On November 20, 1837, the young Queen opened her first Parliament in person. The day was brilliant with sunshine, the crowds from Buckingham Palace to the House were immense, the House of Lords was crammed with Peers and the gallery with Peeresses, who occupied every seat, and even ‘rushed’ the reporters’ gallery, three reporters only having been fortunate enough to take their places before the rush.3

When Her Majesty arrived and had taken her place, there was the rush from the Lower House.

‘Her Majesty having taken the oath against Popery, which she did in a slow, serious, and audible manner, proceeded to read the Royal Speech; and a specimen of more tasteful and effective elocution it has never been my fortune to hear. Her voice is clear, and her enunciation distinct in no ordinary degree. Her utterance is timed with admirable judgment to the ear: it is the happy medium between too slow and too rapid. Nothing could be more accurate than her pronunciation; while the musical intonations of her voice imparted a peculiar charm to the other attributes of her elocution. The most perfect stillness reigned through the place while Her Majesty was reading her Speech. Not a breath was to be heard: had a person, unblessed with the power of vision, been suddenly taken within hearing of Her Majesty, while she was reading her Speech, he might have remained some time under the impression that there was no one present but herself. Her self-possession was the theme of universal admiration.

‘In person Her Majesty is considerably below the average height. Her figure is good; rather inclined, as far as one could judge from seeing her in her robes of state, to the slender form. Every one who has seen her must have been struck with her singularly fine bust. Her complexion is clear, and has all the indications of excellent health about it. Her features are small, and partake a good deal of the Grecian cast. Her face, without being strikingly handsome, is remarkably pleasant, and is indicative of a mild and amiable disposition.’

In the House of Lords the most prominent figures were, I suppose, those of Lord Brougham and the Duke of Wellington. The debates in the Upper House, enlivened by the former, and by Lords Melbourne, Lyndhurst, and others, were lively and animated, compared with the languor of the modern House. The Duke of Rutland, the Marquis of Bute, the Marquis of Camden (who paid back into the Treasury every year the salary he received as Teller of the Exchequer), the Earls of Stanhope, Devon, Falmouth, Lords Strangford, Rolls, Alvanley, and Redesdale were the leaders of the Conservatives. The Marquis of Sligo, the Marquis of Northampton, the Earls of Rosebery, Gosford, Minto, Shrewsbury, and Lichfield, Lords Lynedoch and Portman were the leaders of the Liberals. With the exceptions of Wellington, Brougham, Melbourne, and Redesdale, it is melancholy to consider that these illustrious names are nothing more than names, and convey no associations to the present generation.

Among the members of the Lower House were many more who have left behind them memories which are not likely to be soon forgotten. Sir Robert Peel, Lord Stanley, Thomas Macaulay, Cobbett, Lord John Russell, Sir John Cam Hobhouse, Lord Palmerston, Sir Francis Burdett, Hume, Roebuck, O’Connell, Lytton Bulwer, Benjamin D’Israeli, and last sole survivor, William Ewart Gladstone, were all in the Parliaments immediately before or immediately after the Queen’s Accession.

If you would like to know how these men impressed their contemporaries, read the following extracts from Grant’s ‘Random Recollections.’

‘Mr. Thomas Macaulay, the late member for Leeds, and now a member of Council in India, could boast of a brilliant, if not a very long Parliamentary career. He was one of those men who at once raised himself to the first rank in the Senate. His maiden speech electrified the House, and called forth the highest compliments to the speaker from men of all parties. He was careful to preserve the laurels he had thus so easily and suddenly won. He was a man of shrewd mind, and knew that if he spoke often, the probability was he would not speak so well; and that consequently there could be no more likely means of lowering him from the elevated station to which he had raised himself, than frequently addressing the House.

‘His speeches were always most carefully studied, and committed to memory, exactly as he delivered them, beforehand. He bestowed a world of labour on their preparation; and, certainly, never was labour bestowed to more purpose. In every sentence you saw the man of genius—the profound scholar—the deep thinker—the close and powerful reasoner. You scarcely knew which most to admire—the beauty of his ideas, or of the language in which they were clothed.’

‘Lord John Russell is one of the worst speakers in the House, and but for his excellent private character, his family connections, and his consequent influence in the political world, would not be tolerated. There are many far better speakers, who, notwithstanding their innumerable efforts to catch the Speaker’s eye in the course of important debates, hardly ever succeed; or, if they do, are generally put down by the clamour of honourable members. His voice is weak and his enunciation very imperfect. He speaks in general in so low a tone as to be inaudible to more than one-half of the House. His style is often in bad taste, and he stammers and stutters at every fourth or fifth sentence. When he is audible he is always clear; there is no mistaking his meaning. Generally his speeches are feeble in matter as well as manner; but on some great occasions I have known him make very able speeches, more distinguished, however, for the clear and forcible way in which he put the arguments which would most naturally suggest themselves to a reflecting mind, than for any striking or comprehensive views of the subject.’

