After the Christmas half of 1847, Labouchere left Eton. He was then in his seventeenth year, and, before going to the university, it was thought advisable to place him for a year or two with a private tutor.
It is interesting, before we leave Labouchere's Etonian career, to record his views on fagging, that venerable institution, which is generally considered by Englishmen to have contributed so largely towards their superiority to the rest of mankind. "When I was at Eton," he wrote, "fags thought that all was fair in regard to their masters. I had a master who used to send me every morning to a farmhouse to get him cream for his breakfast. On my return I invariably added a trifle of my milk to the cream and thickened my milk with an infusion of my master's cream. Thus, by the light of that revenge, which Lord Bacon calls a 'rude sense of justice,' I anticipated the watering process which has been practised by so many public companies. Sometimes he would have jugged hare. These occasions were my grand opportunity, and, unknown to him, I used to pour out into my own slop basin a portion of the savoury mess, and conceal the deficit by an addition of pure water. Fagging in fact, is productive of more evil to the fag than the fagger. The former learns all the tricks and dodges of the slave."[6]
Labouchere's matured judgment of Dr. Hawtrey was expressed as follows:
Dr. Hawtrey was the headmaster when I was at Eton. He was an amiable and kindly man and a fine gentleman. He probably flogged about twenty boys every day, on an average. He did it with exquisite politeness, and, except on rare occasions, the whole thing was a farce. Four cuts were the ordinary application, and ten cuts were never exceeded. The proceedings took place in public, and any boy who had a taste for the thing might be a spectator. If the victim flinched there was a howl of execration. Far from objecting to this, the doctor approved of it. I remember once that a boy fell on his knees, and implored him to spare him. "I shall not condescend to flog you, but I leave you to your young friends," said the doctor. I happened to be one of the young friends, and I remember aiding in kicking the boy round the quadrangle for about half an hour.[7]
The reflections of boys on the education to which they have been subjected are remarkably interesting, because they are so exceedingly rare. We have Rousseau's criticism of his upbringing, but it was penned when youth was behind, and it is tinged with an affectation of intellectual detachment and middle-aged self-consciousness which robs it of the spontaneity which would be its only recommendation. St. Augustine, when he wrote his confessions, knew far too much to be able to write with simple sincerity of his foolish youth. Labouchere's early note-books, unlike these masterpieces, possess the uncommon value of being youth's judgments upon youth, written with all the hardy ingenuousness of a clever boy, who was, besides being clever, extremely young for his age.[8] About the period of his life which has been described Labouchere wrote, at the age of twenty-one: "I will give ... an outline of my life, and the different courses that led to my discovery of early wisdom. I went through the usual numbers of schools, by which I learnt that an English education, for the time and money that it consumes, is the worst that the world has yet produced. One clergyman alone of all my masters knew how to teach. His conduct was perfectly arbitrary, and he gave no reason for it—while, in the several branches of learning, his pupils either made rapid progress or left his house. My acquaintance with him was of short duration. He insisted on my teaching in an infant school on Sunday, or leaving his house—and I foolishly preferred the latter. I was then too young to go to college, so I was transferred to a clergyman in Norfolk, the very antipodes of my former master. Here I amused myself, and was flattered for a year or two, and then went to the university."
In February, 1850, he went up to Trinity College, Cambridge. His tutor was Mr. Cooper. In his note-book describing the university period of his career Labouchere wrote: "My father sent me to college, where, instead of improving my mind (for manners, I own, must be bad to be improved by such a place), I diligently attended the race-course at Newmarket. I had a general idea that here (at the university) I should astonish the world by my talents—I attended no lectures, as I considered myself too clever to undergo the drudgery. I considered myself—on what grounds God knows—an orator and a poet. I went to the Debating Society and commenced a speech in favour of the regicides, but, to my astonishment, entirely broke down. To my equal astonishment, upon writing the first line of a prize poem, I found it impossible to find a second. To become known in the university was my ambition—my short cuts to fame had failed—it never entered my head to apply myself really to study, so, in default of a better method, I resolved to distinguish myself by my bets on horse-races. I diligently attended every meeting at Newmarket and spent the evenings in a tavern, where the sporting students and sporting tradesmen assembled to gamble. At the end of two years I had lost about £6000, and I owed to most of my sporting friends.... Upon a dispute with the College authorities my degree was deferred for two years, and I left the University."
So many incorrect versions of Labouchere's dispute with the university have been given in various newspaper biographical notices at different times that a short account of what actually did happen will not be out of place here.
A court was held on April 2, 1852, at King's Lodge, to hear a complaint brought by the proproctor, Mr. Barnard Smith, against Henry Labouchere for having sent to various university officers a printed paper, signed by himself, imputing unfair conduct to Mr. Barnard Smith towards himself whilst in the Senate House during an examination.
What happened at the Senate House is best told in Labouchere's own words. I quote the printed letter which he sent to the university officers, and which was the cause of his leaving Cambridge before he took his degree.
The undersigned went into the Senate House for the previous Examination on Monday last, and had not been there long before he was painfully surprised by the suspicions of one of the proproctors, the Rev. Mr. Barnard Smith of St. Peter's College. This gentleman, from the beginning of the Examination, continued to watch the undersigned in so marked a manner as not only to be noticed by himself but by other members of the University, under examination, who sat near him. The undersigned felt much distressed at this special surveillance. He had done nothing to deserve suspicion of being likely to resort to any unworthy practices in the Senate House, and the knowledge that he was thus subject to what he felt to be little short of a direct personal insult hindered his giving undivided attention to the examination questions which he had to answer.
Notwithstanding this discouragement, the undersigned sent in his answers, which he has since been assured by one of the Examiners were satisfactory....
On the day following (Tuesday), having nearly answered all the questions, the undersigned was stopped by the Rev. Mr. B. S. and charged with mal-practices in the Examination, of which he was not guilty.
HENRY LABOUCHERE.
After a short inquiry, during which it was ascertained that Labouchere had been guilty of writing the above letter, the court delivered the following sentence: "The court being of opinion that the charge has been fully proved, and that the conduct of Mr. Labouchere has been highly reprehensible and injurious to the character and discipline of the University, sentences Henry Labouchere to be admonished and suspended from his degree for two years." In the course of the inquiry, Labouchere defended himself with great ability, though unsuccessfully.
