The History of "Punch"

by M. H. Spielmann

And these ten penny stamps, together with the letter, are to this day treasured by the artist's son.

It was not surprising that Bennett was missed; his animal spirits and his bright good-humour counted for a good deal at the Table; and when he died, his colleagues organised elaborate theatricals and collected a large sum for those whom he loved and left behind in the pinch of poverty.

If for some time before his death Charles Keene deserted the dinner-table, it was owing, as he has himself confessed, in no slight measure to political motives which developed about the time of the Russo-Turkish War. Keene was what Tories call a patriot and Liberals a "Jingo;" and in his quiet way he felt so deeply that he thought it best to stay away—not that he loved Punch less, but he loved his convictions more. "I am sorry to say," he wrote, with doubtful accuracy, "Punch is 'Musco' to a man except C. K., so he keeps away from that Liberal lot at the present conjunction." There certainly was, however, another reason, quite independent of politics, which kept Keene from the Table during the latter years of Mr. W. H. Bradbury's life. He was not, as his biographer, Mr. Layard, has pointed out, of much use in suggestion at the business function of the Dinner, and he looked less to his colleagues than to his friends outside for the jokes to which he drew his pictures; so that his presence was not a necessity. Nevertheless, he would attend, now and again, until age began to tell upon him; and his companions love to think of him, clutching his short-stemmed pipe to his mouth, puffing gravely, saying little, thinking much, quick at appreciating a joke, slow at making one, with an eye full of humour, and its lid and corresponding corner of his mouth quickly responsive to any quip or crank that might let fly. Eclectic in his humour as in his art, disposed to condemn any cartoon suggestion not thoroughly thought out as "damn bad," he was in the weekly assembly at the Table like the 'cello in the orchestra—not much heard, yet when there indispensable to the general effect and the general completeness, even though he only went "for company."

I have lingered, perhaps unduly, over the social side of the Punch Dinner, for the company is of the best, and the subject an entertaining and a pleasant one. But serious business has to be discussed and transacted—and transacted it is, whatever jokes and ebullitions of bonhomie may form the running accompaniment to the work in hand. In Mark Lemon's time the Dinner began at "six sharp," and in Shirley Brooks's and Tom Taylor's a half-hour later; but when Mr. F. C. Burnand took up the reins of power, the hour was advanced to seven o'clock, and on its stroke the Staff are generally found in their places. From all parts they come, just as their predecessors used to speed from Boulogne, from Herne Hill, and from the Isle of Wight, so that their absence should not be felt nor their assistance lacking at the Gathering of the Clan. Sir John Tenniel comes from Maida Vale, most likely, or from some spot near to London—which he has hardly quitted for a fortnight together during the last forty years, save when, in 1878, he went to Venice with Mr. Henry Silver and left Charles Keene malgré lui as cartoonist-in-chief. Mr. Sambourne arrives, perhaps, from a yachting expedition or from the moors; Mr. du Maurier from his beloved Whitby or from a lecturing tour; Mr. Lucy hurries in from the House of Commons; Mr. Furniss, up to the time of his resignation, from some distant spot where he "entertained" last evening, and whence he would expect to be three hundred miles away on a similar errand on the morrow. But not for some time past, it must be said in passing, had either Mr. du Maurier or Mr. Furniss been so regular at the Table as in earlier days—Mr. Furniss by reason of his touring, and Mr. du Maurier on account of the distance of his home, and the evil effect of tobacco-smoke on his eyes and nerves.

Then when dinner is over and coffee finished, and paper and pens brought in—at half-past eight, as near as may be—the cigars come on and the waiters go off (including at one time the crusted Burnap, an original worthy of "Robert" himself); and not more rigidly was the Press excluded from the Ministerial Whitebait Dinner in the good old times, than are Cabinet Ministers interdicted from the Dinner of Mr. Punch to-day. Then the Editor, who has been presiding, invites ideas and discussion on the subject of the "big cut," as the cartoon is commonly called; and no two men listen more eagerly to the replies—suggestions that may be hazarded, or proposals dogmatically slapped down—than Mr. Burnand, who is responsible for the subject, and Sir John Tenniel, whose duty it will be to realise the conception. The latter makes few remarks; he waits, reflects, and weighs, thinking not so much, perhaps, of the political or social, as of the artistic possibilities of the subjects as they are brought up, and other points that recommend themselves both to the artistic and literary members of the Staff. All the while, perhaps, the Editor has a fine subject up his sleeve, and only brings it forth when the discussion has begun to wane. Or a proposal may be made at the very first by one member of the Staff that is accepted at once with acclamation—an event, however, of the utmost rarity; or again, as is usually the case, the final decision may be gradually and almost painfully evolved from this symposium of professional wits and literary politicians. This is the time when the men are apt to lay bare their political beliefs (if any such they have) or their lack of them; and I wager that if poor Keene could once more be present at a Punch Dinner, he would no longer charge it against the Staff that it is "'Musco' to a man."

Indeed, at the present time Punch may be considered to represent the old Whig feeling. Sir John Tenniel, Mr. Anstey, and Mr. Arthur à Beckett are credited with Tory bias; Mr. Milliken, Mr. H. W. Lucy, Mr. R. C. Lehmann, and Mr. Reed represent the Radicals; Mr. Sambourne is Unionist; and Mr. Burnand, as behoves him who holds the scales, confesses to no political sympathies or antipathies whatever.

