As I have elsewhere had occasion to say, one of the greatest vices of the feudal system was to localise sovereignty, and to bring it everywhere, so to speak, to the door of those over whom it was exercised. The formation of the House of Peers weakened this evil in England, and thus, at least in a political point of view, struck a deadly blow at feudalism.
Further, the great barons thus formed into a body, had the power and duty of defending in common their rights and liberties against the royal power; and their resistance, instead of consisting in a series of isolated wars, as was the case in France, immediately assumed the character of a collective and truly political resistance, founded on certain general principles of right and liberty. Now there is something contagious in these principles and their language, which very soon extends them beyond the limits within which they are at first enclosed. Right calls forth right, liberty engenders liberty. The demands and resistance of the great barons provoked similar demands and resistance in other classes of the nation. Without the concentration of the high aristocracy in the House of Peers, the House of Commons would probably have never been formed. From all these facts flows this consequence, that when great inequality actually exists in society between different classes of citizens, it is not only natural but useful to the progress of justice and liberty, that the superior class should be collected and concentrated into a great public power, in which individual superiorities become placed on a more elevated level than that of personal interest; they learn to treat with their equals, to meet with opposition, and to furnish an example of the defence of liberties and rights; while by exposing themselves in some sort to the view of the whole nation, they experience by this fact alone the necessity of adapting themselves, to a certain extent, to its opinions, sentiments, and interests.
But, it may be said, a social inequality of sufficient magnitude to occasion the formation of such a power, is neither a universal fact, nor one in itself good and desirable; and under this point of view the House of Peers, as it is constituted in England, was simply a remedy for an evil. There can be no doubt that the accumulation of land, wealth, and positive power which belonged to the great barons, and the securing of all these social advantages, were the result of violence, and as contrary to the internal tendency as to the rational principles of society in general. If then the division of the legislative power into two Chambers is derived only from such causes, it might in certain cases be inevitable and even beneficial; but where these causes are not met with, nothing would recommend it, or ought to make its necessity a matter of regret. The equitable and natural distribution of social advantages, their rapid circulation, the free competition of rights and powers—this is the object, as it is the rational law of the social condition. An institution which, in itself and by its nature, is opposed to this object and derogates from this law, contains nothing which ought to lead to its adoption when not imposed by necessity.
Is this the case with regard to the division of the legislative power into two Chambers, setting aside those particular characteristics which, in the English House of Peers, are derived solely from local and accidental facts, and cannot be referred to rational causes of universal validity?
Before considering this question in its relation to the fundamental principle of representative government, some observations are necessary.
It is by no means true, that similar inequalities to those which produced the preponderance of the great barons in England, and a permanent classification of society in conformity to these facts, are natural conditions of the social state. Providence does not always sell her benefits at so high a price to the human race, and has not rested the very existence of society on this denomination, this immovable constitution of privilege. Reason must believe, and facts prove, that society can not only subsist, but is even better off in another condition; in a condition in which the principle of free competition exercises more dominion, and where the different social classes are more nearly allied. It is certain, however, that there exist in society two tendencies, equally legitimate in their principle, and equally salutary in their effects, although in permanent opposition to each other. The one is the tendency to the production of inequality, the other, the tendency to maintain or restore equality between individuals. Both are natural and indestructible: this is a fact which requires no proof, the aspect of the world displays it everywhere; and if we look within, we shall perceive it in ourselves. Who does not desire, in some respect or another, to raise himself above his equals? and who would not also wish, in some particular, to bring down his superiors to an equality with himself? These two tendencies, considered in their principle, are equally legitimate: the one is attached to the right of the natural superiorities which exist in the moral as well as in the physical order of the universe; the other, to the right of every man to that justice which desires that no arbitrary force should deprive him of any of the social advantages which he possesses, or might acquire, unaided and without injury to his fellows. To prevent natural superiorities from displaying themselves, and exercising the power that belongs to them, is to create a violent inequality, and to mutilate the human race in its noblest parts. To enslave men in regard