I give his defence verbatim, as the detail with which he gave it is the best possible account of the circumstances which led up to his insubordinate act:
The whole business seems so indefinite that it is almost impossible to offer a defence. I am convened before the Vice-Chancellor for sending a printed notice to the Examiners and for bringing a charge against Mr. Barnard Smith. But what my copying or not copying in the Senate House has to do with it, it is difficult to say. But, as my copying has been brought forward and is supposed to bear on the subject, I am happy to have an opportunity of disproving it. Mr. Fenwick, on being asked, brought forward 3 charges why I was sent out of the Senate House: first, for having a paper concealed which I refused to give to the Examiners; secondly, for asserting that the paper had nothing to do with the Examination; and thirdly, for owning that it had. Mr. Fenwick (who it appears had the direction of the case) made no further charge. Mr. Barnard Smith now brings an entirely different charge, which is that I slipped a piece of paper into my pocket, and that he imagines he saw me do so. Why he didn't stop me at the time he does not say. Now all the Examiners who had been examined here to-day, except Mr. Latham, say that from my general conduct I was suspected of copying on Monday. Mr. Fenwick, however, is more particular, and says that my position excited suspicion. Mr. Woollaston says that I did not appear to be occupied with the Examination. So that what my general conduct was is explained. Having partly finished 10 questions in the Scripture history, I, more as a rest than anything else, wrote a note to a friend asking him how he had got on, and mentioned that I had just given a long answer to the 10th question: I added, "I suppose the Shunamite woman was the person whose son was struck with the sun." While reading this note to myself, I saw Mr. Barnard Smith coming towards me; upon which I threw it away as far as possible; and upon his asserting that he had seen a paper in my hands I said that he had, but that I had no crib, nor had I in any way copied, that it was a note having nothing to do with the Examination. Not being in the habit of having my word questioned I saw no reason for producing it. Mr. Barnard Smith, however, thought differently; and, as the Examiners agreed with him, upon demanding its production I said that I had thrown it away, and it was probably somewhere on the ground. Having looked close by and not perceived it, I told Mr. Fenwick that I didn't see it. Mr. Fenwick, on this, ordered me to look for it, in a manner so offensive, that I took no further trouble about the matter. I then told the Examiners that, if they wished to know what was in the note, there was a question about the Shunamite woman, and told them I had just finished the answer to that question. I then gave up my papers and left the Senate House. The inference I believe drawn from the last two charges is that I told a lie. Upon this point any person may form his own opinion. I am asked whether I had a paper. The paper is by that time thrown away. I answered that I had. Had I denied it there would have been no evidence, and the matter would probably have dropped.
According to the Examiner I had first said the paper had nothing to do with the Examination, and then, finding that the paper is not produced, tell them that the paper had to do with the Examination. I simply stated what it contained and should not have told a lie against myself. The fact was, not seeing the paper, and considering that Mr. Fenwick had ordered me to look for it in rather an offensive way, I told them what it contained. I had finished the Examination question at the time, and the question in the note was not put in with any desire to know whether it was right or wrong. I simply put in that I supposed it was right more for something to say than for anything else. But I certainly did not consider it had anything to do with the Examination in the way which Mr. Barnard Smith meant. With respect to Mr. Barnard Smith's impression that I slipped a piece of paper into my pocket, I wish that he had said so at the time, that I might have disproved it. I can only say now that there is a sufficient internal evidence in my answers to show that I didn't obtain assistance from any notes, as I had a general knowledge of the subject, and confined myself to general facts. After having been dismissed from the Senate House, and having, in vain, challenged an investigation before the Vice-Chancellor, as I understood the Examiners openly asserted that I had told a lie, I sent a circular to them denying the charge. I did this, lest at any time hereafter, such an action should be brought to my charge, and also that it had been unrefuted. I have now denied the charge, and for their individual opinion I care little.
The court asked, at this point, if Mr. Labouchere deliberately wished these words to be recorded: he said "Yes" and then went on with his defence:
But, as in their office of Examiners they had unjustly asserted that I told a lie, I did my duty in openly denying it. I mean to say that I sent this circular to the Examiners in their public capacity and not as private individuals. I sent it to justify myself from a charge which I consider unjust, and upon which I could not obtain an investigation.
The immediate reflection that presents itself to the mind of any one who knew Labouchere well and who studies his defence is that it is curious that it should have been over a Scripture History paper that he was suspected of cribbing, for, thanks to his early evangelical training and his innate love of his Bible, Labouchere was almost phenomenally proficient in Scripture knowledge. He quoted the Bible, and rarely incorrectly, on every occasion—in his parliamentary speeches, in his journalistic articles, and in private conversation—and he could, invariably, if questioned, give chapter and verse for the verification of his quotation.
Two anecdotes have frequently been given in the press about Labouchere's alleged cribbing at Cambridge. I never heard him relate them himself, and they are probably legends of the kind that are born in the journalist's brain whilst he is racking it for copy in the shape of anecdotic detail. The first is that his academic career terminated abruptly because he had made a bet with another undergraduate that he would crib in his Little Go examination without being caught, and that when caught he accused the examiner of being in collusion with the other party to the bet. The other is that during the examination he was observed to be frequently looking at something concealed beneath a sheet of blotting-paper. On being asked to produce it, Labouchere refused. But, when obliged to do so, it was found that the concealed object was the photograph of a popular variety artiste, whose bright eyes, he asserted, stimulated him to persevere in his academic efforts.
There are, of course, any number of popular anecdotes of Labouchere's university days. A good one is the following. On one occasion, having taken French leave to London, he was unexpectedly confronted one morning in the Strand by his father, who looked extremely annoyed to see the youth there, when he imagined him to be occupied with his studies. Henry's wits as usual were on the alert. He returned his father's cold greeting with a surprised stare. "I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "I think you have made a mistake. I have not the honour of your acquaintance." He pushed by and was lost in the crowd. Rapidly consulting his watch, he found he could, by running, just catch a train for Cambridge. He did so, and what he had foreseen happened. Mr. Labouchere, senior, after having accomplished the business he was about, took the next train for Cambridge. On reaching the university he was ushered into his son's study, where he found him absorbed in work. He made no reference to his rencontre in the Strand, being persuaded that it must have been a hallucination.
Another story relates how he used to go about in a very ragged gown. One day the Master of Trinity, Whewell, came across him and said, "Is that a proper academic costume, Mr. Labouchere?" "Really, sir, I must refer you to my tailor," was the reply.
Labouchere continues in his note-book to describe, with naïve minuteness of detail, his search for wisdom after he left the university. "With great liberality," he wrote, "my father paid my debts, and advised my return home. My family ... was religious, and, finding my father's house dull, I had accustomed myself to live at a tavern in Covent Garden.... After remaining there for two or three weeks, I used to return home, and leave it indefinite from where I had come. Until my leaving College and the payment of my debts by my father, I had kept up an appearance of respectability at home. Now, however, I threw off all restraint, and openly lived at my tavern for about two months, during which I lost several hundred pounds at hells and casinos."
