This year is remarkable for producing perhaps the most ambitious and admirable allegory which the artist ever designed; it bears the title of Old Thirty-nine Shaking Hands with his Good Brother the Pope of Italy, or Covering Up versus Sealing the Bible. Old Thirty-nine (an English bishop) stands on a pile of volumes labelled, “Never-out-ism,” “Ante-biblism,” “Never-the-same-ism,” etc., whilst the pope, standing on the opposite side on a mass of books bearing similar suggestive titles, shakes hands with his “good brother.” By the pope’s side we find the devil busily engaged in sealing up the Bible. Behind him stands the Temple of Mammon, surrounded by a crowd of reverend worshippers. Two fiends standing by the side of “Old Thirty-nine” make preparations for a bonfire, to which sundry bundles labelled, “Articles of Faith,” “Athanasian Creed,” “Catechism,” “Liturgies,” “Nicene Creed,” and so on, will contribute materials. Out of a building in the rear, inscribed, “National School for Thirty-niners only,” issues a procession of ecclesiastics and beadles carrying banners. In the foreground stands the figure of “Divine Truth,” surrounded by little children, and perusing the pages of the “Holy Bible,” held for that purpose by an angel. A roughly executed affair in two compartments, Preachee and Floggee Too, satirizes certain clerical magistrates who, while preaching mercy and forgiveness in the pulpit, distinguish themselves by the severity of their sentences for minor offences on the magisterial bench. The titles of other subjects of the year are: The Hobby Horse Dealer; Johnny Bull and his Forged Notes, or Rags and Ruin in the Paper Currency; Smoke Jack, the Alarmist, Extinguishing the Second Great Fire of London; Love, Law, and Physic (*); The Sailor’s Progress (six subjects); Dandies in France, or Le Restorateur (*); A Match for the King’s Plate; The Belle Alliance, or the Female Reformers of Blackburn (*); Voila t’on mort; and Royal Red Bengal Tiger (etched from the designs of other artists); Irish Decency (two caricatures); Giant Grumbo and the Black Dwarf, or Lord G—— and the Printers Devil; and Our Tough old Ship Steered Safely into Harbour maugre Sharks of the Day (*).
An unsigned caricature, published by Fores on the 15th of May, 1819, appears to me to be due to the hand of George Cruikshank. It bears the title of The Dandy Tailor Planning a New Hungry Dress, and would appear to have reference to some contemplated introduction of foreign mercenaries into the English service. The tailor, while stitching a military jacket, sings a song of which the following is a verse,—
| “A tailor there was, and he lived in a stall, Which served him for palace, for kitchen, and hall. No coin in his pocket, no nous in his pate, No ambition has he, nor no wish to be great. Derry down, down, down, derry down!” |
A foreigner enters in military costume, introducing two foreign mercenaries. “Dese men,” he says, “will teach you de proper vay to make de Hungarian soldats. I did bring dem expres’. Observe des grands mustaches. No more English soldats.” A military figure in jack boots, standing by the side of the tailor, holds the “goose” in readiness for his master’s use. The Prince Regent, especially as George the Fourth, was fond of inventing new military costumes, and Mr. Greville describes him in 1829 (the year before his death) as “employed in devising a new dress for the guards;” but by the mitre at his back, and the reference to his impecunious position, I should take this “tailor” to be intended for the Duke of York.
Ah! sure such a pair was never seen, so justly formed to meet by nature!1820. (*) represents a couple of pears, in which we recognise likenesses of George the Fourth and Queen Caroline, the features of the king being expressive of strong disgust. After Lord Liverpool had decided not to send the “Bill of Pains and Penalties” to the Commons, for the reason stated in a previous chapter, the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Common Council of the City of London distinguished themselves by presenting, on the 10th of December, an address to their “most gracious sovereign,” complaining of things in general, and of public expenditure in particular, the real cause of complaint, however, being “the alleged criminality” which, as the petitioners stated, had been “falsely ascribed” to the queen. This address, which was conceived in the worst possible taste, concluded with the following outrageous prayer: “We therefore humbly pray your Majesty to dismiss from your presence and councils for ever those ministers whose pernicious measures have so long endangered the throne, undermined the constitution, and blighted the prosperity of the nation.” Now, only fancy any Corporation of London in our time signalizing itself by presenting a petition to “Her Most Gracious Majesty,” complaining of the measures of Lord Beaconsfield or Mr. Gladstone, and praying her to dismiss them from her councils! The king returned the following answer: “It has been with the most painful feelings that I have heard the sentiments contained in the address and petition now presented to me by the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Common Council of the City of London. Whatever may be the motives of those by whom it is brought forward, its evident tendency is to inflame the passions and mislead the judgment of the unwary and less enlightened part of my subjects, and thus to aggravate all the difficulties with which we have to contend.” This episode suggested to George one of the most admirable of his caricatures: A Scene in the New Farce as performed at the Royalty Theatre. The corpulent monarch, in the character and costume of Henry the Eighth, is receiving a number of deputations from all parts of England, Scotland, and Ireland, bearing petitions praying him to dismiss his ministry, the members of which stand on each side of the throne, one of the number being habited as a jester. This exceedingly rare plate carries on it the following explanation: “King Henry VIII. being petitioned to dismiss his ministers and council by the citizens of London and many boroughs, to relieve his oppressed subjects, made the citizens this sagacious reply: ‘We, with all our cabinet, think it strange that ye who be but brutes and inexpert folk, should tell us who be and who be not fit for our council.’”