to those rights which are common to all, by reason of the similitude of their nature, to unequal laws imposed or maintained by force, is to insult human nature and to forget its imperishable dignity. In fine, these two tendencies are equally salutary in their effects: without the one, society would be inert and lifeless; without the other, might alone would dominate, and right would for ever be suppressed. In considering them as respects that which is legitimate and moral in each, let us ask what is this tendency to inequality but the desire to elevate ourselves, to extend our influence, and to bring to light and effect the triumph of that portion of moral power which is naturally placed by the will of God the Creator, in each particular individual? and is it not this impulse which constitutes the life and determines the progress of the human race? On the other hand, what is this tendency to equality except resistance to force, to capricious arbitrary wills, and the desire to yield obedience only to justice and true law? Doubtless, in both these tendencies, the bad as well as the the good parts of our nature display themselves: there is a taint of insolence in the desire of self-elevation, and of envy in the passion for equality. Injustice and violence may be employed either to abase superiors or to surpass equals; but in that conflict of good and evil, which is everywhere the condition of man, it is not the less true that the two tendencies of which I am speaking constitute the very principle of social life, the twofold cause which makes the human race advance in the career of improvement, which leads it back when it wanders astray, and urges it forward when perverse powers or wills seek to arrest its course.
The tendency to inequality is then a fact inevitable in itself, legitimate in its principle, and salutary in its effects, if it is restrained by the law of competition, that is to say, beneath the condition of a permanent and free struggle with the tendency to equality, which, in the order of Providence, appears to be the fact by which it is destined to be balanced. In every country there will always arise and exist a certain number of great individual superiorities, who will seek an analogous place in government to that which they occupy in society. They ought not to obtain it for their personal interest, nor to extend it beyond what comports with the public interest, nor should they retain it longer than they possess the title in virtue of which they assumed it, that is to say, their actual importance, nor should they preserve this title by means violative of the principle of free competition, and the maintenance of the rights which are common to all. All this is indubitable, but, this being allowed, there will still remain the necessity of introducing and concentrating among the superior powers all the great superiorities of the country, in order to engage them in the transaction of public affairs, and in the defence of the general interests.
This, as we have seen, is the sole object of the representative system: its precise purpose is to discover and concentrate the natural and real superiorities of the country, in order to apply them to its government. Now, is it good in itself, and in conformity with the fundamental principle of this system, to apply only one method of seeking out these superiorities, and to gather them all into a single voting urn? that is to say, must they be united in one single assembly, formed upon the same conditions, after the same tests, and by the same mode? We now reach the pith of the question.
The principle of the representative system is the destruction of all sovereignty of permanent right, that is to say, of all absolute power upon earth. The question of what is now called omnipotence has at all times been agitated. If by this is understood an actually definitive power, in the terms of established laws, such a power always exists in society, under a multitude of names and forms: for wherever there is a matter to be decided and completed, there must be a power to decide and complete it. Thus, in the family, the father exercises the power of definitively determining, in certain particulars, the conduct and destiny of his children; in a well regulated municipality, the municipal council definitively enacts the local budget; in civil trials, certain tribunals give final judgment upon cases submitted to their decision; and in the political system, electoral omnipotence belongs to the electors. Definitive power is thus disseminated through the social state, and is necessarily met with everywhere. Does this imply that a power ought somewhere to exist, which possesses omnipotence by right, that is to say, which has the right to do anything it pleases? That would be absolute power; and it is the formal design of the representative system, as well as the object of all its institutions, to provide against the existence of such a power, and to take care that every power shall be submitted to certain trials, meet with obstacles, undergo opposition, and, in fine, be deprived of sway until it has either proved its legitimacy, or given reason for presuming it.
There is not, then, and there cannot be, any omnipotence by right, that is to say, any power which should be allowed to say: "that is good and just because I have so decided it;" and every effort of political science, every institution, ought to tend to the prevention of such a power being anywhere formed; and should provide that the actual omnipotence which exists under so many names in society, should everywhere meet with restraints and obstacles enough to prevent its conversion into an omnipotence by right.
