The History of "Punch"

by M. H. Spielmann

"The Snobs of England" began in the tenth volume, and continued through fifty-one numbers well into the twelfth. The effect of these papers was remarkable; the sensation they caused was profound. It may be compared to that of Jerrold's "Caudle Lectures," save that they appealed to a more cultivated and less demonstrative class, and were appreciated in proportion to their superior merits. The circulation of Punch rose surprisingly under their benign influence, and Thackeray did not leave the subject until he had handled it from every point of view and even carried it abroad. He was, naturally, not a little proud of his first great success, and in his unaffected manner was tempted to speak about it in Society—where more than in any other quarter the papers were appreciated. Unfortunately, according to Dr. Gordon Hake's memoirs, Thackeray broached the subject to George Borrow. He had been trying to make conversation with that strangely crotchety man, but had completely failed. So, being somewhat embarrassed, he asked him abruptly, "Have you read my 'Snob Papers' in Punch?" Borrow seemed to thaw. "In Punch," he repeated sweetly. "It is a periodical I never look at." This was as bad as the Oxford University magnate when Thackeray called upon him in 1857 in reference to his lecturing-tour and mentioned his connection with Punch, the fame of which was great in the land, as a sort of certificate of character—"Punch—Punch?" repeated the ignorant scholar, "is that not a ribald publication?" Thackeray, I may add, in order to impart local colour to his chapters on the Club Snob, with characteristic shrewdness obtained an introduction from Mr. Hampton, the secretary of the Conservative Club, to the Secretaries of the Reform and the Athenæum, and begged their permission to inspect their complaint-books—a fact which has not before been recorded; and from them he gained such an insight into the failings of the snobbish clubman, that that portion of the work is unsurpassed for its truth to life. It is generally understood that he took Mr. Stephen Price, of the Garrick Club, as the model for Captain Shandy, and that his type of the sporting snob was Mr. Wyndham Smith.

There is not much doubt that Thackeray was a little—if ever so little—of a snob himself, and Jerrold's suspicion of him was to that extent justified. He did not show it so much by going into Society, for, as he said to a friend, "If I don't go out and mingle in Society, I can't write"—just as Mr. du Maurier goes out in order to study his world, and as Leech rode to hounds for the sake of his health and work. But Thackeray, who was the writer of some of the most caustic articles on "Jenkins"—(under which name Punch habitually attacked the "Morning Post," the aristocratic airs of which were to him a perpetual provocation)—seemed to take a little more interest in Society than mere curiosity or policy required; and was once thrown heavily in an encounter with the "Post's" reporter. Henry Vizetelly retells the story well in his "Looking Back through Seventy Years":—

A favourite butt for Hannay's savage satire was Rumsey Forster—the Jenkins of the "Morning," or, as Hannay dubbed it, the "Fawning Post"—who had supplanted the ci-devant midshipman in the affections of some pretty barmaid at a London tavern which they both frequented. Forster was most energetic in his particular calling, and is said on one occasion to have obtained admission in the interests of the "Morning Post" to a Waterloo banquet at Apsley House, by getting himself up as one of the extra servants out of livery, called in to assist on these occasions. He was highly indignant with Thackeray for the way in which he persistently ridiculed him in Punch under the cognomen of Jenkins; and I remember, after the author of "Vanity Fair" had become a celebrity, and began to be invited by other wearers of purple and fine linen, besides Lord Carlisle, to their aristocratic soirées, being highly amused by Forster telling me how he had taken his revenge.

"You should know, sir," he said solemnly, "that at Stafford House, Lady Palmerston's, and the other swell places, a little table is set for me just outside the drawing-room doors, where I take down the names of the company as these are announced by the attendant footmen. Well, Mr. Thackeray was at the Marquis of Lansdowne's the other evening, and his name was called out, as is customary; nevertheless, I took very good care that it should not appear in the list of the company at Lansdowne House, given in the 'Post.' A night or two afterwards I was at Lord John Russell's, and Mr. Thackeray's name was again announced, and again I designedly neglected to write it down; whereupon the author of 'The Snobs of England,' of all persons in the world [it must be candidly confessed that Thackeray was himself a bit of a tuft-hunter], bowed, and bending over me, said: 'Mr. Thackeray;' to which I replied: 'Yes, sir, I am quite aware;' nevertheless, the great Mr. Thackeray's name did not appear in the 'Post' the following morning."