The tavern which Labouchere frequented at this period was far from being the haunt of vice which, with the gloomy sternness of moralising youth, he wished to depict it. It was a species of night club, known as Evans', and was the resort of all literary and artistic London. It constantly figures in Thackeray's novels and other books of the period as a place of Bohemian rendezvous and the scene of a good deal of rough-and-tumble jollity. The house, of which it formed the cellar, had once been the home of Sir Kenelm Digby. Above the tavern, or "Cave of Harmony" as Thackeray called it, was the hotel in which Labouchere had his rooms. In later years, that is to say in the later fifties and early sixties, the popularity of this place of conviviality increased so much that it was found necessary to pull down the little room where Labouchere used to listen every night to the singing of more or less rowdy songs, and build on its site a vast concert-room, with an annexe, consisting of a comfortable hall, hung with theatrical portraits, where conversation could be carried on. There was a private supper-room in the grill, and this annexe became a popular resort for men about town. Some of the smartest talk in London was to be heard at Evans', for it numbered among its patrons such wits as Douglas Jerrold, Thackeray, Lionel Lawson, Edmund Yates, Augustus Sala, Serjeant Ballantine, John Leech, Serjeant Murphy—and Henry Labouchere. The presiding spirit of the establishment was a great friend of Labouchere's. He acted as head waiter and was known as Paddy Green. He had commenced his career as a chorus-singer at the Adelphi Theatre, and had won for himself in all classes of society an immense popularity on account of his courtesy and unfailing good-humour. The prosperity of Evans' only waned when the modern music-halls, where women formed the larger part of the audience, became the fashion.[9]
From the superior point of view of the maturity of twenty-one, Labouchere was inclined to survey, with an eye of undue severity, the follies he committed at the age of nineteen. He wrote: "Whenever I entered into conversation with any person, I introduced the subject of gambling, and boasted of sums I had lost, which I appeared to consider, instead of a disgrace, a subject on which I might justly pride myself. During this period I believe I had a general wish to elevate myself to some higher position, as, while passing my days and nights in profligacy, my chief study was Dr. Johnson's Life and Lord Chesterfield's Letters to his Son." And again: "Inflated with conceit I imagined myself equal to cope with all mankind. In society I was awkward, and therefore sought the society of my inferiors, while I endeavoured to delude myself with the notion that I was a species of socialist and that all men were equal. Conversation, properly so-called, I had none. I could argue any subject, but not converse—my manners were boorish—I had never learnt to dance, so I seldom entered a ball-room, or if there, I pretended to despise the amusement, as I never owned myself incapable of anything. If I entered a drawing-room, I either held myself aloof from the company, or I argued some subject by the hour with my neighbour. In fact, in manners I was an outré specimen of an uncultivated English young man—the most detestable yahoo in creation."
He continues: "From my tavern I was again rescued by my father, who sent me abroad under the guidance of a species of Mentor, who was, unfortunately, totally unfitted for his task. Three days after leaving England we arrived at Wiesbaden, where there are public gaming tables. Here I felt myself at home, and the first day gained about £150. My Mentor, who was going to the hotel, offered to carry the money I had won, and give it back to me the next day. The next morning, however, on my asking for it, he refused to return it unless I promised not to play while at Wiesbaden. After my father had so often paid large sums for me, in gratitude I ought to have yielded. This, however, I refused to do, but remained two months at Wiesbaden, while my Mentor continued his travels. At last it was agreed that I should meet him at Paris, and there receive my money, where, I need not add, in a few days it was spent."
Some of Mr. Labouchere's most interesting articles in Truth in after years were the ones he was in the habit of writing, when he was on his summer holiday, describing the various resorts he visited, and he was always eager to recall reminiscences of his boyhood when he found himself at a place he had passed through in his youth. He wrote from Wiesbaden in 1890:
German watering-places are dull places now that the gambling at them has been abolished, and even those who did not play at their tables have discovered this. I am at Wiesbaden. When a jade repents of her ways and takes to propriety, she is little given to overdo respectability. So it is with this and other examples of roulette and trente et quarante. The respectability of the Wiesbaden of to-day is positively oppressive. Its devotion weighs upon the spirit. I remember being here nearly forty years ago. I was then a lad travelling on the continent with a bear-leader to enlarge my experience. The bear-leader and I never could quite agree what spot would prove the most improving. He wished to study still nature, I wished to study human nature. So, like Abram and Lot, we generally separated. He betook himself to the Carpathian Mountains, I sojourned here. Wiesbaden was then cosmopolitan. The tag-rag and bobtail of all nations resorted to it, and, if all of them were not quite sans reproche, they were all pleasant enough in their way. There was a vague notion that, somewhere or other, there were waters, but, where precisely they were, and what they cured, very few knew. The Kursaal was the centre of attraction, with its roulette and its trente et quarante.[10]
From Paris, Labouchere and his tutor returned to England, and, after a month passed at Broome Hall with occasional visits to his beloved Evans', it was arranged that he should make a trip to South America, where his family had had for many years very important commercial interests and could give him some respectable introductions. He noted his impressions of his journey and arrival in America in the most approved early Victorian guide-book manner, but, in spite of an apparent effort to be, at the same time, both stilted and elegant in style, his natural originality peeps out here and there:
"On the 2nd of November, 1852, in the steam packet Orinoco, I set sail, or rather set steam, from England. For the first ten days I remained in bed in all the agonies of seasickness. Some persons, particularly poets, find some pleasure in a voyage, but I confess the nil nisi pontus et aer is to me the most distasteful sight in creation, especially when the pontus is rough. The passengers were chiefly Spaniards to Havana and Germans who were going to 'improve their prospects'—how I have no idea, but, from the appearance of the gentlemen, they might have done so without becoming millionaires. At nine we breakfasted, at twelve lunched, at four dined, and at seven tea'd. The rest of the day was passed on deck. Through storm and sunshine the majority of the foreigners played at bull, a species of marine quoits. The ladies always knitted, and the English read Dickens' Household Words. In the evening there was dancing. There was an unfortunate devil of a mulatto on board who offended the prejudices of the planters by dancing with the white ladies. 'Why,' they said, 'that fellow ought to be put up to auction unless anybody owns him.' In eating and these interesting diversions the day passed. The only incident that enlivened the voyage was, that one night the Germans had an immense bowl of punch brewed (I wish I had the recipe of that said punch, for a better brew I never tasted) and sang sentimental songs. One German went round and informed the English they were going to drink to die King of England, and, amid immense applause, they bawled out 'Gott save die Queen.' As the punch got to their heads the songs became more sentimental. A Bonn student seized the bowl, and wished to drink it to the Fatherland, when another, who saw no reason why the Bonn gentleman should consecrate the whole to his patriotism, knocked him down. This was the signal for a general row. Some were sick, some sang, while a little Jew, who, before, I had considered a steward, enlivened the scene by dancing about in his night-shirt. On coming up the next morning I found the Bonn student offering generally to fight a duel with any person who asserted he had misbehaved himself. As no one was valorous enough to do so, the student retired into 'bull.' At St. Thomas we changed steamers and almost died of heat. The mulatto turned out very smart, which excited the ire of one of the planters, who said, 'Look at that fellow with a new coat, he ought to be diving about naked for half-pence in the water.' Decency, however, forbade