Until the summit of society is reached, and while those powers only are constituted, above which other permanent powers will be placed for the purpose of controlling them, and with power to enforce their authority, this end appears easy to attain.
Judicial power, municipal power, and every second class power may be definitive without much danger, because if they are abused in a manner likely to become fatal, the legislative or executive power will be there to repress them. But we must necessarily come at last to the supreme power, to that power which superintends all others, and is not itself ruled or restrained by any visible and constituted power. Shall the right of omnipotence appertain to this? Certainly not, whatever may be its form or name. It will, however, be always prone to aspire to it, and able to usurp it, for in the political system it possesses omnipotence, and of this it cannot be deprived; for in reference to general interests, as well as to local and private interests, a definitive power is a necessity.
Here then, all the foresight of the politician ought to be displayed: he will need all his art and all his efforts, to prevent actual omnipotence from asserting its inherent rightfulness, and general definitive power from becoming absolute power.
This result is endeavoured to be secured by a variety of means:
I. by recognising the individual rights of citizens,—the
effect of which is to superintend, control, and limit this
central supreme power, and constantly to subject it to the law
of reason and justice to which it ought to be subordinated;
this is the object of the jury, of the liberty of the press,
and of publicity of all kinds:
II. by constituting, in a distinct and independent way, the
principal powers of the second class, such as the judicial and
municipal powers; on such a plan that these being themselves
repressed and restrained when necessary by the central power,
may restrain and repress it in their turn if it should attempt
to become absolute:
III. by organising the central power itself in such a manner as
to make it very difficult for it to usurp rightful omnipotence,
and to provide that it shall meet with such oppositions and
obstacles within itself as will not admit of its attaining
actual omnipotence except under laborious conditions, the
accomplishment of which gives ground to presume that it does in
effect act in accordance with reason and justice; that is to
say, that it possesses legitimacy.
This last description of means is the only one connected with the question that now occupies our attention. The division of the legislative power into two Chambers has precisely this object. It is directed against the easy acquisition of actual omnipotence at the summit of the social system, and consequently against the transformation of actual omnipotence into rightful omnipotence. It is therefore conformable to the fundamental principle of the representative system, and is a necessary consequence of it.
Why is it undesirable that the legislative and executive powers, that is to say, the entire supreme power, should reside either in one man or in a single assembly? why does tyranny always spring from these two forms of government? Because it is in the nature of things, that a power which has no equal should think itself rightfully sovereign, and should very soon become absolute. It has happened thus in democracies, aristocracies, and monarchies; wherever actually sovereign power has been conferred upon a single man, or a single body of men, that man, or that body, has assumed to be rightfully sovereign; and more or less frequently, and with greater or less violence, it has exercised despotism.
The art of politics, the secret of liberty is, then, to provide equals for every power for which it cannot provide superiors. This is the principle which ought to preside in the organisation of the central government: for on these terms only can the establishment of despotism at the centre of the State be prevented.
Now if the legislative power is entrusted to a single assembly, and the executive power to one man, or if the legislative power is divided between one assembly and the executive power, is it possible for each of these powers to possess sufficient force and consistence to admit of the necessary equality between them, that is to say, to secure that neither shall become the sole and undisputed sovereign power? Such an example has never been witnessed: wherever the central power has been thus constituted, a struggle has arisen, which has resulted, according to the times, either in the annihilation of the executive power by the legislative assembly, or of the legislative assembly by the executive power. Some countries have been governed by a single assembly, others by several assemblies, of which some have been aristocratic and others democratic; while all have contested with each other for the sovereignty. These various forms of government have given rise either to tyranny or to continued commotions, and have nevertheless endured. But a government in which the legislative assembly and the executive power have remained distinct, preserving their personality and their independence, and reciprocally limiting each other, is a phenomenon without example, either in antiquity or in modern times. One of these powers has always speedily succumbed, or been soon reduced to a state of subordination and dependence equivalent to nonentity, at least as regarded the essential purposes for which it was instituted.
