Sweet to the antiquarian palate are the fragments of Norman French which still survive in the formularies of the Constitution.  In Norman French the King acknowledges the inconceivable sums which from time to time his faithful Commons place at his disposal for the prosecution of the war.  In Norman French the Peers of the Realm are summoned to their seats in Parliament which they adorn.  In Norman French, the Royal Assent has just been given to a Bill which doubles the electorate and admits over six million women to the franchise.  All these things are dear to the antiquary, the historian, and (perhaps we should add) the pedant, as witnessing to the unbroken continuity of our constitutional forms, though the substance of our polity has been altered beyond all recognition.

Another instance of Norman French which has lately emerged into unusual prominence is the “Conge d’elire.”  We can trace this “Licence to Elect” from the days of the Great Charter downwards; but it will suffice for my present purpose to recall the unrepealed legislation of Henry VIII.  “It was then enacted that, at every future avoidance of a bishopric, the King may send to the Dean and Chapter his usual licence (called his ‘Conge d’Elire’) to proceed to election; which is always, accompanied by a Letter Missive from the King containing the name of the person whom he would have them elect; and if the Dean and Chapter delay their election above twelve days the nomination shall devolve to the King, who may then by Letters Patent appoint such person as he pleases....  And, if such Dean and Chapter do not elect in the manner by their Act appointed they shall incur all the penalties of a praemunire—­that is, the loss of all civil rights, with forfeiture of lands, goods, and chattels, and imprisonment, during the Royal pleasure.”

Such are the singular conditions under which the Church of England now exercises that right of electing her chief pastors which has been from the beginning the heritage of Christendom.  It would be difficult to imagine a more dexterous use of chicanery, preserving the semblance but carefully precluding the reality of a free choice.  We all know something of Deans and Chapters—­the well-endowed inhabitants of cathedral closes—­and of those “greater Chapters” which consist of Honorary Canons, longing for more substantial preferment.  It would indeed require a very bold flight of fancy to imagine those worthy and comfortable men exposing themselves to the “loss of civil rights, the forfeiture of goods and chattels, and imprisonment during the King’s pleasure,” for a scruple of conscience about the orthodoxy of a divine recommended by the Crown.  Truly in a capitular election, if anywhere, the better part of valour is discretion, and the Dean and Chapter of Hereford have realized this saving truth.  But my view is wholly independent of local or personal issues, and is best expressed by these words of Arthur Stanton, true Catholic and true Liberal: