April 7, 1815. The Flight of Buonaparte from Hell-Bay. Published by R. Ackermann.—We find the anticipations offered in the caricatures of the previous year completely upset by Napoleon's unexpected return. The method of the Corsican's evasion is treated figuratively; in place of the Isle of Elba he is supposed to have escaped from the clutches of the evil one and out of the depths of the infernal regions. The foul fiend, Old Scratch, is represented in person, amusing himself by letting his captive loose to work fresh mischief in the world above. A diabolic armchair of serpents is planted beside the fiery lake, and for pastime Satan is toying with a pipe and blowing air-bubbles, while an attendant imp is holding a saucer of suds. The Corsican has been mounted on a bubble blown by the tempter, and then sent careering back to earth; hissing dragons, and serpents of supernatural species, are hissing forth flames and blasts of fury, which are serving as winds to waft the bubble upwards, while the sulphurous fumes are inspiring the rider with a frantic thirst for vengeance.
April 8, 1815. Hell Hounds Rallying round the Idol of France. Published by R. Ackermann.—The enthusiasm with which the return of 'Boney' was hailed, from his landing in France till his arrival in the capital, and the devoted reception he encountered from his old followers, are made the subjects of more than one travesty. In the present case the head and bust of the Emperor, on a colossal scale—his throat encircled by a hangman's noose—is elevated on an immense pyramid of human heads, his decapitated victims; a brace of demons are flying through the air to encircle the brow of this apostle of freedom with a crown of blazing pitch. A ring of excited demons, with horns, claws, hoofs, and tails, but bearing the heads and faces of Napoleon's supporters, are dancing in triumph round the idol they have replaced. From labels attached to the ropes which surround the throttles of these enthusiastic Bonapartists we discover the so-called 'Hell Hounds' to be Marshals Ney, Lefebre, Davoust, Vandamme, Savery, Caulincourt, with Fouché, and others. The old slaughters have recommenced; towns are committed to the flames, English goods are once more destroyed, and heaped around are soldiers, some dead and others wounded, to serve the cause of a rapacious ambition which had drained the blood of France for years.
1815. Vive le Roi! Vive l'Empereur! Vive le Diable! French Constancy and French Integrity.—As might have been foreseen, Napoleon's old ascendency over the French army asserted itself more strongly than ever; the intermediate state of things and the humiliations to which the country was unavoidably forced to submit during the process of restoring the stolen property and possessions to the rightful owners had increased the national animosity with which the troops and the people continued to regard the foreign invaders, friends, allies, and upholders of Louis le Desiré. The more martial spirits, wearied of a restoration with which France felt no sympathy, began to languish for the presence of their great captain, under whose military empire their laurels had been won. The fickleness and instability of the Gallic race are set forth in the present caricature. A trooper has abjured his allegiance to the Bourbons, and is hailing his Corporal with a pinch from his snuffbox; his hat is still garnished with the white cockade, Vive le Roi! above it is a red one, Vive le Diable! and, on the other side, the famous tricolor, and Vive l'Empereur! French Constancy is illustrated in these interchanged emblems. French Stability appears figuratively likened to the sails of a windmill; as to French Integrity, the emblems of a monkey and cat, kissing and fondling, pictorially sets forth the 'union between the National Guard and the troops of the line.'
April 12, 1815. Scene in a New Pantomime, to be performed at the Theatre Royal, Paris. With entire new music, dances, dresses, scenery, machinery, &c., &c. The principal characters to be supported by most of the great potentates in Europe. Harlequin by Monsieur Napoleon; Clown by King of Wirtemberg; Pantaloon, Emperor of Austria. To conclude with a comic song, to be sung by the Pope, and a grand chorus by the Crowned Heads. Vivant Rex et Regina. Published by R. Ackermann.—The wonderful exhibition is taking place in the state rooms of the Tuileries. The great throne is empty, and the sceptre and crown are temporarily laid on the steps waiting for their owner. Presto! and in flies Harlequin Bonaparte, pursued at once by all the Powers of Europe, tumbling over one another in confusion, but all armed and aiming at the nimble sprite, who had given them so much trouble to capture and secure, and who is once more to be chased, caught, and bound down again. Clown Wirtemberg is letting off a brace of pistols; Dutch Mynheer and a Prussian grenadier are discharging their blunderbusses; Austria, as Pantaloon, is too startled to be effective; the Cossack is giving the fugitive a prod with his long lance; the King of Spain has drawn the sword and aimed such a blow that it has capsized the swordsman and shaken off his crown; the Pope is armed with an axe; and all the other potentates are crowding in, an irregular mob. The portrait of the Empress, as Columbine, is being taken off the walls. As to the Harlequin, his eye looks dangerous; a dagger is held in either hand-he evidently means mischief; one tiger-like spring, and he has eluded all his pursuers, and the blows they are intending for him recoil on themselves. The portrait of Louis the Eighteenth is in the pathway for which he is making, and the nimble Corsican, in his character of Harlequin, is jumping clean through the huge paunch of the tranquil Bourbon and regaining the security of his old strongholds.