Thus the subject of the cartoon is settled—often by the aid of the latest editions of the evening papers; and being once settled, is very rarely revived on any pretext whatever. On one occasion, however, when Mark Lemon was Editor, and Shirley Brooks was recognised as the best suggestor, an exceptional incident took place. The subject was duly decided upon, and Brooks went home. After he was gone, and none but Mark Lemon, Charles Keene, Sir John Tenniel, and Mr. Henry Silver were left, Keene, to the surprise of the rest, made a suggestion in connection with the American War then being waged, that was immediately accepted as vastly superior to that which had previously been adopted; and the future Editor was much astonished as he opened his paper on the following Tuesday and his eyes fell on a different and wholly unexpected cartoon. Yet, though Brooks was practically the Suggestor-in-Chief, it would be unfair to pass over the curious fitness of Leech's proposals. They were always marked with equal judgment and taste, and, as it was admitted, his suggestions invariably were "just right."

When the "big cut" has been decided on, the question of a single-page or double-page engraving sometimes comes up; and then the legend has to be settled. This (irreverently known as "cackle" by those who produce it) is largely the work of Mr. E. J. Milliken, who nowadays occupies a good deal of Shirley Brooks's old position of "suggestor," and who, like him, is living testimony of the truth of John Seddon's saying that "wit and wisdom are born with a man." For many years Mr. Milliken has suggested the greater number of the cartoons, and he is generally the first asked for a proposal for Sir John Tenniel's cut. He usually has several subjects, carefully considered and as carefully written out, in his pocket-book, and fitted with peculiarly felicitous quotations. He is also mainly responsible for the Almanac cartoons—subjects for both the great Punch satirists—Sir John, and Mr. Linley Sambourne. All, however, share with him the duty and the credit of the difficult art of cartoon-suggesting, and, no matter by whom it may be proposed, no subject is passed without full discussion. Every possible objection is heard and considered. Although Mr. Milliken may bring in his Bill, amendments are always proposed, and are either rejected or carried; and then the Bill as amended becomes the subject of the cartoon. The title and legend are written on a piece of paper, which, enclosed in an envelope, is then handed over to the cartoonist. It was at this moment that Shirley Brooks used to throw down his knife in order to "cut" any further discussion, and after that symbolic act a more desultory conversation on the other men's work would follow. Not on Leech's, however; for he was left greatly to himself—a piece of masterly inactivity and non-interference on the Editor's part which speaks volumes for Lemon's prudence and shrewd discrimination.

Under Mr. Burnand's régime the course of events is a little altered. For even while Sir John has begun to think out the composition and the technical details of the subject which the Council has determined, and is scheming maybe in his own mind how best he may arrange his figures so that when he draws them the heads will not come across a join on the wood-block where its segments are screwed together; or, again, how so to arrange an exceptionally elaborate subject that Mr. Swain may still have it ready for engraving in good time on the Friday evening, the attention of the Staff is now turned to the "Cartoon junior"—the second cartoon—to which for some years Mr. Linley Sambourne has been giving some of the finest and most ingenious work of his life. This is discussed somewhat like the first, and often enough raises the draughtsman's interest in the work he has to do to a point of genuine artistic enthusiasm. But there appears to be no finality about the second cartoon so far as the Dinner is concerned, and it is no unusual thing in lively times for the subjects to be given at the last moment by telegram to Mr. Sambourne; so that his condition of mind during the Thursday following the Dinner may not inaptly be compared to that of an anxious fireman waiting for a "call." The contributions of the rest of the artistic Staff—Mr. du Maurier, Mr. Bernard Partridge, and Mr. E. T. Reed—do not form the subject of Wednesday's cogitation; nor is it true, as has publicly been stated, that when jokes fail it is customary to draw them from a pot into which, written on slips of paper, they have been deposited on the many occasions when Mr. Punch's cistern of wit has overflowed into the jar in question.

Such is the simple function of "the Punch Dinner." The Editor presides—or, in his absence to-day, Mr. Arthur à Beckett, just as it was Douglas Jerrold and Shirley Brooks in Lemon's time, and Tom Taylor in Brooks's (the duty of vice- or assistant-editor never falling to an artist)—inviting suggestions, "drawing" his artists, and spurring his writers, with rare tact and art; and he challenges comparison with any of his predecessors, just as Sir Frederic Leighton excels all previous Presidents of the Royal Academy. Some of those who sit around the Table, as I have already set forth, have attended for many years; and it is they who secure to Punch that quality of tradition and healthy sense of prestige which strengthen him against every assault, whether of man or of Time himself. To this traditional sense of ancient glory and present vigour Sir John Tenniel has of course contributed more than any other living man; not Leech, nor Thackeray, nor Jerrold, nor Doyle, served Punch more loyally or effectively, and he has secured that the dignified spirit of the paper has suffered no deterioration. To him it falls, also, to see that the subjects of cartoons are not repeated. The tenderness of the Staff for the honour, good name, and pre-eminence of Punch is delightful and touching to behold; the sentiment of a great past animates them all, and kindles in them the hope and ambition for as great and as proud a future.