the mulatto taking the kindly meant advice. Ten days after leaving St. Thomas we arrived at Vera Cruz. I ought to have felt some sort of enthusiasm on first seeing America, but a mosquito had stung me in the eye, so that I saw it under difficulties; indeed, a person must possess a large amount of enthusiasm to be aroused into any outward display by the sandbanks and plaguish-looking shore of Vera Cruz. I had a letter to a merchant, who most hospitably entertained me at his house, where I spent two days bathing my eye in hot water. On the third day, in company with some friends, we left for Mexico in the diligence. In a European town we should have created some excitement marching to the coach office, each armed with guns, swords, and revolvers ad libitum. Here, however, no one even stopped to look at our martial appearance. At the diligence office we had a preliminary taste of the pleasure of travelling in Mexico—travellers are only allowed 25 lbs. of luggage, and as every person's portmanteau weighed twice as much, the clerk refused to allow any to go. While my companions were haranguing inside I slipped my portmanteau, which was far the largest, under the coachman's seat, and a dollar into his hand. During the journey I was looked upon as a villain by my fellow-passengers, because each thought that, if I had not existed, their traps would have taken the place of mine. Their position was certainly uncomfortable—their sole luggage was in their hands, consisting chiefly, as it appeared to me, of tooth-brushes which they had taken out of their trunks. It was four in the evening when we started. For several leagues the carriage was pulled along a railway by mules. This comfortable method of travelling soon came to an end, and, with it, all signs of a road; we were jolted along a miserable path full of ruts, in part paved, or rather unpaved, by the Americans during their invasion, to make the road impassable. Little did they know the Mexicans, as this highroad from the chief seaport to the capital has never been repaired to the present time. Alison has given a glowing description of the beauties of the scenery between Vera Cruz and Mexico; it might have been Paradise, but, in that infernal diligence, knocking my head every minute against the top, and holding on by both hands to the window, I was in no mood to enjoy the scenery. Fresh from Europe, I certainly was astonished at the luxuriant tropical jungle, filled with parrots and humming-birds instead of sparrows. While my eyes drank in this new scene, my nose drank in a succession of pole-cats. It is a journey of three days between Vera Cruz and Mexico. The first day and night is passed in a tropical heat, after which commences the ascent to the Grand Plateau of Mexico. A rose smells as sweet under another name, and, as it would be difficult to a European to pronounce the names, I do not much regret forgetting where we stopped the first night; the second was passed at Puebla di los Angelos, a town remarkable for its superstition during the rule of the Aztecs, and equally remarkable at present for its intolerance. When the cathedral was building, two angels came down every night and doubled the work done during the daytime by the mortal masons. The cathedral is the most beautiful in the country; every other house is a monastery and a church. At four we started again and jolted until three. Next morning, even under these difficulties, I could not help admiring the scenery. The only three snowy peaks in Mexico were all distinctly visible, while the road wound through mountains rising perpendicularly from the plain. One we passed is called after Cortes' wife, and exactly resembles in its outlines a giant asleep. At the close of the third day we reached Mexico.
"When the city was in the midst of a lake and approached by causeways it might have excited the admiration of Cortes and his army. In the midst of a dry swamp it failed to excite mine. The advance of Cortes from the shore to the capital was wonderful, but I really think it was to be preferred to the diligence and unpaved road. All sufferings have an end, and mine ended in the diligence hotel. I had imagined, from travellers' accounts, that I should be lucky if I got a corner in a barn with half a dozen mules, but I found myself sleeping in a comfortable room and dining at a table d'hôte in a most distressingly civilised manner."
Labouchere does not think it necessary to his dignified narrative to mention the fact that his tutor accompanied him on this journey, but, upon a reference to his note-book, we find that the long-suffering Mentor formed one of the party. Labouchere is no less severe upon himself and his iniquities in America than he was in England. He wrote:
"We landed at Vera Cruz and proceeded to Mexico. In two months I lost all my money and £250 besides at cards. To induce my Mentor to pay this sum I retired to a neighbouring town and stated my intention to remain there until he provided the money. Here, in the bena caliente, in a small inn, with no companion but the innkeeper, I remained for a month. Here I reconsidered my life and determined to commence afresh. I asked myself upon what ground I rested my title to differ from the common race of fools. Was I clever? A scholar? I had read a little. On most subjects I was ignorant—in society I could argue, but not converse. With a lady, with a duenna, with every person in whose society I found myself, I introduced my sole subject—gambling. I told everybody that I had recently lost £6000, which I imagined raised me in their opinion. I could not dance, and I shunned society. I was conceited, and I was unwilling to confess my ignorance of anything. I was an abominable and useless liar, as I was fond of relating adventures of myself that had really never taken place. I was ready to make acquaintance with every person who spoke to me. Of music, drawing, and all the lighter arts I knew absolutely nothing. I was one thing and one alone—a gambler—on that subject I could be eloquent; but I felt that I could not consider myself superior to the generality of mankind on this ground alone. In playing even I failed, because, though I theoretically discovered systems by which I was likely to win, yet, in practice, I could command myself so little that upon a slight loss I left all to chance."
The last entry in his note-book was made by Labouchere in the seclusion of this little inn at Quotla di Amalpas, and it ends abruptly. Perhaps it was interrupted by the arrival of the Mentor, after his receipt of the letter, the draft of which is given further on.
"In my inn at Quotla di Amalpas I determined on reaching the States to entirely give up gambling. A gambler requires to possess the greatest command over himself, in which I entirely failed. To be very reserved—a reserved person is always supposed to be wiser than his neighbours. To be engaged in as many intrigues as is possible with ladies—nothing forms character so much as intrigues of this description—probatum est. To learn with a good countenance to pay delicate compliments and to...."
In the flap of his note-book is the draft of the letter to his tutor, referred to above, which must be quoted, as it is so extremely characteristic of the man whose letters were ever, to the very end of his life, the most frankly illuminative documents as to the state of mind through which he might be passing. Incidentally, also, it cannot fail to suggest to the reader a gleam of compassion for the problems and trials which must have been the lot of its recipient. Here it is:
QUOTLA DI AMALPAS.
DEAR SIR,—I have just come back from Cuernava, where I rode over the worst road even in Mexico. Pray do not trouble yourself to exercise your forbearance, or make excuses, as I can assure you they are not wanted. If you find the slightest pleasure or amusement in writing to innkeepers not to give me money, write to every one in the country, but do not give yourself the trouble to tell me you have done so, as it is a matter of unimportance to me. My stopping in Mexico cannot now be helped, as I certainly shall not leave before getting some money, and I must then go to England to pay it. I had intended not to gamble in America, because of having to pay a double interest—but man proposes and God disposes. As R—— says, I made up a story to avoid paying him. I could not at present leave my gambling debts unpaid, or he would be believed. I shall borrow some money here, and send to England (not to my father) for some to pay it, and then go to England to pay it when it becomes due. It is a pity having to go back as I should have liked to see a little more of America, but what is done is done, and cannot be helped.—Yours truly,
HENRY Du PRE LABOUCHERE.
P.S.—I have been offered a place as croupier at a Monté bank, so I shall not starve.
[1] Born Aug. 14, 1799; died Jan. 29, 1863.
[2] Died April 29, 1874.
[3] I am indebted to Mrs. Hillyer, Mr. Labouchere's eldest sister, for the above anecdote.