This could not fail to be the case. Equality is impossible between powers which are completely dissimilar, either in their nature, or in their means of obtaining power or credit. The dominion of one person, that is to say, the pure monarchical form of government, derives its springs and means of action from certain dispositions of human nature, and certain conditions of society. The full and exclusive rule of a single assembly derives the same from other dispositions and other social circumstances; according as one or other class of these circumstances predominate, kings have abolished assemblies, and assemblies have overthrown kings. But the co-existence of these two systems of government, when confronted with each other and acting in direct opposition, is impossible. They do not then act as a restraint upon each other, but they wage a war of extermination: such an event has accordingly never been met with except in revolutionary times: it may possibly have been an unavoidable condition of such epochs; but then it has always involved one or other of these forms of despotism: it has never become the basis of a free and regular government.
When it is once admitted that the division of the central power is indispensable, in order to prevent all usurpation of rightful omnipotence, or, at least, to render such usurpation infrequent and difficult, it necessarily follows that this division ought to be effected in such a way that the resulting powers shall be capable of regular co-existence, that is to say, of mutually restraining, limiting, and compelling each other to seek in common for that reason, truth, and justice, which ought to regulate their will and preside over their actions. It is essential that neither of these powers should elevate itself so much above the others as to be able to throw off their yoke; for the excellence of the system consists precisely in their mutual dependence, and in the efforts which it imposes on them to secure unanimity. Now there can be no mutual dependence, except between powers which are invested with a certain degree of independence, and with strength enough to maintain it.
The division of the central power, or of the actual sovereignty, between the executive power and two legislative assemblies is, therefore, strictly derived from the fundamental principle of the representative system; or rather it is the sole constitutional form which fully corresponds to this principle, and guarantees its maintenance, since this is the only form which, by providing equals for powers which admit of no superiors, prevents them all from claiming and usurping rightful sovereignty, that is to say, absolute power.
Why has this truth been so frequently forgotten? why has this constitutional form been so often repudiated by men who, nevertheless, desired to establish representative government?—Because they have forgotten the principle of this form of government. At the very moment when they were directing their efforts against absolute power, they have imagined that it legitimately existed somewhere; and they have attributed it to society itself,—to the entire people. They have thus proved wanting in consistency and courage in their opposition to absolute power; and either have not known, or have not dared, to pursue it wherever it might be found; to leave it no refuge; to denounce and banish it under every possible name and form. Thus, admitting the existence of one sole sovereign, naturally and eternally legitimate, they have also been obliged to admit an undivided representation of this undivided sovereign. The sovereignty of the people, thus understood, necessarily carries with it the unity of the legislative power: and when tyranny has sprung from it, when the lessons of experience have led men to seek other combinations, when it has been considered right to divide the legislative assembly, it has been done with the assertion, that such a step was contrary to the principle of representative government, but necessary: that principles cannot rigorously be followed, and that it is necessary to believe in the theory, but not to practise it. Such language is an insult to truth, for truth never contains evil; and when evil does appear anywhere, it arises not from truth but from error. If the consequences of a principle are fatal, it is not because the principle, though in itself true, is not applicable, but because it really is not true. It has been said by the advocates of divine right: There is only one God; there ought therefore to be only one king; and all power belongs to him because he is the representative of God. The advocates of the sovereignty of the people say: There is only one people; there ought therefore to be only one legislative assembly, for that represents the people. The error is the same in both cases, and in each instance it leads equally to despotism. There is only one God, that is certain: but God exists nowhere upon the earth, for neither is any man nor is the entire people God, nor do any perfectly know his law, or constantly desire it. No actual power, then, ought to be undivided, for the unity of actual power supposes a plenitude of rightful power which nobody possesses or can possess.
Far, then, from the division of legislative power being a derogation from the principles of political liberty, it is, on the contrary, in perfect harmony with these principles, and is specially directed against the establishment of absolute power.
