November 27, 1813. The Execution of two celebrated Enemies of Old England, and their Dying Speeches, November 5th, 1813. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The effigy of Guy Faux, with his lantern, is suspended by a rope round his neck to a gallows, and facing him, on another gallows, is the figure of the Emperor Napoleon, in his uniform as general of the French army. A bonfire is blazing up bravely, and a party of schoolboys and villagers are the delighted spectators. A note informs us that the scene is not an imaginary one, but is a faithful representation of a 'bonfire at Thorpe Hall, near Louth, Lincolnshire, on 5th November, 1813, given by the Rev. W. C—— to the boys belonging to the seminary at Louth, in consequence of the arrival of news of the decisive defeat of Napoleon Buonaparte by the Allies, at 11 o'clock p.m. on the 4th, and Louth bells ringing all night.'
Guy Faux's Dying Speech.
I, Guy Faux, meditating my country's ruin by the clandestine and diabolical means of Gunpowder Plot, was most fortunately discovered and brought to condign punishment by Old England, and here I bewail my fate.
Napoleon Buonaparte's Dying Speech.
I, Napoleon Buonaparte, flattered by all the French nation that I was invincible, have most cruelly and most childishly attempted the subjugation of the world. I have lost my fleets, I have lost the largest and finest armies ever heard of, and I am now become the indignation of the world and the scorn and sport of boys. Had I not spurned the firm wisdom of the Right Hon. William Pitt, I might have secured an honourable peace, I might have governed the greatest nation; but, alas! my ambition has deceived me, and Pitt's plans have ruined me.
November 29, 1813. Dutch Nightmare, or the Fraternal Hug Returned with a Dutch Squeeze. Published by R. Ackermann.—The great Emperor is stretched, sleepless, on his imperial state bed, with the diadem above and a row of captive crowns embroidered round the canopy, the fasces of Roman lictors at the feet, and the furniture powdered with golden eagles and fleur-de-lis. This luxurious couch is not to be coveted, since tranquil rest is out of the question. The Emperor is writhing in agony, saddled with a nightmare which is not to be dislodged. The Hollanders at this time contrived to shake themselves free from their fraternal friends the French, who had laid their country under contributions until the disciples of freedom prayed to be delivered from their tutors. The example of Holland and the victories ending with the triumph at Leipzig gained by the Allies, and especially the successes secured under Wellington, re-encouraged the subjugated and prostrate Powers to look forward to the recovery of their freedom, and to take their revenge on the little conqueror. A stout Dutchman, dressed in his national costume, and wearing the Orange cockade, is, according to the picture, returning the lesson in fraternity which had cost him dear at the hands of the French, by showing his instructor the vigour of a hearty Dutch squeeze. This heavy incubus, with his hands in his pockets, is smoking his pipe, and puffing the distasteful fumes full into the face of the powerless and disgusted Corsican, and crying, 'Orange Boven!'
November 30, 1813. Plump to the Devil we boldly Kicked both Nap and his Partner Joe. Published by T. Tegg (234).—The heavy Hollander, still sporting his Orange colours, is finally roused to dispose of the intruders by the most summary and quickest method possible; with his pipe in one hand and a squab bottle of Schiedam, or Dutch courage, held like a mallet in the other, Mynheer is giving Nap a taste of Dutch weight; one vigorous kick has propelled the little Corsican high into the air and plump into the arms of the Father of Evil, who is emerging from his 'Brimstone Lake' to make sure of his friend. In the distance another Dutchman, provided with a pitchfork, is prodding Napoleon's brother Louis—who had been created King of Holland—towards the same refuge for the destitute; the usurper's crown being left behind in the flight.
December 4, 1813. The Corsican Munchausen—humming the Lads of Paris. Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.—The Emperor, with all the bombast, bravado, and speciousness of which he had an excellent command, has summoned a meeting of his faithful subjects and supporters—who, judging from the expression of their faces, appear but an unwilling and disaffected audience—in order to present his infant son to the people. The scion of the great captain is dressed in a miniature uniform, with a long sabre trailing on the ground, and a gold stick, which he is trying to fancy is a riding-horse. The Imperial throne, the back of which bears a Medusa's head and a globe of the world, is capsized by Munchausen's manœuvrings. The Corsican is vapouring on a grand scale, trying ineffectually to raise the ardour of his dupes: 'Did I not swear I would destroy Austria? Did I not swear I would destroy Prussia? Did I not leave the Russians 1,200 pieces of cannon to build a monument of the victory of Moscow? Did I not lead 498,000 men to gather fresh laurels in Russia? Did I not burn Moscow, and leave 400,000 brave soldiers to perish in the snow, for the good of the French nation? Did I not swear I would destroy Sweden? Did I not swear I would have colonies and commerce? Did I not build more ships than you could find sailors for? Did I not burn all the British produce, bought and paid for by my faithful merchants, before their faces, for the good of them and of my good people of Paris? Have I not called my troops from Holland, that they might not winter in that foggy climate? Have I not called my troops from Spain and Portugal, to the ruin of the English? Did I not change my religion and turn Turk, for the good of the French nation? Have I not blown up the corporal for blowing up the bridge? Have I not robbed the churches of twenty flags to send to my Empress, for the loss of my own flags and eagles? And now, for the good of my Empire, behold, O ye Lads of Paris! I have put the King of Rome in breeches!!!'
December 6, 1813. Funking the Corsican. Published by R. Ackermann.—The situation of the Emperor, as pictured by Rowlandson, is becoming critical; he is elevated on a cask of 'real Hollands Geneva,' on the top of which he is dancing about in exasperation, unable to assist himself, and surrounded by his enemies, who are all putting the great conqueror to his wits' end and revenging themselves by smoking out the Corsican; each of the representatives of the rebellious States and Powers being armed with a pipe, and pouring volumes of the fumes round the person of the tortured general; Spain, Portugal, Hanover; the Cossack, the Pole, Austria, Sweden, Bavaria, and Prussia, seated on a cannon, are all assisting; the King of Würtemburg is provided with a flask of 'Würtemburg drops;' John Bull has his foaming jug of 'brown stout;' while the Dutch Mynheer, seated on a cask of Dutch herrings, with his tobacco-pouch and twists of pigtail, is drawing a flagon of Geneva to drink success to his Serene Highness, sending out a volume of tobacco-fumes, which are completing the irritation of the badgered Corsican, who is kicking off the head of the Hollands cask, into which he will evidently plump head over ears—
The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets.
Before disappearing condign vengeance is threatened on the heads of his enemies: 'Oh! you base traitors and deserters! Eleven hundred thousand Lads of Paris shall roast every one of you alive, as soon as they can catch you!'