is a certainty of both a large attendance and a big audience, the space around the Thrones being generally crowded with the most prominent members of the House of Commons; and if some drastic social measure, such as the Deceased Wife's Sister's Bill, which seems to have a special attraction, be under discussion, there is always a full muster.

If Parliament be either opened or prorogued by commission - the almost invariable rule for years past - the Commissioners, headed by the Lord Chancellor in his flowing robes and three­cornered beaver hat, his colleagues in scarlet robes slashed with ermine, and cocked hats, range themselves along the crimson-covered form in front of the Thrones, the Mace and the Great seal being on the couch in front; the Speaker of the House of Commons is summoned by Black Rod to hear the Speech, returns with a copy of it to the Commons, and the business of the session proceeds; or, in the case of prorogation, St. Stephen's is left desolate to the bats and the owls for several months.

One of the quaintest and most interesting survivals of an old order of things in the Lords, is the process of welcoming a new Peer, a description of which ceremony, as it applies to a Baron of the United Kingdom, will conclude my sketch of the House.

The Peer is introduced by his sponsors, all three clad in scarlet and ermine robes, and they are led up to the woolsack by that dignified official, Black Rod, and by Norroy King-at-Arms, the latter gorgeous with royal emblazonments.

Having, on bended knees, presented his patent to the Lord Chancellor, the titled neophyte returns to the table, takes the oath and subscribes to the roll.

With his supporters he is then conducted to the Barons' bench, where all three go through the curious formality of rising three times and saluting the Lord Chancellor, who in return doffs his funny little three-cornered hat.

Again the procession passes up the floor pausing at the woolsack, where the new Peer exchanges less formal courtesies with the Chancellor.

This terminates the proceedings, and presently in ordinary costume the fully qualified baron returns and takes his permanent seat in that part of the House assigned to him by his own political bias.

It is a curious fact indicative of British conservatism, that the ceremony of Parliament being opened in person by the Sovereign, differs in no essential detail from the form observed by Queen Elizabeth I.

Next: Official, Legislative, and Diplomatic London in 1900: House of Commons