Having this [thus?] established the principle, it would be easy to consider it in practice, and to demonstrate its good effects. It would be easy to prove that it is indispensible for realising the responsibility of the executive power; for curbing inordinate ambition, and turning every kind of superiority to the profit of the State; for preventing fundamental institutions, the public rights of citizens, and all the higher branches of legislation, from being treated as simple measures of government, and made subject to the instability of political experience: but these considerations would lead me too far; I wished to establish this constitutional form in principle, because it is owing to the want of such foundations that it has long been regarded with mistrust and doubt by many enlightened men. Its utility is never disputed; its good results are acknowledged; but men are generally ignorant how it can be made to agree with the general principles of a free government; and it has been found, not without reason, that these principles would be weakened by any derogation from them. In times when the human race is subject to regenerative influences, empiricism is never the ruling spirit: man then requires some rational and rigorous principles which may furnish a solution to every difficulty; and he mistrusts experience when he finds her counsels at variance with those primitive axioms which his reason has firmly adopted. This is our natural disposition: let us not lament it, it characterises all great epochs; it is then only necessary rigidly to examine principles themselves, and to grant dominion to those ideas only which truly deserve it.
A second question remains for consideration: it is, to ascertain how the division of the legislative power into two houses ought to be effected, and what should be the mode of formation, what the attributes and the relations of the two assemblies. This, at least to a great degree, is a question of circumstance, the solution of which is almost entirely dependent upon the state of society, its internal constitution, and the manner in which wealth, influence, and intelligence, are distributed; this is sufficiently indicated by what I have said about the causes that led to the formation of the House of Peers in England. It is evident, for example, that those countries in which there was no such inequality as then existed between the different classes of society, would be ill adapted for a division of the legislative power based upon the same ideas, presenting the same characteristics, and entailing the same consequences. Perhaps the only general idea which can be laid down beforehand upon this subject is, that the two assemblies should not proceed from the same source, and be constituted in the same manner; in a word, that they should not be exactly alike. The object of their separation would then be defeated, for their similitude would destroy the mutual independence which is the condition of their utility.
Power and attributes of the British Parliament in the
fourteenth century.
At its origin, and subsequent to its complete development, the
Parliament retained the name of the Great Council of the
kingdom.
Difference between its attributes and its actual power at these
two epochs.
Absorption of almost the entire government by the Crown;
gradual resumption of its influence by the Parliament.
The first name borne in England by the assembly which was succeeded by the Parliament, was, as you have seen, that of the great council, the common council of the kingdom, magnum commune consilium regni. The same name has also been given to the Parliament in England for the last two centuries, when it is desired to indicate completely the nature of its interference in the government, and the part which it there performs. It is called the great national council: the king governs in Parliament, that is to say, with the advice and consent of the great council of the nation.
Thus, both at the origin of the British government, and since it has attained its complete development, the same idea has been attached to the assembly, or union of the great public assemblies; and they have both been designated by the same word.
At both these periods, the Parliament or the corresponding assembly which preceded it, has never actually been, and, indeed, could not be considered as a special power, distinct from the government properly so called,—an accessory limited in its action to a certain number of affairs or emergencies. The government itself has resided in it. All superior powers have there been concentrated and called into exercise.
At the origin of modern States, and especially of England, it was very far from being thought that the whole and sole right of the body of capable citizens, of the political nation, consisted in consenting to the imposition of taxes; that they were otherwise subjected to an independent authority, and were not authorized in any way to interfere, either directly or indirectly, in the general affairs of the State. Whatever these affairs might be, they were their affairs, and they always occupied themselves with them, when their importance naturally called for their intervention. This is testified by the history of the Saxon Wittenagemot, of the Anglo-Norman Magnum Consilium and of all the national assemblies of the German peoples, in the earliest period of their existence. These assemblies were truly the great national council, deliberating and deciding on the affairs of the nation in concert with the king.