Another of George Cruikshank’s rare and valuable contributions 1821. to the Queen Caroline series of pictorial satires is labelled The Royal Rushlight, which many people (among them the Chancellor and corpulent George) are vainly endeavouring to blow out. By way (it may be) of contrast, this excellent satire has appended to it the following miserable doggerel,—
| “Cook, coachee, men and maids, very nearly all in buff, Came and swore in their lives they never met with such a light; And each of the family by turns had a puff At the little farthing rushlight. But none of the family could blow out the rushlight.” |
With the year 1821 came the closing scene in the drama of Death of Queen Caroline. Caroline’s unhappy but singularly undignified career. On the occasion of the king’s coronation she had applied to Lord Liverpool, desiring to be informed what arrangements had been made for her convenience, and who were appointed her attendants at the approaching ceremony. An answer was returned that, “it was a right of the Crown to give or withhold the order for her Majesty’s coronation, and that his Majesty would be advised not to give any directions for her participation in the arrangements;” but with the obstinacy of purpose which was so fatal a blemish in her character, and which seems to have been the primary cause of all her misfortunes, she insisted on her right, and declared moreover her firm intention of attending the ceremony. A respectful but peremptory reply was returned, reasserting the legal prerogative of the Crown, and announcing that the former intimation must be understood as amounting to a prohibition of her attendance. She was however so ill-advised as to present herself early on the morning of the day (the 19th of July) at the doors of the Abbey of Westminster. The door-keepers refused to allow her to enter as queen; and she was forced to submit to the mortification of having to retire without having succeeded (as it was her evident intention to have done) in marring the arrangements for the splendid ceremony. By this time the enthusiasm in her favour had greatly evaporated, and she was received even coldly by her friends the assembled mob. The mortification proved fatal to her; very shortly afterwards she was taken ill, and died in less than three weeks after the unnecessary mortification to which she had thus insisted on exposing herself.
It is probable that if the wishes of her executors had been allowed to be carried out, the unfortunate woman would have been carried to her grave in peace. She had directed that her remains should, three days after her death, be carried to Brunswick for interment; and had Lord Liverpool been wise, he would have left the executors to carry out the arrangements after their own fashion. Unfortunately, the Government decided to take the arrangements into their own hands, and to lay down the route (the shortest) by which the mournful procession should proceed to Harwich. No fault can be found with the arrangements themselves, which were intended to pay the greatest respect to the memory of the deceased; but the cautions they took brought about the very result they were anxious to avoid, and at once revived all the slumbering sympathies of the mob in favour of the unhappy queen. A squabble took place at the outset, Dr. Lushington, as one of the executors, protesting against the removal of the corpse; but, escorted by squadrons of Horse-guards Blue, the procession left Brandenburg House at eight o’clock in the morning of the 15th of August, in a drizzling rain. The cavalcade reached Kensington in solemn order; but on arriving at the Gravel Pits, and attempting to turn off to the left, its progress was instantly blocked by wagons and carts placed across the road, while a body of men formed across the streets twenty deep and evinced every disposition to dispute the passage. A severe conflict took place between them and the constables, several on both sides being hurt. For an hour and a half the procession waited for orders, and at length it moved towards London. On reaching Kensington Gore a squadron of the Life Guards, with a magistrate at their head, tried in vain to open the park gates, the crowd vociferating in the meantime, “To the city! the city!” On reaching Hyde Park Corner, the gate there was found barricaded with carts, and the procession then moved on to Park Lane, which being also blocked up, it turned back hastily and entered Hyde Park, through which it proceeded at a trot, the soldiers having cleared away the obstacles at the gate. On reaching Cumberland Gate, it was found closed by the populace, and in the conflict which ensued the park wall was thrown down by the pressure of the crowd, who hurled the stones at the soldiers, in return for the use the latter had made of their sabres in clearing the passage. Many of the military and their horses were hurt; and some of the soldiers, irritated by their rough usage, resorted to their pistols and carbines, and two persons (Richard Honey, a carpenter, and George Francis, a bricklayer) were unfortunately killed, and others wounded. The Edgeware Road was blockaded, but quickly cleared, and the procession moved on till it arrived at the turnpike gate near the top of Tottenham Court Road. There the mob made so determined a stand that further opposition was deemed unadvisable, and the popular will being at length acceded to, the cavalcade forthwith took its way into the city. Every street through which a turn could have been made in order to enter the New Road or the City Road was found barricaded. As the funeral passed through the city, the Oxford Blues doing duty there, who had not participated in the outrage, were cordially greeted by the populace on either side of the street. The inquests on the bodies of the dead men lasted for a considerable period. In the case of Francis, a verdict of “wilful murder against a life guardsman unknown” was returned; whilst in that of Honey, the verdict was manslaughter against the officers and men of the first regiment of Life Guards on duty at the time. This event is recorded by George in a caricature entitled, The Manslaughter Men, or a Horse Laugh at the Law of the Land,—two ghostly gory figures rising from their graves, which are respectively inscribed, “Verdict, wilful murder,” and “Verdict, manslaughter”; a group of life guardsmen grin and point at the body, and one of them jeeringly remarks, “Shake not thy bloody locks at me; ye cannot say who did it.” Another satire on the same subject bears the title of The Horse Chancellor obtaining a Verdict, or Killing no Murder.