[4] Truth, May 28, 1885.
[5] I am indebted to Lord Welby for the above anecdote. He heard it from the late Lord Bristol, who was Labouchere's fag at Eton, and also from the late Mr. Anthony Hammond.
[6] Truth, Aug. 8, 1877.
[7] Truth, Jan. 31, 1889.
[8] The note-books from which the quotations in this chapter have been taken are in the possession of the Rev. John Labouchere of Sculthorpe Rectory, Fakenham.
[9] Edmund Yates, Recollections and Experiences; Serjeant Ballantine, Experiences of a Barrister's Life.
[10] Truth, Sept. 4, 1890.
(1853-1864)
Whether the Mentor resigned his job in despair about the time his pupil was making prudent resolutions in the seclusion of the little inn at Quotla di Amalpas, or whether it was decided by the parental authority that Labouchere might as well continue his search for wisdom in Mexico by himself, is not certain; but it would seem that, just about three months after his landing at Vera Cruz, he parted company with all his English friends, and, with a surprisingly small sum for such an adventure in his pocket, rode off, and wandered for eighteen months all over the country. Then he returned to the capital, and fell in love with a lady of the circus. The published legends belonging to this period of his career are legion. The authority for them appears to be almost always Mr. Joseph Hatton, who was the first writer to produce a biographical sketch of the editor of Truth. He wrote it for Harper's Magazine, where it formed part of a series which, in 1882, was published in England under the title of Journalistic London. According to Hatton, Labouchere gave him certain details of his past in an interview which took place at his house in Queen Anne's Gate, so that Hatton's evidence, in so far as viva voce reminiscences are reliable, is unimpeachable.[1]
Labouchere told him that he travelled with the troupe to which the lady he admired belonged, and got the job of doorkeeper. The circus was a popular one, but the crowds who flocked to it were not all in a position to pay their entrance with hard cash, so that he was authorised by the proprietors to accept payment in kind—usually consisting of oranges or small measures of maize. A very similar story is related about him as occurring a year or two later when he was attaché at Washington, and is corroborated for me by Sir Audley Gosling, to whom Labouchere related it one day in his house in Old Palace Yard. Sir Audley noticed hanging on the wall a large playbill, and asked what it was.
"It's a funny story," replied Labouchere; "I will tell you about it. When attaché at Washington I was in the habit of attending almost nightly a circus, standing often at the artistes' entrance to the ring. The proprietor had often scowled at me, and one night asked me what I meant by trespassing on sacred ground. I told him I had formed an honourable attachment for one of his ladies, and simply stood in the passage to kiss the hem of her robe as she passed by. 'Get out of this, you d—d loafer,' he said. And I got out. A few months later I pointed out to my chief notices in the New York press of a certain American sparkling wine called, after the district where it was grown, 'Kitawber.' I told him I thought a report should be made on this new vintage, and volunteered to draw up a report for the Foreign Office. He seemed surprised by my assiduity and very unusual zeal (for I never did a stroke of work), and said: 'By all means go—that is a capital idea of yours.' The truth was my circus had removed to Kitawber and with it my fair lady of the haute école, so thither I proceeded. I presented myself to the proprietor, my rude friend, and told him I wished for an engagement with his troupe without salary. He asked me what my line was, and I told him standing jumps. Some obstacles were placed in the ring, over which I jumped with great success, and my name figures on the playbill you see hanging there as the 'Bounding Buck of Babylon.' I wore pink tights, with a fillet round my head. My adorable one said I looked a dear."
It is more probable that these two stories are different versions of one and the same adventure than that he twice followed a travelling circus. No doubt, in recounting the tale, he confused the chronology.
It would appear that the well-known story of his six months' residence among the Chippeway Indians, usually related as an incident occurring in the off moments of his diplomatic career, really took place towards the end of 1853. Joseph Hatton, without mentioning any dates, relates it as follows: "By and by he tired of this occupation (i.e. travelling with the circus), and went to the United States. He found himself at St. Paul, which was then only a cluster of houses. Here he met a party of Chippeway Indians going back to their homes. He went with them and lived with them for six months, hunting buffalo, joining in their work and sports, playing cards for wampum necklaces, and living what to Joaquin Miller would have been a poem in so many stanzas, but which, to the more prosaic Englishman, was just seeing life and passing away the time." More than half a century later, when Mr. Labouchere was living at Pope's villa, he invited all the Indian chiefs and their families, who were at that time taking part in Buffalo Bill's Show called "The Wild West," to spend a Sunday with him at Twickenham. They accepted the invitation, and arrived betimes in the morning. Mrs. T. P. O'Connor, who was a visitor at the villa on the occasion, gives a graphic account of Mr. Labouchere's recognition, in the person of one of the Chippeways, of the son of one of the nomadic friends of his early youth. She goes on to tell the story of Mr. Labouchere's adventures with the Indians, as she had often heard him tell it.
Nearly sixty years ago, [she says], Henry Labouchere, then an adventurous lad, made a journey in the west of America. Minneapolis was at that time called St. Anthony's Palls, and while he was there a far-seeing young chemist begged him to buy the land on which Minneapolis stands—it was to be sold for a very small sum, now it is worth many millions. He travelled still farther west with the Chippeways, who were going to their hunting fields. The great chief, Hole in Heaven, was very friendly with him, and he camped in one of their wigwams for six weeks, the sister of the chief being assigned to wait upon him. She cooked game to perfection, roasting wild birds in clay and larger game before a fire. The game in those days was very plentiful and tame, not having found out man to be their natural enemy. Sometimes prairie chickens came near enough to be knocked on the head, and great herds of buffalos still ranged the plains. The Indians often killed a buffalo, but Mr. Labouchere was not lucky enough to get one for himself. He saw an Indian war-dance, but discreetly, from a slit in the door of his wigwam, as Hole in Heaven said that, friendly as they were, at this sacred rite a white face might infuriate them even to the use of the tomahawk. Mr. Labouchere lingered among these American gentlemen until the last steamer had departed from Fond du Lac, so he was obliged to travel in a canoe until he reached the eastern end of the lake.[2]
After his experiences in the Wild West, Labouchere made New York his quarters for some time, and occupied himself with a careful study of the institutions, political and otherwise, of the American nation, for which he acquired at this period of his life a profound and lasting admiration. In 1883 he was writing to Mr. Joseph Chamberlain on the subject of Radical policy, and he said in the course of his letter: "I was caught young and sent to America; there I imbibed the political views of the country, so that my Radicalism is not a joke, but perfectly earnest. My opinions of most of the institutions of this country is that of Americans—that they are utterly absurd and ridiculous."[3] He constantly throughout his career drew upon his youthful reminiscences of America to point a moral or draw a comparison, almost invariably favourable to the transatlantic people. In a famous article which he wrote in 1884, to demonstrate to the public the wide divergency existing at that time between Whig and Radical principles, while discussing the financial relations of the Crown with the country, he said:
The President of the United States regards himself as generously treated with a salary of £10,000 per annum. We give half this sum to a nobleman who condescends to walk before the Chief of the State on ceremonial occasions with a coloured stick in his hand; and we spend more than five times this sum in keeping a yacht in commission and repair on which our sovereign steps two or three times in twenty years!
