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CARICATURE AND SATIRE
ON
NAPOLEON I.

VOL. II.

WORKS BY JOHN ASHTON.

A HISTORY OF THE CHAP-BOOKS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly 400 Illustrations, engraved in facsimile of the originals. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 7s. 6d.

SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. From Original Sources. With nearly 100 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 7s. 6d.

HUMOUR, WIT, AND SATIRE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly 100 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 7s. 6d.

London: CHATTO & WINDUS, Piccadilly.

ENGLISH
CARICATURE AND SATIRE
ON
NAPOLEON I.

BY
JOHN ASHTON
AUTHOR OF ‘SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE’ ETC.

WITH 115 ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR

IN TWO VOLUMES—VOL. II.

London
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1884

All rights reserved

LONDON: PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET

CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.

ENGLISH CARICATURE AND SATIRE
ON
NAPOLEON THE FIRST.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.
INVASION SQUIBS—CADOUDAL’S CONSPIRACY—EXECUTION OF THE DUC D’ENGHIEN—CAPTAIN WRIGHT.

The Volunteer movement was well shown in a print by A. M., November 1803: ‘Boney attacking the English Hives, or the Corsican caught at last in the Island.’ There are many hives, the chief of which has a royal crown on its top, and is labelled ‘Royal London Hive. Threadneedle Street Honey’—which Napoleon is attacking, sword in hand. George the Third, as Bee Master, stands behind the hives, and says, ‘What! what! you plundering little Corsican Villain, have you come to rob my industrious Bees of their Honey? I won’t trust to your oath. Sting, Sting the Viper to the heart my good Bees, let Buz, Buz be the Word in the Island.’ The bees duly obey their master’s request, and come in clouds over Napoleon, who has to succumb, and pray, kneeling, ‘Curse those Bees they sting like Scorpions. I did not think this Nation of Shopkeepers could sting so sharp. Pray good Master of the Bees, do call them off, and I will swear by all the three creeds which I profess, Mahometan, Infidel, and Christian, that I will never disturb your Bees again.’

‘Selling the Skin before the Bear is caught, or cutting up the Bull before he is killed,’ is by I. Cruikshank (December 21, 1803), and represents a Bull reposing calmly on the English shore, whilst on the opposite or French coast is Bonaparte, Talleyrand, and several Generals. Bonaparte, pointing to the Bull, says: ‘I shall take the Middle part, because it contains the Heart and Vitals—Talley, you may take the head, because you have been accustomed to take the Bull by the horns.’ Britannia stands, fully armed, behind the Bull, by an ‘alarm post,’ on which hangs a bell, ‘British Valor,’ which she is preparing to ring: ‘When these Mounseers have settled their plan, I will just rouse the Bull, and then see who will be cut up first.’

‘New Bellman’s Verses for Christmas 1803!’ is an extremely inartistic work of an unknown man (December 1803); the only thing worth quoting about it are these verses:—

This little Boney says he’ll come
At Merry Christmas time,
But that I say is all a hum,
Or I no more will rhyme.

Some say in wooden house he’ll glide,
Some say in air Balloon,
E’en those who airy schemes deride,
Agree his coming soon.

Now honest people list to me,
Though Income is but small,
I’ll bet my Wig to one Pen—ney,
He does not come at all.

‘More than expected, or too many for Boney’ (artist unknown, December 1803), shows him as an Ass, on whose back is John Bull, Russia, Prussia, and Germany. Says Russia, ‘We all depend upon you Mr. Bull—give him a little more spurring, and we’ll soon make him feel the Rowels.’ John mildly expostulates with his quadruped: ‘Come—come, don’t be sulky—if you won’t go in a snaffle, you must be forced to go in a curb.’

Dean Swift’s immortal book did yeoman’s service to the caricaturists, and we find it again employed in a print by West, December 1803: ‘The Brobdingnag Watchman preventing Gulliver’s landing.’ It is very feeble, and merely consists of George the Third as a watchman turning the light of the ‘Constitutional Lanthorn’ upon Bonaparte and his companions, who are attempting a landing.