‘Of Lord Palmerston, Foreign Secretary, and member for Tiverton, I have but little to say. The situation he fills in the Cabinet gives him a certain degree of prominence in the eyes of the country, which he certainly does not possess in Parliament. His talents are by no means of a high order. He is very irregular in his attendance on his Parliamentary duties, and, when in the House, is by no means active in defence either of his principles or his friends. Scarcely anything calls him up except a regular attack on himself, or on the way in which the department of the public service with which he is entrusted is administered.

‘In person, Lord Palmerston is tall and handsome. His face is round, and is of a darkish hue. His hair is black, and always exhibits proofs of the skill and attention of the perruquier. His clothes are in the extreme of fashion. He is very vain of his personal appearance, and is generally supposed to devote more of his time in sacrificing to the Graces than is consistent with the duties of a person who has so much to do with the destinies of Europe. Hence it is that the “Times” newspaper has fastened on him the sobriquet of Cupid.’

‘Mr. O’Connell is a man of the highest order of genius. There is not a member in the House who, in this respect, can for a moment be put in comparison with him. You see the greatness of his genius in almost every sentence he utters. There are others—Sir Robert Peel, for example—who have much more tact and greater dexterity in debate; but in point of genius none approach to him. It ever and anon bursts forth with a brilliancy and effect which are quite overwhelming. You have not well recovered from the overpowering surprise and admiration caused by one of his brilliant effusions, when another flashes upon you and produces the same effect. You have no time, nor are you in a condition, to weigh the force of his arguments; you are taken captive wherever the speaker chooses to lead you from beginning to end.’

‘One of the most extraordinary attributes in Mr. O’Connell’s oratory is the ease and facility with which he can make a transition from one topic to another. “From grave to gay, from lively to severe,” never costs him an effort. He seems, indeed, to be himself insensible of the transition. I have seen him begin his speech by alluding to topics of an affecting nature, in such a manner as to excite the deepest sympathy towards the sufferers in the mind of the most unfeeling person present. I have seen, in other words—I speak with regard to particular instances—the tear literally glistening in the eyes of men altogether unused to the melting mood, and in a moment afterwards, by a transition from the grave to the humorous, I have seen the whole audience convulsed with laughter. On the other hand, I have often heard him commence his speech in a strain of most exquisite humour, and, by a sudden transition to deep pathos, produce the stillness of death in a place in which, but one moment before, the air was rent with shouts of laughter. His mastery over the passions is the most perfect I ever witnessed, and his oratory tells with the same effect whether he addresses the “first assembly of gentlemen in the world,” or the ragged and ignorant rabble of Dublin.’

‘The most distinguished literary man in the House is Mr. E.L. Bulwer, member for Lincoln, and author of “Pelham,” “Eugene Aram,” &c. He does not speak often. When he does, his speeches are not only previously turned over with great care in his mind, but are written out at full length, and committed carefully to memory. He is a great patron of the tailor, and he is always dressed in the extreme of fashion. His manner of speaking is very affected: the management of his voice is especially so. But for this he would be a pleasant speaker. His voice, though weak, is agreeable, and he speaks with considerable fluency. His speeches are usually argumentative. You see at once that he is a person of great intellectual acquirements.’

‘Mr. D’Israeli, the member for Maidstone, is perhaps the best known among the new members who have made their dÉbuts. As stated in my “Sketches in London,” his own private friends looked forward to his introduction into the House of Commons as a circumstance which would be immediately followed by his obtaining for himself an oratorical reputation equal to that enjoyed by the most popular speakers in that assembly. They thought he would produce an extraordinary sensation, both in the House and in the country, by the power and splendour of his eloquence. But the result differed from the anticipation.

‘When he rose, which he did immediately after Mr. O’Connell had concluded his speech, all eyes were fixed on him, and all ears were open to listen to his eloquence; but before he had proceeded far, he furnished a striking illustration of the hazard that attends on highly wrought expectations. After the first few minutes he met with every possible manifestation of opposition and ridicule from the Ministerial benches, and was, on the other hand, cheered in the loudest and most earnest manner by his Tory friends; and it is particularly deserving of mention, that even Sir Robert Peel, who very rarely cheers any honourable gentleman, not even the most able and accomplished speakers of his own party, greeted Mr. D’Israeli’s speech with a prodigality of applause which must have been severely trying to the worthy baronet’s lungs.