In the same article he compared the English system of education with the American:
If M * * * * wishes to learn what our schools ought to be, let him go to the State of Illinois. A child there enters school at the age of six. Each school is divided into ten grades; at the end of each year there is an examination, and a child goes up one or more grades according to his proficiency. A lad going through all the grades acquires an excellent liberal education; if he passes through the "high school" he is, by a very long degree, the educational superior of the majority of our youths who have spent years at Eton or at Harrow. All this does not cost his parents one cent. Rich and poor alike send their children to the public schools, and thus all class prejudice is early stamped out of the American breast. Another advantage of these schools is that boys and girls are taught together. The girls thus learn early how to take care of themselves, and the boys' manners are softened. When grown up, boys and girls are not kept apart as though they were each other's natural enemies, nor are there any ill effects from their associating together. If some marry, the relations of those who do not are those of brothers and sisters. The Duke of Wellington is reported to have said that Waterloo was won in the Eton playing fields. Not only was the Union maintained in many battlefields, but America has become the most forward nation in the world owing to her schools. How pitiably small and narrow does our school system appear in comparison with theirs! Why cannot we do what has been done in America? Why? Because the land is too full of men ... ignorant, servile, and aware that their only chance of succeeding in life is to perpetuate class distinctions, and to deprive the vast majority of their fellow-citizens of the possibility of competing with them by depriving them of the blessings of any real education. Which would be to the greater advantage of the country, a Church Establishment such as ours, or a school establishment such as that of Illinois? What Radical entertains a doubt? If so, why do not we at once substitute the one for the other?[4]
In his letters to the Daily News during the autumn and winter of 1870 and 1871, he wrote from Paris commenting on the behaviour of the English and American officials of the Diplomatic Corps who remained in Paris during the siege. "Diplomats," he wrote on September 28th, "are little better than old women when they have to act in an emergency. Were it not for Mr. Washburne, who was brought up in the rough-and-ready life of the Far West, instead of serving an apprenticeship in Courts and Government offices, those who are still here would be perfectly helpless. They come to him at all moments, and although he cannot speak French, for all practical purposes, he is worth more than all his colleagues put together." In another letter he gives an amusing picture of the worried English chargé d'affaires, immersed in official trivialities: "A singular remonstrance has been received at the British Embassy. In the Rue de Chaillot resides a celebrated English courtesan, called Cora Pearl, and above her house floats the English flag. The inhabitants of the street request the Ambassador of England, 'a country, the purity and decency of whose manners is well known,' to cause this bit of bunting, which is a scandal in their eyes, to be hauled down. I left Mr. Wodehouse consulting the text-writers upon international law, in order to discover a precedent for the case." It contrasts sharply enough with the glimpse he gives his readers of the American Embassy. "I passed the afternoon," he wrote on November 15th, "greedily devouring the news at the American Legation. It was a curious sight—the Chancellerie was crowded with people engaged in the same occupation. There were several French journalists, opening their eyes very wide, under the impression that this would enable them to understand English. A Secretary of Legation was sitting at a table giving audiences to unnumbered ladies who wished to know how they could leave Paris; or, if this was impossible, how they could draw on their bankers in New York. Mr. Washburne walked about cheerily shaking every one by the hand, and telling them to make themselves at home. How different American diplomatists are to the prim old women who represent us abroad, with a staff of half a dozen dandies helping each other to do nothing, who have been taught to regard all who are not of the craft as their natural enemies." Yet another quotation from Labouchere's journalistic correspondence, illustrating his predilection for things American: "The ambulance which is considered the best is the American. The wounded are under canvas, the tents are not cold, and yet the ventilation is admirable. The American surgeons are far more skilful in the treatment of gunshot wounds than their French colleagues. Instead of amputation they practise resection of the bone. It is the dream of every French soldier, if he is wounded, to be taken to this ambulance. They seem to be under the impression that, even if their legs are shot off, the skill of the Esculapii of the United States will make them grow again. Be this as it may, a person might be worse off than stretched on a bed with a slight wound under the tents of the Far West. The French have a notion that, go where you may, to the top of a pyramid or to the top of Mont Blanc, you are sure to meet an Englishman reading a newspaper; in my experience of the world, the American girl is far more inevitable than the Britisher; and, of course, under the stars and stripes which wave over the American tents, she is to be found, tending the sick, and, when there is nothing more to be got for them, patiently reading to them or playing at cards with them. I have a great weakness for the American girl; she always puts her heart in what she is about. When she flirts she does it conscientiously, and when she nurses a most uninviting-looking Zouave, or Franc-tireur, she does it equally conscientiously; besides, as a rule, she is pretty, a gift of nature which I am very far from undervaluing."
To resume our narrative. At home the parental and avuncular authorities had been at work, puzzling as to what career would best suit the young searcher for wisdom, the irrepressible Eton blood—the baby of the preparatory school, who, without his milk teeth, was able to confound the ruffians of the cane and their assistants—the undaunted enemy of university dons and pedagogues. Finally, it was decided that the diplomatic service would be, at any rate for a time, the best safety-valve for the inquisitive youth. Henry Labouchere was on one of his unconventional tours in his beloved Wild West when he heard of his first diplomatic appointment. He was appointed attaché at Washington on July 16, 1854.
Mr. Crampton had been Minister at Washington since 1852, and, at the time of Labouchere taking up his duties at the Legation, Lord Elgin, then Governor of Canada, was on a special mission to Washington. Mr. Crampton had not succeeded in making himself at all agreeable to the American statesmen, and during the Crimean War he had nearly caused a rupture between Great Britain and the United States over the question of recruiting. The exigencies of war had brought about the reprehensible practice of raising various foreign corps and pressing them—or crimping them—into the British service. Crampton very actively forwarded the schemes of his Government by encouraging the recruiting of soldiers within the territories of the United States. It was not, however, until 1856 that the President of the United States came to a determination to discontinue official intercourse with him on account of the recruiting question. This necessitated his removal from Washington, and the feeling against him in the United States was so strong that diplomatic relations were not renewed with Great Britain for more than six months.[5] There is no evidence of any kind to support the statements that have appeared from time to time in the press, to the effect that Henry Labouchere was involved in the crimping business. During the time he spent at Washington he seems to have been an assiduous worker—to which the number of despatches in his handwriting preserved in the archives of the Record Office bear witness.
He related in Truth, some years later, how his energy received a check at the very outset of his career. "When I joined the diplomatic service," he said, "I was sent as attaché to a legation where a cynic was the minister. New brooms sweep clean. Every morning I appeared, eager to be employed, a sort of besom tied up in red tape. Said the cynic to me: 'If you fancy that you are likely to get on in the service by hard work, you will soon discover your error; far better will it be for you if you can prove that some relation of yours is the sixteenth cousin of the porter at the Foreign Office.' It was not long before I discovered that the cynic was right."