Another print, by West (December 1803), shows ‘Mr. and Mrs. Bull giving Buonaparte a Christmas Treat!’ The latter is bound to a post in sight of, but beyond reach of, the national fare of this festival. John Bull says, holding up a piece of beef, in derision, ‘Yes, yes—the Beef is very good, so is the pudding too—but the deuce a morsel do you get of either, Master Boney.’ Mrs. Bull too, who is drinking from a frothing tankard, says: ‘Your health Master Boney, wishing you a merry Christmas,’ but offers him none.

An unknown artist gives an undated picture of ‘a Cock and Bull Story.’ Napoleon, as the Gallic Cock, on his side of the Channel, sings

Cock a dudle doo, I shall come over to you.
I’ll fight true game, and crow my Fame,
And make you all look blue.

John Bull, who is peacefully reposing in his pastures rejoins:—

You impertinent Cock, I’ll have you to know
On this side the Brook, you never shall Crow,
And if you’re not quick, and give up your jaw,
I’ll teach you the nature of English Club Law.

In 1803 was published an amusing squib, in which the names of various plays are very ingeniously made into a patriotic address:—

THE GREEN ROOM OPINION
OF THE
Threatened Invasion.

Should the Modern Tamerlane revive the tragedy of England Invaded, and, in the progress of his Wild goose Chace, escape the Tempest, he will find that, with us, it is Humours of the Age to be Volunteers. He will prove that we have many a Plain Dealer, who will tear off the Mask, under which the Hypocrite, this Fool of Fortune, this Choleric man, has abused a credulous world. Should he, to a Wonder, attempt a Trip to Scarborough, to set them all alive at Portsmouth, or to get on both sides of the gutter, he will assuredly meet a Chapter of Accidents on his Road to Ruin; for Britannia and the Gods are in Council, to make him a Castle Spectre: he will, too late, discover the Secret of Who’s the Dupe; and that it is the Custom of the Country of John Bull, to shew the Devil to pay to any Busybody, who seeks to enforce on us Reformation.

This Double Dealer, who has excited dismay Abroad and at Home, and gained Notoriety by the magnitude of the mischiefs he has achieved, still presumes, by the Wheel of Fortune, like another Pizarro, to satiate his Revenge, and to learn How to grow Rich, by renewing the distressing scenes of the Siege of Damascus; until amongst the desolated ruins of our City, he should establish himself like a London Hermit. That he Would if he Could, is past all doubt; but if he will take a Word to the Wise, from a Man of the World, he will believe He’s much to blame, and All in the Wrong; for the Doctor and the Apothecary are in the Committee; and by good Management, are forward in the Rehearsal of the lively Comedy of the Way to keep Him under Lock and Key. They may not be able to produce for him a Cure for the Heartache, or for the Vapourish Man, but they will shew him at least Cheap Living, and prove that he has sown his Wild Oats, in a Comedy of Errors.

The Poor Soldier, whose generous heart expands to render Love for Love, is like the gallant and gay Lothario, armed for either field, and prepared to give Measure for Measure; and to convert the Agreeable Surprize, which the Acre Runaway anticipates in the Camp, from the Beaux Stratagem into a Tale of Mystery. Appearances are against him, as well as the Chances; but he is a desperate Gamester; and although his schemes of Conquest will end in Much ado about Nothing, like a Midsummer’s night’s Dream, or a Winter’s Tale, yet he is Heir at Law to our hate; and Every one has his Fault, if he does not unite to revive the splendid scenes of Edward the Black Prince, and Henry the Fifth, when France trembled beneath our arms at Cressy and Agincourt; and give to this unprincipled Bajazet an exit corresponding with his crimes.

A NEW SONG OF OLD SAYINGS.

Bonaparte the Bully resolved to come over,
With flat-bottomed Wherries, from Calais to Dover;
No perils to him in the billows are found,
‘For if born to be hang’d, he can never be drown’d.’

From a Corsican dunghill this fungus did spring,
He was soon made a Captain and would be a King;
But the higher he rises the more he does evil,
‘For a Beggar, on horseback, will ride to the Devil.’

