It is said that the French are a numerous race,
And perhaps it is true—for ‘ill weeds grow apace’;
But come when they will, and as many as dare,
‘I expect they’ll arive a day after the fair.’
To invade us more safely these warriors boast
They will wait till a storm drives our fleet from the Coast,
That ’twill be an ‘ill wind,’ will be soon understood,
For a wind that blows Frenchmen, ‘blows nobody good.’
They would treat Britain worse than they’ve treated Mynheer,
But they’ll find ‘they have got the wrong sow by the ear.’
Let them come then in swarms, by this Corsican lead,
And I warrant ‘we’ll hit the right nail on the head.’
The year 1804 was a most eventful one for Napoleon. With all his hatred of England, and his wish for her invasion, he was powerless in that matter, and had plenty to employ him at home. The English had got used to their bugbear the flotilla, and the caricaturist had a rest. Napoleon had his hands full. First and foremost was that conspiracy against his life and government, in which Georges Cadoudal, Moreau, and Pichegru figure so prominently, and which entailed the execution of the Duc d’Enghien.
The Bourbon house he so detested,
He had the Duke d’Enghien arrested;
A sort of trial then took place,
And sentence passed—the usual case.
’Tis said that Boney chose a spot,
To see the gallant fellow shot.
Whatever may have been Napoleon’s conduct in this affair, these two last lines are undoubtedly false. The duke had been residing at Ettenheim, in the duchy of Baden, and was thought to be there in readiness to head the Royalists in case of need, that his hunting was but a pretext to cover flying visits to Paris, and that he was the person whom Georges Cadoudal and his fellow conspirators always received bareheaded. He was seized, brought to Paris, and lodged in the Château de Vincennes. A few hours’ rest, and he was roused at midnight to go before his judges. It was in vain he pleaded the innocence of his occupations, and begged to have an interview with the First Consul; yet he declared he had borne arms against France, and his wish to serve in the war on the English side against France; and owned that he received a pension of one hundred and fifty guineas a month from England. He was found guilty and condemned to death, and two hours afterwards was led out into the ditch of the fortress, and there shot, a priest being refused him. O’Meara, describing a conversation with Napoleon on this subject, says: ‘I now asked if it were true that Talleyrand had retained a letter written by the Duc d’Enghien to him until two days after the duke’s execution? Napoleon’s reply was, “It is true; the duke had written a letter offering his services, and asking a command in the Army from me, which that scelerato, Talleyrand, did not make known until two days after his execution.” I observed that Talleyrand, by his culpable concealment of the letter, was virtually guilty of the death of the duke. “Talleyrand,” replied Napoleon, “is a briccone, capable of any crime. I,” continued he, “caused the Duc d’Enghien to be arrested in consequence of the Bourbons having landed assassins in France to murder me. I was resolved to let them see that the blood of one of their princes should pay for their attempts, and he was accordingly tried for having borne arms against the republic, found guilty, and shot, according to the existing laws against such a crime.”’
Ansell (June 2, 1804) gives us ‘The Cold Blooded Murderer, or the Assassination of the Duc d’Enghien,’ in which the duke is represented as being bound to a tree, a soldier on either side holding a torch, whilst Napoleon is running his sword into his heart. D’Enghien bravely cries out, ‘Assassin! your Banditti need not cover my Eyes, I fear not Death, tho’ perhaps a guiltless countenance may appall your bloodthirsty soul.’ Napoleon, whilst stabbing his victim, says: ‘Now de whole World shall know de courage of de first grand Consul, dat I can kill my enemies in de Dark, as well as de light, by Night as well as by Day,—dare—and dare I had him—hark, vat noise was dat? ah! ’tis only de Wind—dare again, and dare—Now I shall certainly be made Emperor of de Gulls.’[1] Devils are rejoicing over the deed, and are bearing a crown. They say: ‘This glorious deed does well deserve a Crown, thus let us feed his wild ambition, untill some bold avenging hand shall make him all our own.’
A Captain Wright figures in this plot; and, as he was an Englishman, and his name is frequent both in the caricature and satire of the day, some notice of him must be given. He was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and somehow got mixed up with this conspiracy. He took Georges Cadoudal and others on board either at Deal or Hastings, and crossed over to Beville, where there was a smuggler’s rope let down from an otherwise inaccessible cliff. By means of this they were drawn up, and went secretly to Paris. The plot failed, and they were thrown into prison, Wright being afterwards captured at sea. Cadoudal went to the scaffold, Pichegru was found strangled in his cell; and Wright, the English said, after being tortured in prison, to compel him to give evidence against his companions, was assassinated by order of Napoleon.
The latter, however, always indignantly denied it, saying that Captain Wright committed suicide. In O’Meara’s book he denies it several times, and an extract or two will be worth noting. ‘In different nights of August, September, and December 1803 and January 1804, Wright landed Georges, Pichegru, Rivière, Costa, St. Victor, La Haye, St. Hilaire, and others at Beville. The four last named had been accomplices in the former attempt to assassinate me by means of the infernal machine, and most of the rest were well known to be chiefs of the Chouans,’ &c. ‘There was something glorious in Wright’s death. He preferred taking away his own life, to compromising his government.’ ‘Napoleon in very good spirits. Asked many questions about the horses that had won at the races, and the manner in which we trained them; how much I had won or lost; and about the ladies, &c. “You had a large party yesterday,” continued he. “How many bottles of wine? Drink, your eyes look like drink,” which he expressed in English. “Who dined with you?” I mentioned Captain Wallis amongst others. “What! is that the lieutenant who was with Wright?” I replied in the affirmative. “What does he say about Wright’s death?” I said, “He states his belief that Wright was murdered by orders of Fouché, for the purpose of ingratiating himself with you. That six or seven weeks previous, Wright had told him that he expected to be murdered like Pichegru, and begged of him never to believe that he would commit suicide; that he had received a letter from Wright, about four or five weeks before his death, in which he stated that he was better treated, allowed to subscribe to a library, and to receive newspapers.” Napoleon replied, “I will never allow that Wright was put to death by Fouché’s orders. If he was put to death privately, it must have been by my orders, and not by those of Fouché. Fouché knew me too well. He was aware that I would have had him hanged directly, if he attempted it. By this officer’s own words, Wright was not au secret, as he says he saw him some weeks before his death, and that he was allowed books and newspapers. Now, if it had been in contemplation to make away with him, he would have been put au secret for months before, in order that people might not be accustomed to see him for some time previous, as I thought this * * * intended to do in November last. Why not examine the gaolers and turnkeys? The Bourbons have every opportunity of proving it, if such really took place. But your ministers themselves do not believe it. The idea I have of what was my opinion at that time about Wright, is faint; but, as well as I can recollect, it was that he ought to have been brought before a military commission, for having landed spies and assassins, and the sentence executed within forty-eight hours. What dissuaded me from doing so, I cannot clearly recollect. Were I in France at this moment, and a similar occurrence took place, the above would be my opinion, and I would write to the English Government: ‘Such an officer of yours has been tried for landing brigands and assassins on my territories. I have caused him to be tried by a military commission. He has been condemned to death. The sentence has been carried into execution. If any of my officers in your prisons have been guilty of the same, try, and execute them. You have my full permission and acquiescence. Or, if you find, hereafter, any of my officers landing assassins on your shores, shoot them instantly.’”’