It was the fate of Henry Labouchere, wherever he went, to create an atmosphere of unconventionality, which formed a fitting background for the numberless stories which seem still to collect and grow round his name as time goes on. During one of Mr. Crampton's absences from the Legation, he had an opportunity of exercising the official reserve and discretion for which the English diplomats have always been so famous. An American citizen called one morning to see Mr. Crampton. "I want to see the boss," he said. "You can't—he is out," replied Labouchere. "But you can see me." "You are no good," replied the American. "I must see the boss. I'll wait." "Very well," calmly said the attaché, and went on with his letter-writing. The visitor sat down and waited for a considerable time. At last he said: "I've been fooling round here two hours; has the chief come in yet?"—"No; you will see him drive up to the front door when he returns."—"How long do you reckon he will be before he comes?" "Well," said Labouchere, "he went to Canada yesterday; I should say he'll be here in about six weeks."
In spite of all his good resolutions Labouchere was still a gambler, and once found himself in what might have been an awkward scrape owing to this propensity. All who knew him at all intimately must often have heard him tell the following episode, which I will relate as nearly as possible in his own words: "While I was attaché at Washington I was sent by the minister to look after some Irish patriots at Boston. I took up my residence at a small hotel, and wrote down an imaginary name in the hotel book as mine. In the evening I went to a gambling establishment, where I lost all the money I had with me except half a dollar. Then I went to bed, satisfied with my prowess. The next morning the bailiffs seized on the hotel for debt, and all the guests were requested to pay their bills and to take away their luggage. I could not pay mine, and so I could not take away my luggage. All that I could do was to write to Washington for a remittance, and to wait two days for its arrival. The first day I walked about, and spent my half dollar on food. It was summer, so I slept on a bench on the common, and in the morning went to the bay to wash myself. I felt independent of all the cares and troubles of civilisation. But I had nothing with which to buy myself a breakfast. I grew hungry and, towards evening, more hungry still, so much so that I entered a restaurant and ordered dinner, without any clear idea how I was to pay for it, except by leaving my coat in pledge. In those days Boston restaurants were mostly in cellars, and there was a bar near the door, where the proprietor sat to receive payment. As I ate my dinner I observed that all the waiters, who were Irishmen, were continually staring at me, and evidently speaking of me to each other. A guilty conscience made me think that this was because I had an impecunious look, and that they were discussing whether my clothes would cover my bill. At last one of them approached me, and said: "I beg your pardon, sir; are you the patriot Meagher?" Now this patriot was a gentleman who had aided Smith O'Brien in his Irish rising, had been sent to Australia, and had escaped thence to the United States. It was my business to look after patriots, so I put my finger before my lips, and said: "Hush!" while I cast up my eyes to the ceiling as though I saw a vision of Erin beckoning to me. It was felt at once that I was Meagher. The choicest viands were placed before me, and most excellent wine. When I had done justice to all the good things I approached the bar and asked boldly for my bill. The proprietor, also an Irishman said: "From a man like you, who has suffered in the good cause, I can take no money; allow a brother patriot to shake you by the hand." I allowed him. I further allowed all the waiters to shake hands with me, and stalked forth with the stern, resolved, but somewhat condescendingly dismal air which I have seen assumed by patriots in exile. Again I slept on the common, again I washed in the bay. Then I went to the post office, found a letter for me from Washington with some money in it, and breakfasted."
Another anecdote Labouchere was fond of recalling about his Washington days was the following: Having planned a little holiday excursion, he found at the Chancellerie a letter awaiting him, addressed in the well-known handwriting of his chief. Shrewdly suspecting that the instructions it contained would render his holiday impossible, he put the letter unopened in his coat-tail pocket, and carried out with great satisfaction to himself his holiday intentions. Then he opened his letter, and found that his suspicions of its contents had been very well founded. He wrote a nice letter of apology to his chief, beginning, "Your letter has followed me here," which was, after all, nothing but the simple truth!
"It is a funny thing," Labouchere would often say, speaking of treaties and diplomatic negotiations in general, "to notice on what small matters success or the reverse is dependent"; and he would then relate how, when he was attaché at Washington, he went down with the British Minister to a small inn at Virginia to meet Mr. Marcy, the Secretary of State for the United States, for the purpose of discussing a reciprocity treaty between Canada and the United States. Mr. Marcy, in general the most genial and agreeable of men, was as cross as a bear, and would agree to nothing. Labouchere asked the secretary to tell him, in confidence, what was the matter with his chief. The secretary replied: "He is not getting his rubber of whist." After that the British Minister proposed a rubber of whist every night, which he invariably lost. Mr. Marcy was immensely pleased at beating the Britishers at, what he called "their own game," and his good humour returned. "Every morning," Labouchere related, "when the details of the treaty were being discussed, we had our revenge, and scored a few points for Canada."
Labouchere was transferred to the Legation at Munich in December, 1855. "Old King Louis was then alive," he wrote thirty years later, "although he had been deposed for making a fool of himself over Lola Montes. I used frequently to meet him in the streets, when he always stopped me to ask how Queen Victoria was. I had at last respectfully to tell him that Her Majesty was not in the habit of writing to me every day respecting her health."
From Munich he went to Stockholm in 1857. I cannot resist quoting in full his account of the duel he fought while at Stockholm with the Austrian chargé d'affaires, it is so extremely characteristic of him both in spirit and style.