To seize all that we have and then clap us in jail,
To devour our victuals, and drink all our ale,
And to grind us to dust is the Corsican’s will—
‘For we know all is grist that e’er comes to his mill.’

To stay quiet, at home, the First Consul can’t bear
Or, mayhap, ‘he would have other fish to fry there’;
So, as fish of that sort does not suit his desire,
‘He leaps out of the frying pan, into the fire.’

He builds barges and cock boats, and craft without end
And numbers the boats which to England he’ll send;
But in spite of his craft, and his barges and boats
‘He still reckons, I think, without one of his hosts.’

He rides upon France and he tramples on Spain,
And holds Holland and Italy tight in a Chain;
These he hazards for more, though I can’t understand,
‘How one bird in the bush is worth two in the hand.’

He trusts that his luck will all danger expel,
‘But the pitcher is broke that goes oft to the well’;
And when our brave soldiers this Bully surround,
‘Though he’s thought Penny Wise, he’ll be foolish in Pound.’

France can never forget that our fathers of yore,
Used to pepper and baste her at sea and at shore;
And we’ll speedily prove to this mock-Alexander,
‘What was sauce for the goose, will be sauce for the Gander.’

I have heard and have read in a great many books,
Half the Frenchmen are Tailors, and t’other half Cooks;—
We’ve fine Trimmings in store for the Knights of the Cloth,
‘And the Cooks that come here, will but spoil their own broth.’

It is said that the French are a numerous race,
And perhaps it is true—for ‘ill weeds grow apace’;
But come when they will, and as many as dare,
‘I expect they’ll arive a day after the fair.’

To invade us more safely these warriors boast
They will wait till a storm drives our fleet from the Coast,
That ’twill be an ‘ill wind,’ will be soon understood,
For a wind that blows Frenchmen, ‘blows nobody good.’

They would treat Britain worse than they’ve treated Mynheer,
But they’ll find ‘they have got the wrong sow by the ear.’
Let them come then in swarms, by this Corsican lead,
And I warrant ‘we’ll hit the right nail on the head.’

The year 1804 was a most eventful one for Napoleon. With all his hatred of England, and his wish for her invasion, he was powerless in that matter, and had plenty to employ him at home. The English had got used to their bugbear the flotilla, and the caricaturist had a rest. Napoleon had his hands full. First and foremost was that conspiracy against his life and government, in which Georges Cadoudal, Moreau, and Pichegru figure so prominently, and which entailed the execution of the Duc d’Enghien.

The Bourbon house he so detested,
He had the Duke d’Enghien arrested;
A sort of trial then took place,
And sentence passed—the usual case.
’Tis said that Boney chose a spot,
To see the gallant fellow shot.

Whatever may have been Napoleon’s conduct in this affair, these two last lines are undoubtedly false. The duke had been residing at Ettenheim, in the duchy of Baden, and was thought to be there in readiness to head the Royalists in case of need, that his hunting was but a pretext to cover flying visits to Paris, and that he was the person whom Georges Cadoudal and his fellow conspirators always received bareheaded. He was seized, brought to Paris, and lodged in the Château de Vincennes. A few hours’ rest, and he was roused at midnight to go before his judges. It was in vain he pleaded the innocence of his occupations, and begged to have an interview with the First Consul; yet he declared he had borne arms against France, and his wish to serve in the war on the English side against France; and owned that he received a pension of one hundred and fifty guineas a month from England. He was found guilty and condemned to death, and two hours afterwards was led out into the ditch of the fortress, and there shot, a priest being refused him. O’Meara, describing a conversation with Napoleon on this subject, says: ‘I now asked if it were true that Talleyrand had retained a letter written by the Duc d’Enghien to him until two days after the duke’s execution? Napoleon’s reply was, “It is true; the duke had written a letter offering his services, and asking a command in the Army from me, which that scelerato, Talleyrand, did not make known until two days after his execution.” I observed that Talleyrand, by his culpable concealment of the letter, was virtually guilty of the death of the duke. “Talleyrand,” replied Napoleon, “is a briccone, capable of any crime. I,” continued he, “caused the Duc d’Enghien to be arrested in consequence of the Bourbons having landed assassins in France to murder me. I was resolved to let them see that the blood of one of their princes should pay for their attempts, and he was accordingly tried for having borne arms against the republic, found guilty, and shot, according to the existing laws against such a crime.”’