When the representative system has achieved all its mighty conquests, and borne its essential fruits, it has invariably resorted to this; and returned in fact to the point from which it set out. In spite of all distinctions and apparent limitations, the power of Parliament has extended to everything, and has exercised a more or less immediate, but in reality a decisive influence on all the affairs of the State. Parliament has again become the great national council in which all the national interests are debated and regulated, sometimes by means of anterior deliberation, at other times by those of responsibility.
When this first and last condition of free governments has been recognized, it will be perceived that a very different intermediate condition is to be met with, in which Parliament, although sometimes styled the great national council, exercises none of its functions, does not in a permanent manner interfere in political affairs, and is not, in a word, the seat and habitual instrument of government. During the whole of this period, the government is separate from the Parliament, and resides altogether in the royal power, around which are grouped the principal members of the great aristocracy. The Parliament is necessary in certain cases, but it is not the centre, the focus, of political action. It exercises rights, defends its liberties, and labours for their extension; but influences the government in no decisive way: and principles which belong only to absolute monarchy co-exist with the more or less frequent convocation of the representatives of the nation.
Such was the state of the British Parliament, from its formation in the thirteenth century until nearly the end of the seventeenth. It was only at the end of the seventeenth century that it resumed all the characteristics of a great national council, and became once more the seat of the entire government.
The British Parliament was not, then, in the fourteenth century either what the public assemblies of the German peoples had originally been, nor what it is in the present day. In order properly to comprehend what, at that period, was the nature of its power and the scope of its influence, we must follow the progress of events.
Common deliberation on common affairs is the principle, as well as the most simple form, of political liberty. This principle fully obtained at the infancy of modern nations. The national assembly was the great council in which public affairs of every kind were transacted. The king, the natural head of this council, was required to convoke it, and to follow its advice.
By the dispersion of the nation over an extended territory, the great national council became dispersed, and could not be assembled: for some time, however, it retained its ancient form, and the full extent of its ancient rights; but power is attached to continual presence, and the great council became of rare occurrence. Its numbers rapidly thinned; and it was very soon composed of great landowners alone, whom wealth, political importance, and that ambition which increases with the growth of power, frequently assembled round the king. The government, which formerly resided in the great national council, now resided only in this new council, formed of the king and the great barons, who became daily further separated from the body of the nation. The same words continued to be employed: the king always governed with his great council; but this was no longer the same assembly; the government and the body of the nation had become disjoined.
The king endeavoured to free himself from the great barons, and to govern alone; they resisted; and in the struggle in which they engaged for the defence of their liberties or the preservation of their influence in the central government, they were compelled to seek support from the body of the nation, the freeholders and the burgesses.
The issue of this struggle was favourable to liberty; the freeholders and the burgesses, who were become almost strangers to the central government, renewed their connection with it by the formation of Parliament; and this great council of the king, which for two centuries had been continually contracting, once more began to extend.
But at their return, the new citizens were very far from taking the same place which their ancestors had occupied. The development of inequality is always the first result of the progress of the social state. Royalty had extended and fortified its power; it now existed by itself, powerful and independent, and claiming distinct rights proportionate to its own strength. It was the same with the great barons, who also were strong and independent in themselves. If it had been possible to congregate in a single assembly all the descendants of those ancient Saxons or Normans who had originally formed the great common council, a very different spectacle would have been presented. Instead of finding an assembly of warriors, not enjoying perfect equality, certainly, but sufficiently equal for each to preserve his personal importance, and to consider himself in a condition to defend it; instead of seeing a chief at their head, too little distinguished from the principal men among them to be powerful without their adherence,—there would have been a king invested with great wealth and power, mighty barons followed by a multitude of retainers almost entirely dependent upon them, and a body of citizens obliged to unite and act collectively for the recovery of some influence over those measures which interested them most directly. In this new composition of society and of the national assembly, the deputies of the counties and boroughs were very far from pretending to associate themselves with the government properly so called, or from thinking to control or direct the central power in all public affairs; several centuries necessarily elapsed before their ideas could acquire so much generality, and their interference in Parliament became so comprehensive. They assembled there for the sole purpose of defending themselves, and those whom they represented, against the most crying abuses of power, against the violent and arbitrary invasion of their persons and their possessions.