At Stockholm "I found favour with my superiors for the curious reason that I challenged an Austrian chargé d'affaires. Never was there a more absurd affair. There was an Englishman who had been challenged by a Swede, whom he declined to fight. A few days later the Englishman went with my Minister to a box in the theatre. The next day at a club the Austrian chargé d'affaires said before me and others that Englishmen had odd ideas of honour, and more particularly English Ministers. I replied that Englishmen were not so silly as to fight duels, and that the English Minister was not a dishonourable man for appearing in a theatre with his countrymen. As it was generally felt that I ought to challenge this Austrian, I 'put myself in the hands' of the French and Prussian Ministers. A few hours later my seconds came to me. I expected that they were going to tell me that the Austrian had apologised. Not at all. With a cheerful smile they observed: 'It is arranged for to-morrow morning—pistols.' At seven o'clock A.M. they reappeared. Their countenances were downcast. 'I have lost the mould for the bullets of my duelling pistols,' observed the Prussian, 'and we have had to borrow a pair of pistols, for whose accuracy of aim I cannot vouch.' This inwardly rejoiced me, but, of course, I pretended to share in the regret of my seconds. We sat down to an early breakfast. 'You are young, I am old,' said the Frenchman; 'would that I could take your place.' I wished it as sincerely as he did, but I tried to assume an air of rather liking my position, and I grinned a ghastly grin. Then we started for the park. The opposition had not arrived; but there was a surgeon, who had been kindly requested to attend by my sympathising friends. 'An accident may happen,' observed the Prussian; 'do you wish to confide to me any dispositions that you may desire to be carried out after——?' and he sighed in a horribly suggestive manner. 'No,' I said; I had nothing particular to confide; and as I looked at the surgeon I thought what an idiot I was to make myself the target for an Austrian to aim at, in order to establish the principle that Englishmen have a perfect right to decline to fight duels. There was a want of logic about the entire proceeding that went to my heart. To be killed is bad enough, but to be killed paradoxically is still worse. Soon the Austrian and his seconds appeared. I never felt more dismal in my life. The Austrian stood apart; I stood apart. The surgeon already eyed me as a 'subject.' The seconds consulted; then the Frenchman stepped out twelve paces. He had very short legs, and they seemed to me shorter than ever. After this came the loading of the pistols. Sometimes, I thought, seconds do not put in the bullets; this comforted me, but only for a moment, for the bullets were rammed down with cheerful energy. By this time we had been placed facing each other. A pistol was given to each of us. 'I am to give the signal,' said the Prussian; 'I shall count one, two, three, and then at the word fire, you will both fire. Gentlemen, are you ready?' We both nodded. 'One, two, three, fire!' and both our pistols went off. No harm had been done. I felt considerably relieved when to my horror the Frenchman stepped up to me, and said: 'I think that I ought to demand a second shot for you, but mind, if nothing occurs again, I shall not allow a third shot.' 'Ye—es,' I said; so we had a second shot, with the same result. Knowing that my Frenchman was a man of his word, I felt now that I might at no risk to myself display my valour, so I demanded a third shot. The seconds consulted together; for a moment I feared that they were going to grant my request, and I was greatly relieved when they informed me that they considered that two shots were amply sufficient. I was delighted, but I pretended to be most unhappy, and religiously kept up the farce of being an aggrieved person."[6]
He was at Frankfort and St. Petersburg between November, 1858, and the summer of 1860. While he was at Frankfort he made the acquaintance of Bismarck, who was the Prussian representative at the restored Diet of Frankfort. Labouchere had a constitutional dislike of the German people, with the exception of the great Chancellor. He wrote some years later: "The only Prussian I ever knew who was an agreeable man was Bismarck. All others with whom I have been thrown—and I have lived for years in Germany—were proud as Scotchmen, cold as New Englanders, and touchy as only Prussians can be. I once had a friend among them. His name was Buckenbrock. I inadvertently called him Butterbrod. We have never spoken since!" Bismarck was an eminently social person, fond of drinking and smoking, and many a time did Labouchere listen to his jovial loud-toned talk in the cafés at Frankfort. "Bismarck," he wrote in later life, "used to pass entire nights drinking beer in a garden overlooking the Main. In the morning after a night passed in beer-drinking he would write his despatches, then issue forth on a white horse for a ride, and on his return, attend the Diet, of which he was a member."[7] It is interesting to note how very similar were the judgments of these two exceedingly different characters upon the subject of diplomacy and its aspects of absurdity and pomposity. Bismarck wrote from Frankfort: "Frankfort is hideously tiresome. The people here worry themselves about the merest rubbish, and these diplomatists with their pompous peddling already appear to me a good deal more ridiculous than a member of the second chamber in all the pride of his lofty station. Unless external accidents should accrue, ... I know exactly how much we shall effect in one, two, or five years from the present time, and will engage to do it all myself within four-and-twenty hours, if the others will only be truthful and sensible throughout one single day. I never doubted that, one and all, these gentlemen prepared their dishes à l'eau, but such thin, mawkish water soup as this, devoid of the least symptom of richness, positively astounds me. Send me your village schoolmaster or road inspector, clean washed and combed; they will make just as good diplomatists as these."[8] Of diplomatic literature Bismarck observed: "For the most part it is nothing but paper and ink. If you wanted to utilise it for historical purposes, you could not get anything worth having out of it. I believe it is the rule to allow historians to consult the F. O. Archives at the expiration of thirty years (after date of despatches, etc.). They might be permitted to examine them much sooner, for the despatches and letters, when they contain any information at all, are quite unintelligible to those unacquainted with the persons and relations treated of in them."[9] Labouchere wrote in 1889: "If all Foreign Office telegrams were published, they would be curious reading. Years ago I was an attaché at Stockholm. The present Queen, then Duchess of Ostrogotha, had a baby, and a telegram came from the Foreign Office desiring that Her Majesty's congratulations should be offered, and that she should be informed how the mother and child were. The Minister was away, so off I went to the Palace to convey the message and to inquire about the health of the pair. A solemn gentleman received me. I informed him of my orders, and requested him to say what I was to reply. "Her Royal Highness," he replied, "is as well as can be expected, but His Royal Highness is suffering a little internally, and it is thought that this is due to the milk of the wet nurse having been slightly sour yesterday evening." I telegraphed this to the Foreign Office."[10]
In a speech he made in the House of Commons,[11] protesting against a sum of nearly £50,000 being voted for the salaries and expenses of the department for Her Majesty's Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Mr. Labouchere said, referring in particular to Foreign Office messengers, that very often these gentlemen were sent abroad, at a very large cost to the country, for no practical object whatever. They went on a certain route, and the business was made up for them as they went. He had had the honour to serve at one time under Sir Henry Bulwer at Constantinople. Now Sir Henry Bulwer was always ill; and on one occasion he remembered making a calculation that a box of pills Sir Henry was anxious to obtain, and which was sent out by a Foreign Office messenger, cost the country from £200 to £300. Probably the pills did Sir Henry good, and pills were much more useful than a good deal of the stuff sent out by the Foreign Office. He went on to tell the House that he had himself been in the diplomatic service for ten years, and he had spent a great deal of his time in ciphering and deciphering telegrams, and that he could not remember half a dozen of them that any man, woman, or child in the whole world would have taken any trouble to decipher for any information that could have been derived from them.
Labouchere used always to say that, while he was attaché at Frankfort, he spent most of his time at Wiesbaden, Homburg, or Baden, because he found the Diet of the German Confederation "rather a dull sort of affair." He managed, however, to make a great many very staunch friends at this period of his life. One of these was the old Duchess of Cambridge. He was a frequent visitor at the Schloss of Ruppenheim, which was the summer meeting-place of the main stock and branches of the Hesses. The old Duchess made a great fuss over him, for he could speak the German of Hanover so well that she could understand his banter and enjoy it. His popularity at Frankfort, according to his own account, rested on a very simple basis. Great Britain was represented at the Diet by Sir Alexander Malet, one of the most popular chiefs to be found in the Service. "But I was even more appreciated than my chief," he would relate, "and this is why. Sometimes there was a ball at the Court, which we were expected to attend. At my first ball supper I found myself next to a grandee, gorgeous in stars and ribbons. The servant came to pour out champagne. I shook my head, for I detest champagne. The grandee nudged me, and said, 'Let him pour it out.' This I did, and he explained to me that our host never gave his guests more than one glass, 'So you see, if I drink yours, I shall have two.' After this there used to be quite a struggle to sit near me at Court suppers."