In another version of the same story it is recorded that when Thackeray pronounced his name to Rumsey Forster, the latter dramatically retorted, "And I, sir, am Mr. Jenkins"—an account far more artistic, if somewhat less faithful.

After the "Snobs" were finished and the evergreen "Mahogany Tree," in Volume XII., "Punch's Prize Novelists" were begun in April, 1847. In their way these parodies have never been excelled, and the fourth of the series—"Phil Fogarty," by "Harry Rollicker"—was so excellent a burlesque that Charles Lever, on reading this story of the hero of "the fighting onety-oneth," good-humouredly declared that he "might as well shut up shop;" and he actually did change, thenceforward, the manner of his books. These "Prize Novels" continued into the following volume, in which "Travels in London" were begun. These ran into Volume XIV., 1848, in which year their author received from Edinburgh a testimonial from eighty of his Scottish admirers. This took the shape of a silver inkstand in the form of Mr. Punch's person, and greatly resembled that which a similar subscription had already procured for Mark Lemon. It drew from Thackeray a charming letter in acknowledgment. Then followed "A Dinner at Timmins's" (Volumes XIV.-XV.) and "Bow Street Ballads" (Volume XV.), 1848, "Mr. Brown's Letters to a Man about Town" (Volume XVI.), and "Mr. Brown's Letters to his Son" (Volume XVII.), 1849; "The Proser" (Volumes XVIII.-XIX.), 1850, and "Important from the Seat of War" (Volumes XXVI.-XXVII.), 1854. These papers, with the exception of "Mr. Punch to an Eminent Personage" (Volume XXVII., p. 110) and "A Second Letter to an Eminent Personage" (Volume XXVII., p. 113), were the last Thackeray ever wrote for Punch. The statement of his biographers that in the year 1850, "If we except one later flicker in 1854, Thackeray's long connection with Punch died out," is totally incorrect, for in 1851 there are forty-one literary items and a dozen cuts to his credit. But from that time until 1854 he only contributed "The Organ Boy's Appeal" (Volume XXV., p. 144), and thenceforward we hear no more of "Policeman X," of Maloney and his Irish humour, of the Frenchman on whom, in spite of himself, he was always so severe, no more of Jeames, Jenkins, or the rest of the puppets who lived for us under his manipulation.[40]

INKSTAND PRESENTED TO THACKERAY BY HIS EDINBURGH ADMIRERS.

The labour of producing his Punch work was often irksome to him in the extreme, and many a time would he put Mark Lemon off—now, because he was so well in the swim with his novel then in hand that he begged hard to be let off, and again, because the Muse was coy and would not on any account be wooed. On one occasion he wrote explaining with what weariness he had been battening rhymes for three hours in his head, and could get nothing out: "I must beg you to excuse me," he ingeniously added, "for I've worked just as much for you as though I had done something." At other times he would break away from the company he was in, in order to complete his regulation number of columns. His godson, afterwards the Rev. Francis Thackeray, has told us how the great man once took him to a conjuring entertainment and, having secured him a good place, explained "Now, I must leave you awhile, and go and make a five-pound note." And in such a manner, in haste and with disinclination, was often produced what James Hannay calls "the inimitable, wise, easy, playful, worldly, social sketch of Thackeray."

Although, as a rule, Thackeray preferred social to political satire, he would sometimes point an epigram with sharp effect. For example, in 1845, the disclosure in the "Freeman" of J. Young's letter, to the discomfiture of the Whigs and Lord Melbourne, suggested to Thackeray the line: "Young's Night Thought—Wish I hadn't franked that letter!" Its appearance in Punch caused Mr. Sparkes to buttonhole the writer at the Reform Club, and excitedly dilate on the mischief that was being done to the Party by such very public and sarcastic means. Thackeray burst out laughing—"the mountain shook," says the historian—but felt a little genuine pleasure at the circumstance all the same.