Discussing the demands for supplies that were addressed to them, and presenting their complaints to the government against the most perilous acts of injustice of the agents of the king or of the great nobles, constituted the whole of their mission, and, in their own opinion, the full extent of their rights. Their personal importance was too trivial, and their intellectual activity too limited, for them to imagine themselves called to discuss and regulate the general affairs of the State. They resisted power when it directly attacked them, or required great sacrifices from them; but royalty and its prerogatives, the ordinary council of the king, and his measures in regard to legislation, peace and war, or general politics, in a word, the government properly so called, were entirely beyond their interference. They had not the power, or even the wish, to meddle with such matters; it was all discussed and decided between the king, his ministers, and the great nobles who were naturally called to take part therein by the elevation and importance of their social position.
Both the ancient assembly of the Saxon or Norman warriors, then, and the existing Parliament, would be vainly sought for in the Parliament of the fourteenth century. No violence is done to facts: a new society had been formed which could only engender a political order in accordance with its own character. Great inequality prevailed, and this inequality would naturally reappear between the powers to which it gave birth. The primitive and simple unity which exists in an uncivilized community had disappeared; the wise unity to which a state of civilised society can elevate itself by the diffusion of wealth and intelligence, was still far distant. There was a king, a House of Lords, and a House of Commons: but there was not a Parliament in the political sense which is now attached to that word.
The permanent co-existence of royalty and a great public council, through all these vicissitudes of government and liberty, is an important fact. This council, formed at first by the general assembly of the nation, afterwards restricted to the great barons, and speedily admitting within its circle the representatives of other social conditions, has always been in England the principal organ of the central government. The English monarchy has never succeeded in isolating and enfranchising itself therefrom.
It has been narrowed or extended by reason of changes occurring in society: but it has always constituted the condition and form of the monarchy. Popular liberty, so to speak, has always maintained a footing in the central power; the nation has never been completely excluded from participation in its own affairs. The progress of Parliament has been the progress of the government itself. In vain was the House of Commons feeble and inactive at its origin: it did exist, and it formed part of the king's council; it was always present to embrace, in some measure, every opportunity of extending its influence, and aggrandising its position and the part it had to perform. In the fourteenth century, its power was very limited, its attributes very restricted, and its intervention in public affairs very infrequent; but it was impossible that it should not daily increase. In effect it did greatly increase from the time of Edward I. to that of Henry VI. During the wars of the Red and White Roses, the great feudal aristocracy destroyed itself by its contentions. When Henry VII. ascended the throne, there no longer existed a body of great barons capable of offering armed resistance to the royal power. The House of Commons, though strengthened, had not yet emerged from its condition of inferiority, and was incapable of taking the place of the great barons in resistance to royalty. Hence the Tudor despotism in the sixteenth century, the only period at which the maxims of absolute power have prevailed in England; but even in that very century, the House of Commons daily penetrated further into the government, until its power was fully revealed by the great Revolution of the seventeenth century.
I have now given you a glimpse of the space between the period of the definitive formation of the British Parliament, and that at which it sought to obtain its entire dominion. In our subsequent lectures we shall examine the principal phases in the development of this great government during those three centuries.
Condition and attributes of the Parliament during the reign of
Edward II. (1307-1327).
Empire of favourites.
Struggle of the barons against the favourites.
Aristocratic factions.
Petitions to the king.
Forms of deliberations on this subject.
Deposition of Edward II.
In order to explain the manner in which the British Parliament was formed, I have found it necessary, up to this point, to follow history step by step,—to enter into all the details, and to collect all the facts, that might serve as proofs either of its existence, or of its participation in public affairs. I have now another object to attain, and I must therefore pursue another course. The Parliament is now definitively formed; and if I were to continue to narrate all the facts which relate to it, and to keep a register, as it were, of all its acts, I should write the history of the country, and not that of its institutions. What I am seeking to describe, is the development of representative government; and I shall avoid all questions unconnected with this object. The extension which the Parliament received, the revolutions which it underwent,—in a word, its personal and internal life, will constitute the subject to which our attention must be directed.