Ansell (June 2, 1804) gives us ‘The Cold Blooded Murderer, or the Assassination of the Duc d’Enghien,’ in which the duke is represented as being bound to a tree, a soldier on either side holding a torch, whilst Napoleon is running his sword into his heart. D’Enghien bravely cries out, ‘Assassin! your Banditti need not cover my Eyes, I fear not Death, tho’ perhaps a guiltless countenance may appall your bloodthirsty soul.’ Napoleon, whilst stabbing his victim, says: ‘Now de whole World shall know de courage of de first grand Consul, dat I can kill my enemies in de Dark, as well as de light, by Night as well as by Day,—dare—and dare I had him—hark, vat noise was dat? ah! ’tis only de Wind—dare again, and dare—Now I shall certainly be made Emperor of de Gulls.’[1] Devils are rejoicing over the deed, and are bearing a crown. They say: ‘This glorious deed does well deserve a Crown, thus let us feed his wild ambition, untill some bold avenging hand shall make him all our own.’

A Captain Wright figures in this plot; and, as he was an Englishman, and his name is frequent both in the caricature and satire of the day, some notice of him must be given. He was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and somehow got mixed up with this conspiracy. He took Georges Cadoudal and others on board either at Deal or Hastings, and crossed over to Beville, where there was a smuggler’s rope let down from an otherwise inaccessible cliff. By means of this they were drawn up, and went secretly to Paris. The plot failed, and they were thrown into prison, Wright being afterwards captured at sea. Cadoudal went to the scaffold, Pichegru was found strangled in his cell; and Wright, the English said, after being tortured in prison, to compel him to give evidence against his companions, was assassinated by order of Napoleon.

The latter, however, always indignantly denied it, saying that Captain Wright committed suicide. In O’Meara’s book he denies it several times, and an extract or two will be worth noting. ‘In different nights of August, September, and December 1803 and January 1804, Wright landed Georges, Pichegru, Rivière, Costa, St. Victor, La Haye, St. Hilaire, and others at Beville. The four last named had been accomplices in the former attempt to assassinate me by means of the infernal machine, and most of the rest were well known to be chiefs of the Chouans,’ &c. ‘There was something glorious in Wright’s death. He preferred taking away his own life, to compromising his government.’ ‘Napoleon in very good spirits. Asked many questions about the horses that had won at the races, and the manner in which we trained them; how much I had won or lost; and about the ladies, &c. “You had a large party yesterday,” continued he. “How many bottles of wine? Drink, your eyes look like drink,” which he expressed in English. “Who dined with you?” I mentioned Captain Wallis amongst others. “What! is that the lieutenant who was with Wright?” I replied in the affirmative. “What does he say about Wright’s death?” I said, “He states his belief that Wright was murdered by orders of Fouché, for the purpose of ingratiating himself with you. That six or seven weeks previous, Wright had told him that he expected to be murdered like Pichegru, and begged of him never to believe that he would commit suicide; that he had received a letter from Wright, about four or five weeks before his death, in which he stated that he was better treated, allowed to subscribe to a library, and to receive newspapers.” Napoleon replied, “I will never allow that Wright was put to death by Fouché’s orders. If he was put to death privately, it must have been by my orders, and not by those of Fouché. Fouché knew me too well. He was aware that I would have had him hanged directly, if he attempted it. By this officer’s own words, Wright was not au secret, as he says he saw him some weeks before his death, and that he was allowed books and newspapers. Now, if it had been in contemplation to make away with him, he would have been put au secret for months before, in order that people might not be accustomed to see him for some time previous, as I thought this * * * intended to do in November last. Why not examine the gaolers and turnkeys? The Bourbons have every opportunity of proving it, if such really took place. But your ministers themselves do not believe it. The idea I have of what was my opinion at that time about Wright, is faint; but, as well as I can recollect, it was that he ought to have been brought before a military commission, for having landed spies and assassins, and the sentence executed within forty-eight hours. What dissuaded me from doing so, I cannot clearly recollect. Were I in France at this moment, and a similar occurrence took place, the above would be my opinion, and I would write to the English Government: ‘Such an officer of yours has been tried for landing brigands and assassins on my territories. I have caused him to be tried by a military commission. He has been condemned to death. The sentence has been carried into execution. If any of my officers in your prisons have been guilty of the same, try, and execute them. You have my full permission and acquiescence. Or, if you find, hereafter, any of my officers landing assassins on your shores, shoot them instantly.’”’

