THE ROGUE’S MARCH.
‘The Rogue’s March’ is by Rowlandson (April 15, 1814),
From fickle Fortune’s gamesome lap
What various titles flow;
The Emperor of Conj’rors Nap,
The King of Beggars, Joe!
a portion of which is reproduced. Blücher is dragging Napoleon and his brother, who are handcuffed, and on a placard which he bears on his shoulder is inscribed ‘Napoleon, late Emperor of the French, King of Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Grand Arbiter of the fate of Nations, &c. &c. &c., but now, by the permission of the Allied Sovereigns, Exile in the Isle of Elba, an outcast from Society, a fugitive, a vagabond. Yet this is the conceited mortal who said, I have never been seduced by prosperity—Adversity will not be able to overcome me.’ In the background drummers are playing ‘The Rogue’s March,’ and all the European Powers dancing round the old Bourbon flag, on which is written ‘Rejoice O ye Kings, Vive le Roi!’
‘The Sorrows of Boney, or Meditations in the Island of Elba!!!’ (April 15, 1814) shews the disconsolate Emperor, seated on the rocky isle, weeping copiously, and staring anxiously at the Continent of Europe which is so well guarded by ships. This engraving did former duty as ‘Crocodile’s tears’ (see [Vol. I. p. 241]).
On April 17, 1814, Rowlandson published ‘The Affectionate farewell, or kick for kick,’ which gives us Talleyrand kicking Napoleon and striking him with his crutch. ‘Va t’en Coquin, I’ll crack your Crown, you pitiful vagabond.’ The fallen Emperor not only puts up with these insults, but, turning round, says, ‘Votre très humble serviteur, Monsieur Tally.’ His maimed soldiery call out, ‘Bone him, my tight little Tally,’ and one even goes so far as to shout out, ‘What! let him sneak off without a mark or a scratch! No, no, I’ll darken his daylights for him.’
‘The Last March of the Conscripts, or Satan and his Satellites hurled to the land of oblivion’ (April 17, 1814), represents Napoleon and his brothers all chained together in a gang, heavily fettered, in tatters, and being whipped by a most ferocious Cossack. To add to poor Boney’s miseries, his little child is pulling at his coat-tails crying, ‘Didn’t you promise me I should be a King?’ Talleyrand is rejoicing, and a large box of crowns and sceptres is labelled, ‘To the right owners.’
‘A delicate finish to a French Usurper’ is by T. N. (April 20, 1814), although Mr. Grego places it as one of Rowlandson’s—who possibly may have etched it.
Boney, Canker of our joys,
Now thy tyrant reign is o’er;
Fill the Merry Bowl, my Boys,
Join in Bacchanalian roar.
Seize the villain, plunge him in;
See, the hated miscreant dies.
Mirth and all thy train come in,
Banish sorrow, tears, and sighs.
This represents Bonaparte, seated on a throne of skulls and bones, very ill indeed. His crown of tyranny has fallen off and is broken, and he is in the act of disgorging ‘The Throne of France,’ having already done so with Holland, Rome, Portugal, &c.—in fact, all his previous successes: nay, the very bees are flying away from off his imperial mantle. Time is putting an extinguisher on his head; whilst the Duke of Wellington, the Emperor Alexander, he of Austria, and the Crown Prince, stand looking at Blücher, who is administering his ‘black draught’ to the patient. Three dancing females—two of them holding a shield charged with the Bourbon lilies over the head of the third—typify the joy of France at the Emperor’s downfall and Louis the Eighteenth’s accession to the throne.