‘At one time, in consequence of the extraordinary interruptions he met with, Mr. D’Israeli intimated his willingness to resume his seat, if the House wished him to do so. He proceeded, however, for a short time longer, but was still assailed by groans and under-growls in all their varieties; the uproar, indeed, often became so great as completely to drown his voice.

‘At last, losing all temper, which until now he had preserved in a wonderful manner, he paused in the midst of a sentence, and, looking the Liberals indignantly in the face, raised his hands, and, opening his mouth as wide as its dimensions would permit, said, in remarkably loud and almost terrific tones—“Though I sit down now, the time will come when you will hear me.” Mr. D’Israeli then sat down amidst the loudest uproar.

‘The exhibition altogether was a most extraordinary one. Mr. D’Israeli’s appearance and manner were very singular. His dress also was peculiar; it had much of a theatrical aspect. His black hair was long and flowing, and he had a most ample crop of it. His gesture was abundant; he often appeared as if trying with what celerity he could move his body from one side to another, and throw his hands out and draw them in again. At other times he flourished one hand before his face, and then the other. His voice, too, is of a very unusual kind: it is powerful, and had every justice done to it in the way of exercise; but there is something peculiar in it which I am at a loss to characterise. His utterance was rapid, and he never seemed at a loss for words. On the whole, and notwithstanding the result of his first attempt, I am convinced he is a man who possesses many of the requisites of a good debater. That he is a man of great literary talent, few will dispute.’

Lastly, here is a contemporary judgment on Gladstone. The italics are my own.

‘Mr. Gladstone, the member for Newark, is one of the most rising young men on the Tory side of the House. His party expect great things from him; and certainly, when it is remembered that his age is only twenty-five, the success of the Parliamentary efforts he has already made justifies their expectations. He is well informed on most of the subjects which usually occupy the attention of the Legislature, and he is happy in turning his information to a good account. He is ready, on all occasions which he deems fitting ones, with a speech in favour of the policy advocated by the party with whom he acts. His extemporaneous resources are ample. Few men in the House can improvisate better. It does not appear to cost him an effort to speak. He is a man of very considerable talent, but has nothing approaching to genius. His abilities are much more the result of an excellent education, and of mature study, than of any prodigality on the part of Nature in the distribution of mental gifts. I have no idea that he will ever acquire the reputation of a great statesman. His views are not sufficiently profound or enlarged for that; his celebrity in the House of Commons will chiefly depend on his readiness and dexterity as a debater, in conjunction with the excellence of his elocution, and the gracefulness of his manner when speaking. His style is polished, but has no appearance of the effect of previous preparation. He displays considerable acuteness in replying to an opponent; he is quick in his perception of anything vulnerable in the speech to which he replies, and happy in laying the weak point bare to the gaze of the House. He now and then indulges in sarcasm, which is, in most cases, very felicitous. He is plausible even when most in error. When it suits himself or his party, he can apply himself with the strictest closeness to the real point at issue; when to evade that point is deemed most politic, no man can wander from it more widely.

‘The ablest speech he ever made in the House, and by far the ablest on the same side of the question, was when opposing, on the 30th of March last, Sir George Strickland’s motion for the abolition of the negro apprenticeship system on the 1st of August next. Mr. Gladstone, I should here observe, is himself an extensive West India planter.

‘Mr. Gladstone’s appearance and manners are much in his favour. He is a fine-looking man. He is about the usual height, and of good figure. His countenance is mild and pleasant, and has a highly intellectual expression. His eyes are clear and quick. His eyebrows are dark and rather prominent. There is not a dandy in the House but envies what Truefitt would call his ‘fine head of jet-black hair.’ It is always carefully parted from the crown downwards to his brow, where it is tastefully shaded. His features are small and regular, and his complexion must be a very unworthy witness, if he does not possess an abundant stock of health.’

So the ghost of the first Victorian Parliament vanishes. All are gone except Mr. Gladstone himself. Whether the contemporary judgment has proved well founded or not, is for the reader to determine. For my own part, I confess that my opinion of the author of ‘Random Recollections’ was greatly advanced when I had read this judgment on the members. We who do not sit in the galleries, and are not members, lose the enormous advantage of actually seeing the speakers and hearing the debates. The reported speech is not the real speech; the written letter remains; but the fire of the orator flames and burns, and passes away. Those know not Gladstone who have never seen him and heard him speak.

And as for that old man eloquent, when he closes his eyes in the House where he has fought so long, the voices around him may well fall unheeded on his ear, while a vision of the past shows him once more Peel and Stanley, Lord John and Palmerston, O’Connell and Roebuck, and, adversary worthiest of all, the man whom the House at his first attempt hooted down and refused to hear—the great and illustrious Dizzy.