CHAPTER XXXIX.
NAPOLEON PROCLAIMED EMPEROR—THE FLOTILLA—INVASION SQUIBS.

The most important event of the year to Napoleon himself, was his being made Emperor. Although First Consul for life, with power to appoint his successor, it did not satisfy his ambition. He would fain be Emperor, and that strong will, which brooked no thwarting, took measures to promote that result. In the Senate M. Curée moved, ‘that the First Consul be invested with the hereditary power, under the title of Emperor,’ and this motion was but feebly fought against by a few members, so that at last an address was drawn up, beseeching Napoleon to yield to the wishes of the nation. A plébiscite was taken on the subject, with the result that over three millions and a half people voted for it, and only about two thousand against it. On May 18, Cambacérès, at the head of the Senate, waited upon Napoleon, at St. Cloud, with an address detailing the feelings and wishes of the nation. It is needless to say that Napoleon ‘accepted the Empire, in order that he might labour for the happiness of the French.’

The brave First Consul now began
To set on foot his fav’rite plan;
The Senate, when the door was clos’d,
As Emperor of France, propos’d
Brave Boney, and his heirs, and then
They call’d him worthiest of men;
So much accustom’d down to cram a lie,
They prais’d, too, his illustrious family.
What sweet addresses, what kind answers,
A proof mankind, too, oft in France errs;
All these were equally prepared
In Boney’s closet, ’tis declared.
Addresses from the army came,
Which were in tendency the same.
Nap manag’d matters with facility,
Such was the people’s instability.
A deputation waited on him,
And by solicitation won him;
In a fine sentimental speech,
Began they Boney to beseech,
That he would graciously agree
The Emperor of France to be;
Elected by the general voice,
They said he was the people’s Choice,
And begg’d the title to confer
On one who was not prone to err.
Nap much humility pretended,
But to accept it condescended.
The business settled thus, nem. con.
He put th’ imperial purple on,
More gay appear’d his lovely wife,
Than e’er she did in all her life;
It was enough to make her grin,
As she was Empress Josephine.
Nap now sent letters by the dozens,
To the French Bishops, his new cousins,
Informing them that Heav’n, indeed,
His elevation had decreed;
And, trusting for the same, that they
Wou’d order a thanksgiving day.
As Nap—’twas wise we must allow—
A Roman Catholic was now;
A prayer had been, to this intent,
By the Pope’s legate to them sent.
Moreover, all the Christian Nations,
Received the same notifications.
Soon made they every preparation
For a most brilliant Coronation.

The flotilla, on the other side of the Channel, was still looked upon with uneasiness, and watched with jealous care. Still, we find that it was only at the commencement of the year that it was caricatured, Napoleon’s being made Emperor proving a more favourite subject; and, besides, a feeling sprung up that there was not much mischief in it.

One of the most singular caricatures, in connection with the projected invasion, that I have met with is by Ansell, January 6, 1804. ‘The Coffin Expedition, or Boney’s Invincible Armada Half seas over.’ The flotilla is here represented as gunboats, in the shape of coffins: all the crews, naval and military, wearing shrouds; whilst at the masthead of each vessel is a skull with bonnet rouge. It is needless to say they are represented as all foundering, one man exclaiming, ‘Oh de Corsican Bougre was make dese Gun boats on purpose for our Funeral.’ Some British vessels are in the mid distance, and two tars converse thus: ‘I say Messmate, if we dont bear up quickly, there will be nothing left for us to do.’ ‘Right, Tom, and I take them there things at the Masthead to be Boney’s Crest, a skull without brains.’