April 16, 1815. The Corsican and his Blood Hounds at the Window of the Tuileries, looking over Paris. Published by R. Ackermann.—Boney, on his arrival in Paris, proceeded to his old quarters in the Tuileries, whence Louis the Eighteenth had but just departed. Napoleon, in spite of his fatigue—for he had barely rested since his landing—sat up all night, concerting fresh measures with his supporters; and in the morning he held a grand review in the Champ de Mars, where his presence excited the most frantic demonstrations of fidelity. France showed herself intoxicated with joy at the chance of receiving back a leader with whom she had, inconsistently enough, parted without expressing much emotion or regret, except so far as the Emperor's more immediate personal adherents were concerned. In the picture we have the streets of Paris represented as being filled with a surging multitude of enthusiasts, while standards, eagles, and heads of enemies are held up on pikes, by the wilder fanatics, as signs of encouragement. Death and the Devil are tempting the Corsican from the balcony of the Tuileries; in 'return for more horrors,' and in exchange for 'death and destruction,' all that he sees is offered the conqueror. The bony skeleton is pointing out the bargain with his dart; but Time's hourglass is standing unperceived at Napoleon's side and the sand is running forth. The figure of the Devil is resting his arms fraternally on the shoulders of Boney and Marshal Ney and drawing them into an ill-starred embrace. The other marshals and adherents are in the rear; but a marked expression of apprehension is shown on the faces of the entire party, with the exception of the two supernatural visitors, who are grinning at the anticipation of fresh iniquities and increasing deadly horrors, with which they entertain the certain prospect of being gratified by their pet protégé.
May 10, 1815. The Carter and the Gipsies. Published by T. Tegg.
1815. R. Ackermann's Transparency on the Victory of Waterloo.—The loyal supporters of the Government and that indomitable British nation which had declared 'no surrender to the Corsican,' and, either in victory or defeat, had persevered, while their allies were conquered and their subsidies wasted, were rewarded for the 'outpouring of blood and treasure abroad' and the hard times and anxieties at home by finding that at last, after Waterloo, their enemy was at their mercy. Rejoicings, fireworks, and illuminations became the order of the day; and our artist, who had traced the varying career of the dreaded bugbear Boney, now lent his assistance to commemorate his downfall. In Rowlandson's simple allegory Buonaparte, on his white Arab charger, is riding his hardest away from the British pursuit; he has lost his sword, and his crown is shaken off. Wellington, with his sword ready to smite, is rapidly coming up with the fugitive, whose flight, however, is unexpectedly brought to an end by finding old Blucher, on his sturdy charger, drawn up across the very path he is taking. The redoubtable veteran is discharging a huge blunderbuss full in the face of the common enemy. Incidents in the pursuit of the routed French legions are slightly indicated in the background, and a flight of certain gilded birds are scurrying out of the dangerous vicinity.
July 28, 1815. Boney's Trial, Sentence, and Dying Speech, or Europe's Injuries Revenged.—Napoleon is arraigned, as a criminal at the bar, before the Court of Europe and a crowded tribunal; the seat of chief judge is occupied by Prince Blucher, and the assembled potentates are seated on the bench, wearing their recovered crowns, which the prisoner, in his various triumphs, had so often caused to tremble and, in some cases, had carried off completely. The kings, it is true, do not make an imposing spectacle; with the exception of the Emperor Alexander, who is seated beside the Prince Regent, they still seem to look upon the lately dreaded foe with trepidation. The occupants of the court and the lawyers are regarding the criminal under sentence with abhorrence; a posse of tipstaves are drawn up below the prisoner's bar; and Napoleon, who is trying to move the compassion of his hearers by hypocritical humility, has a friend at his back, who is ready to seize his bond—the Black Fiend is his unseen attendant prompter in person. Old Blucher, clad in his field-marshal's uniform, with the addition of a judge's wig, is standing up, and, with emphatic gestures, is pointing to the act of accusation set forth at length on a screen in the court: 'Napoleon Bonaparte, the first and last by the wrath of Heaven, ex-Emperor of the Jacobins, and Head-Runner of Runaways, stands indicted: 1. For the murder of Captain Wright in the Temple, at Paris. 2. For the murder of the Duke D'Enghien, Pichegru, and Georges. 3. For the murder of Palm, Hofer, &c., &c. 4. For the murder of the twelve inhabitants of Moscow. 5. For innumerable robberies committed on all nations in Christendom and elsewhere. 6. For bigamy; and lastly for returning from transportation and setting the world in an uproar.' The inflexible judge is hurling forth his condemnation: 'You, Nap Bonaparte, being found guilty of all these crimes, it is fallen to my lot to pronounce sentence of death on you. You are to be hung by the neck for one hour till you are dead, dead, dead, and your body to be chained to a millstone and sunk in the sea at Torbay.' The fallen Emperor is naturally much moved at this final judgment, and he is interceding for a respite: 'Oh, cruel Blucher! oh, cruel Wellington! it is you that have brought me to this end. Oh, magnanimous Emperors, Kings, and Princes, intercede for me and spare my life, and give me time to atone for all my sins. My son, Napoleon the Second, will reward you for mercy shown me!'