The Martial Heroes next a tribute claim,
First Wellington, immortal is his fame:
And Blücher, who, for valour long renown’d,
Compell’d the Tyrant’s legions to give ground:
The cautious Swartzenberg, of wise delays,
And the brave Platoff, ask their share of praise.
‘The downfall of Tyranny and return of Peace’ is by George Cruikshank, and, although not dated, is undoubtedly of the autumn of 1815. Justice, with a flaming sword, has banished Napoleon to his rock of St. Helena, where, chained, he is seized upon by the fiend as his own. Peace with her olive branch, Plenty with her cornucopia, Agriculture and Commerce, are welcomed by Britannia with open arms.
Marks (August 1815) drew ‘The Exile of St. Helena, or Boney’s Meditation,’ in which there is a fairly accurate delineation of the Rocky Island and its little town. Napoleon is standing with his feet astride, each planted on a rock on either side the bay; he weeps copiously, and the expression of his countenance is very rueful.
BONEY’S MEDITATIONS ON THE ISLAND OF ST. HELENA. (AUGUST 1815.)
The Devil addressing the Sun.—Paradise Lost, Book IV.
‘Napoleon’s trip from Elba to Paris, and from Paris to St. Helena’ is the title of three engravings on one sheet, by G. Cruikshank (September 1, 1815). In the first compartment is shown the battle of Waterloo, with the French army in full flight. Napoleon is seated on the French Eagle, which, however, has but one wing, for, as it mournfully observes, ‘My left wing has entirely disappeared.’ The Emperor, whose crown and sceptre have fallen from him, clutches the bird round the neck, exclaiming: ‘Sauve qui peut—the Devil take the hindmost—Run, my boys, your Emperor leads the way—My dear eagle, only conduct me safe to Paris this time, as you did from Moscow and Leipsig, and I’ll never trouble you again—Oh! d—n that Wellington!’
The middle picture shows Napoleon in the stern gallery of the ‘Bellerophon,’ talking to John Bull, who sits by his fireside placidly smoking his pipe as usual. Says the ex-Emperor: ‘My most powerful and generous enemy, how do you do? I come, like Themistocles, to seat myself upon your hearth—I am very glad to see you.’ John Bull replies: ‘So am I glad to see you Mr. Boney, but I’ll be d—d if you sit upon my hearth, or any part of my house—it has cost me a pretty round sum to catch you, Mr. Themistocles, as you call yourself, but now I have got you, I’ll take care of you.’
The third is a sad one. Napoleon is at St. Helena, reduced to the sport of catching rats. Across his breast he wears a broad leather scarf, covered with brass rats, and sits moodily before a baited trap, into which the rats decline to enter. He thus soliloquises:—