CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH
(1831-1853)
John Peter Labouchere,[1] the younger son of Pierre-César Labouchère,
was a partner in the firm of Hope at Amsterdam, and, later, a partner
in the bank of Williams, Deacon, Thornton, and Labouchere. He
married Mary Louisa Du Pre,[2] second daughter of Mr. James Du Pre of
Wilton Park in Buckinghamshire, and granddaughter of Sir William
Maxwell of Monteith, by whom he had a family of three sons and six
daughters, of whom one son and four daughters are still living. He
was the owner of Broome Hall in Surrey, and his town house was at 16
Portland Place. He was an extremely religious man and well known for
his charitable and philanthropic labours. At one period his elder
brother, Lord Taunton, then Mr. Henry Labouchere, also had a house in
Portland Place, and he used to relate that he was constantly pestered
by persons confusing him with his brother the banker, who called to
ask for his help and patronage with regard to various evangelical
enterprises. It was his habit to reply to them: "You have made a
mistake, sir; the good Mr. Labouchere lives at No. 16."
Henry Du Pre, the eldest son of John Labouchere, was born at 16
Portland Place on November 9, 1831. His {17} education, had he been
a docile pupil, would, according to his father's wishes, have been
that of a conventional English boy with some reasonable expectations
of a fine career in the financial or the diplomatic world, into
either of which he had an easy _entrée_ through the influence of the
Labouchere family. But he displayed, at the very beginning of his
career, a curious and original character, which did not seem to
follow easily any of the known paths of learning marked out for the
youth of his period. The earliest repartee recorded of him was made
to the headmaster of the private school to which he was sent at the
age of six. Before breakfast, the morning after his arrival, the new
boys were placed in a row, and asked whether they had all washed
their teeth. One by one they answered in the affirmative, until came
the turn of Henry. "No," he answered firmly. "And pray why not?"
wound up the master indignantly, after a long lecture on the enormity
of the crime of neglecting the cleanliness of the teeth. "Because I
haven't got any," smiled Henry suddenly. He was just at the stage of
changing his baby teeth, and his toothless gums were displayed for
the full benefit of the discomfited moralist.[3] Nearly fifty years
later Labouchere published the following account of his school-days:
"When I was a boy I was sent to a school which was kept by one of the
most ill-conditioned ruffians that ever wielded a cane. He used to
suffer from lumbago (this was my only consolation), and would crawl
on his hands and knees into the schoolroom; then he would rear up and
commence caning a few boys, merely, I truly believe, from a notion
that the exercise would be beneficial to his muscles. The man was
ignorant, brutal, mean, and cruel, and yet his school somehow had a
reputation as an excellent one--mainly, I suspect, because he had the
effrontery to charge a high price for the privilege of being at
it."[4]
{18}
He went to Eton in the September of 1844, and was entered at the
house of Edward Balston, who afterwards became headmaster. Dr.
Hawtrey, whose classical teaching has been described as "more
picturesque than useful," was headmaster during the three years and a
half that Henry Labouchere was at the school. The boy seems to have
been a fairly idle scholar, and nothing remarkable in the way of a
sportsman. He was exceedingly small for his age and, in consequence,
a light weight, so that he was much in request on summer afternoons
as a "cox." Among his contemporaries at Eton were the late Lord
Avebury, the late Sir George Tryon, Lord Roberts, the late Sir Arthur
Blackwood, Sir Algernon West, and Lord Welby. Lord Welby recollects
that he had, even in his Eton days, the dry, cynical manner and
original mode of verbal expression which, later on, marked him out
from his fellows.
Labouchere fell under a suspicion of bullying whilst at Balston's,
and the consequences he was forced to undergo are interesting as
illustrative of the Eton justice of the forties. He was in the fifth
form, and the elder boys of his house summoned the captain of the
lower boys, one Barton, who was a good deal bigger than Labouchere,
to fight him in the house. Barton had no quarrel on his own account
with Labouchere--it was a case of representative justice. The fight
was arranged to take place in one of the rooms after tea, it being
the uncomfortable practice in those days always to fight after a
meal. Labouchere and Barton punched away at each other for an hour
or so, until the big boys went down to supper, when they were allowed
to rest. After the elders had supped, the fight was renewed until
Labouchere succumbed. However, it was generally allowed that he had
made a good show before a bigger man than himself. The next day the
eyes of the combatants were bunged up, their noses swollen to bottle
size, and their complexions coloured bright blue and green with
bruises. They could not go into school. Balston was obliged to take
notice of what had {19} happened, which he did with well-simulated
indignation, and, when they were able to return to school, reported
them to Hawtrey, who "swished" them both.[5]
Another contemporary of Mr. Labouchere's at Eton, the late Frederick
Morton Eden, related a story about him at a dinner given to him some
years ago, as the senior "Old Etonian," in the School Hall of the
College. Whilst the old chapel was being restored, a temporary
chapel of wood and iron was run up. The corrugated iron roof made
the heat intolerable during the summer months, so Labouchere hit upon
a plan to put a stop to the nuisance of "chapel in the shanty." One
boy was to pretend to faint and four others were to carry him out. A
fifth was to follow bearing the hats of the performers. The plan
worked admirably. The service was brought to a temporary stop and
the boys, as soon as they were outside, scampered merrily off and
procured some agreeable refreshment. The repetition of this comedy,
of course, aroused the suspicion of the masters, but nevertheless,
like many of Labouchere's intrigues in later life, it produced
eventually the desired effect. There was no more chapel during the
hot weather until the restoration of the old chapel was complete.
A reminiscence of his Eton days that Mr. Labouchere was fond of
relating has already found its way into print, but will bear
repetition, as all may not have read it. One day, his store of
pocket-money being at high-water mark, he conceived the notion of
doing the man about town for an hour or two; so, having dressed
himself with scrupulous care, he sallied forth, and, entering the
best hotel in the place, engaged a private room, and in a lordly
manner ordered a bowl of punch. The waiter stared but brought the
liquor, and went away. The boy, having tasted it, found it horrible.
He promptly poured it into the lower compartment {20} of an antique
oak sideboard. He waited a little to see whether it would run out on
to the carpet. Luckily the drawer was watertight, and Labouchere
rang the bell again and proudly ordered from the amazed waiter a
second bowl of punch. He poured this also into the oak sideboard,
and in a few minutes rang for the bill, tipped the waiter
majestically, and swaggered out of the hotel, quite satisfied that he
had won the admiration and respect of the whole staff.
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 {21} 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 {22} 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."
{23}
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 {24} 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 {25} 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.
{26} 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 {27} 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, {28} 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 {29}
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 {30} 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 {31} 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 {32} 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 {33} 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 {34} 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 {35} 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."
{36}
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 {37} 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.
{38}