On considering the reign of Edward I. from a political point of view, it is evident that, notwithstanding the agitations by which it was disturbed, there was, during that reign, some wholeness and unity in the exercise of power. Edward was a firm and capable prince, who well knew how to concentrate and direct the various forces of society; in him, the State possessed a centre and a chief. Under Edward II., the English government lost all solidity and unity: no intelligent and determined will presided over it; the nation had no rallying-point; the string of the bundle was broken; all forces and all passions were displayed at hap-hazard, and came into conflict upon the interests of individuals or factions.
In such a state of things, what could the Parliament be? Nothing, or next to nothing, unless it were an instrument of factions. The body of barons was then, and long continued to be, the preponderant portion of the assembly: the Commons, though strong enough sometimes to defend themselves when their own interests were at stake, were not sufficiently powerful to interfere, in a decisive manner, in public affairs, and to become the centre of the government. All matters were, therefore, arranged between the court and the barons, or rather between the different factions into which the body of barons was divided. The Commons appeared in the train of one or other party, to give their alternate triumphs the appearance of a national adhesion, but without ever determining the course of events, or even modifying them in any effectual manner. The supreme power and the country were a prey to the conflicts and schisms of the high aristocracy.
In order clearly to demonstrate that such was the state of institutions and of the central government at this period, it will be sufficient to refer to the three principal events of this reign.
The first is the conflict which the English barons maintained against the king, with regard to a favourite, Piers Gaveston, whom, in spite of his father's advice, Edward II. had persisted in retaining in his confidence. The favourite and his creatures absorbed all the power and advantages of the court; and in 1311, the barons, desiring their share of riches and favours, after having attempted all other means for his overthrow, demanded his dismissal with arms in their hands. Their enterprise was evidently intended neither to promote the interests of the people nor those of the king; it was a revolt of courtiers. They fought, not to assert the inviolability of charters or rights, but to obtain the employments and treasures of a favourite. Nevertheless, they attempted to give a national colour to their rebellion. The plans and measures of the great rebel Parliament held at Oxford during the reign of Henry III. were revived; Lords Ordainers were appointed to reform the State; they bid for public favour by the abolition of a few abuses; they enacted that the possessors of landed property alone should be appointed sheriffs; they limited the right of purveyance, which was held by the crown; and they prohibited all grants of royal letters-patent ordering the suspension of the regular course of justice. But these were merely outward appearances intended to conceal the selfish egotism of the great barons; their only object was to make themselves masters of the royal authority, of the right of appointing to the chief offices of state, and of the revenues of the crown. They put Gaveston to death, and seized upon the whole power. The representatives of counties and boroughs, who were present in the Parliament by which these designs were executed, gave their consent; but they were mere followers of the rebellion, and had no influence upon the government. The great barons, who came to Parliament in arms and accompanied by their troops, had the entire management of everything in their own hands.
Edward escaped from the tutelage imposed upon him by the coalition of the barons, only to fall under the sway of two new favourites, Hugh le Despencer, or Spencer, and his son. The elevation of these two courtiers raised up against them a storm similar to that which had overthrown Gaveston. The new rebellion which broke out in 1321 is the second remarkable event of this reign. It was first manifested by a sentence passed against the two Spencers by the great barons of the realm. They passed it by their own authority alone, without the concurrence either of the Commons or of the king, and at the same time compelled the king to grant them an amnesty for themselves and their adherents; shortly afterwards, the civil war began, and the confederated barons were overcome. Edward convoked a Parliament at York, in 1322, at which the Commons attended, and which repealed first the sentence against the two Spencers, and afterwards all the ordinances passed by the Lords Ordainers in 1311 and 1312, as being contrary to the rights of the king, and to the laws and usages of the country. Thus, whether the court or the rebels prevailed, a Parliament always sanctioned their triumph, saving only the ever-ready recourse to civil war, the only true means of decision.