The fact that the public was being treated to the excitement of perhaps the most momentous and embittered, if not the hardest-fought election on record, is shown in Rowlandson’s version of the Covent Garden Hustings, round which is assembled a crowd of persons who are being addressed from the platform, whereon stands one of the ministerial candidates, Admiral Lord Hood, who is made to announce his intention of carrying “two faces under a Hood!” This caricature is a pointed comment upon the Court manœuvres, and exposes those royal tactics which had already demoralized the allies of the defunct Coalition Ministry. Major John Cartwright—the consistent and energetic advocate of reform, of which he was one of the most valorous pioneers—is made the mouth-piece of the artist’s satirical strictures, while endorsing those views held by “The Drum-Major of Sedition” (March 29, 1784), as the liberty-loving major, who remained conspicuous in the foremost ranks of reformers all his days, was entitled by his adversaries. A strongly ironical tendency characterizes the speech, which may be regarded as a tolerably pungent electioneering squib:—
|
Themistocles. Lord Hood. |
Demosthenes. Charles James Fox. |
Judas Iscariot. Sir Cecil Wray. |
T. ROWLANDSON: THE RIVAL CANDIDATES—GREAT WESTMINSTER ELECTION. 1784.
“The gallant Lord Hood to his country is dear,
His voters, like Charlie’s, make excellent cheer;
But who has been able to taste the small beer
Of Sir Cecil Wray?
“In vain all the arts of the Court are let loose,
The electors of Westminster never will choose
To run down a Fox, and set up a Goose
Like Sir Cecil Wray.”
[Page 266.
MAJOR CARTWRIGHT, THE DRUM-MAJOR OF SEDITION.
“All gentlemen and other electors for Westminster who are ready and willing to surrender their rights and those of their fellow-citizens to secret influence and the Lords of the Bedchamber, let them repair to the prerogative standard, lately erected at the Cannon Coffee House, where they shall be kindly received—until their services are no longer wanted. This, gentlemen, is the last time of asking, as we are determined to abolish the power of the House of Commons, and in future be governed by Prerogative, as they are in France and Turkey. Gentlemen, the ambition of the enemy is now evident. Has he not, within these few days past, stole the Great Seal of England” (this had actually occurred, the great seal being mysteriously carried off on the eve of the dissolution, which had to be postponed until another seal could be made to replace the missing instrument) “while the Chancellor[62] was taking a bottle with a female favourite, as all great men do? I am informed, gentlemen, that the enemy now assumes Regal Authority, and, by virtue of the Great Seal (which he stole), is creating of Peers and granting of pensions. A most shameful abuse, gentlemen, of that instrument. If you assist us to pull down the House of Commons, every person who hears me has a chance of becoming a great man, if he is happy enough to hit the fancy of Lord Bute and of Mr. Jenkinson.[63] Huzza! God save the King!”
Pitt’s valour, then deemed intemperate, in taking up the reins of office by “the royal will,” and thereby jockeying the discomfited ex-Coalition Ministry, is commented upon by Rowlandson in the course of his numerous caricatures on the great Westminster election. “The Hanoverian Horse and the British Lion; a scene in a new play, lately acted at Westminster with distinguished applause. Act ii., scene last” (March 31, 1784), is a version intended to be prophetic of the end, a view then warranted by circumstances, but one falsified by the results of the general election, which consolidated the power in Pitt’s hands, and completely left the opposition “out in the cold!” a surprise by no means anticipated at the date of the cartoon in question. The Parliament-house is shown as the arena of this constitutional tournament, and the faithful Commons are victimized by the aggressive tendencies of Pitt’s steed; the White Horse of Hanover is trampling upon “Magna Charta,” the “Bill of Rights,” and mangling the “Constitution.” Pitt, a remarkably light and boyish jockey, is exciting the brute, who is neighing, “Pre-ro-ro-ro-ro-rogative” with vicious energy. The youthful premier is enjoying the capers of his mount: “Bravo! go it again; I love to ride a mettle steed. Send the vagabonds packing.” The heels of the White Horse are effectually scaring the members and making a clearance. The British Lion has descended from his familiar post as a supporter of the royal ’scutcheon over the Speaker’s chair; in the vacant space lately occupied by the British Lion is the announcement, “We shall resume our situation here at pleasure.—Leo Rex.” The sturdy figure of the Whig Chief is safely mounted upon the British Lion, who is keeping a watchful eye upon his Hanoverian rival, while protesting, “If this horse is not tamed, he will soon be absolute king of our forest.” Fox has entered on the scene of conflict, armed for the encounter with bit, bridle, and a stout riding-whip, to tame and control the uproarious White Horse; he is volunteering advice to his upstart rival, “Prithee, Billy, dismount before ye get a fall—and let some abler jockey take your seat!” Fox was reckoning without his “Martyrs,” which the results of the election were destined to create on an unprecedented scale, as this review will show. The reverse was shortly to be realized, as set down pictorially by Rowlandson. The poll was opened April 1, and three days later appeared a version of Fox as “The Incurable,” in a strait-waistcoat, and with straw in his hair, singing:—