‘Dutch Embarkation; or Needs must when the Devil drives!!’ (artist unknown, January 1804) represents Bonaparte, with drawn sword, driving fat, solid Dutchmen each into a gun-boat about as big as a walnut-shell. One remonstrates: ‘D—n such Liberty, and D—n such a Flotilla!! I tell you we might as well embark in Walnut Shells.’ But Bonaparte replies: ‘Come, come, Sir, no grumbling, I insist on your embarking and destroying the modern Carthage—don’t you consider the liberty you enjoy—and the grand flotilla that is to carry you over!’

As good a one as any of Gillray’s caricatures is the King of Brobdingnag and Gulliver, February 10, 1804—scene, ‘Gulliver manœuvring with his little boat in the cistern.’ The king and queen (excellent likenesses) and two princesses are looking on at Bonaparte sailing, whilst the young princes are blowing, to make a wind for him. Lord Salisbury stands behind the royal chair, and beefeaters and ladies of the court complete the scene. This, however, is specially described as ‘designed by an amateur, etched by Gillray.’

THE KING OF BROBDINGNAG AND GULLIVER.

‘A French Alarmist, or John Bull looking out for the Grand Flotilla!!’ (West, March 1804.) He is on the coast, accompanied by his bull-dog, and armed with a sword, looking through a telescope. Behind him is a Frenchman, who is saying, ‘Ah! Ah! Monsieur Bull,—dere you see our Grande flotilla—de grande gon boats—ma foi—dere you see em sailing for de grand attack on your nation—dere you see de Bombs and de Cannons—Dere you see de Grande Consul himself at de head of his Legions. Dere you see——’ But John Bull replies, ‘Mounseer, all this I cannot see—because ’tis not in sight.’

We now come to the caricatures relating to the Empire.

A print, attributed to Rowlandson (May 1804?), shows ‘A Great Man on his Hobby Horse, a design for an Intended Statue on the Place la Liberté at Paris.’ Napoleon is riding the high horse ‘Power,’ which prances on a Globe.

‘A new French Phantasmagoria’ is by an unknown artist (May 1804). John Bull cannot realise the fact of Napoleon being Emperor, but stares at him through an enormous pair of spectacles. ‘Bless me, what comes here—its time to put on my large spectacles, and tuck up my trowsers. Why, surely, it can’t be—it is Bonny too, for all that. Why what game be’st thee at now? acting a play mayhap. What hast thee got on thy head there? always at some new freak or other.’ Bonaparte, in imperial robes, and with crown and sceptre, holds out his hand, and says: ‘What! my old Friend, Mr. Bull, don’t you know me?’

Ansell gives us (May 28, 1804) ‘The Frog and the Ox, or The Emperor of the Gulls in his stolen gear.’ Napoleon, very small, is depicted as capering about in imperial robes, with an enormous crown made of coins, daggers, and a cup of poison; his sceptre has for its top a guillotine. George the Third is regarding him through his glass. Napoleon says, ‘There Brother! there! I shall soon be as Big as you, it’s a real Crown, but it’s cursed heavy, my Head begins to ache already. I say Can’t we have a grand meeting like Henry the 8th and Francis the 1st?’ King George cannot quite make out the mannikin. ‘What have we got here, eh? A fellow that has stolen some Dollars, and made a Crown of them, eh? and then wants to pass them off for Sterling; it won’t go, it won’t pass Fellow.’ Beside the King is a bull, and behind Napoleon is a frog, who is trying to swell to the bull’s proportions, whilst John Bull laughingly remarks, ‘Dang it, why a looks as tho a’d burst: a’l nerr be zo big as one of our Oxen tho.’

‘Injecting blood Royal, or Phlebotomy at St. Cloud,’ shews Napoleon, in his new phase of power, having the blood of a Royal Tiger infused into his veins. He says, ‘It’s a delightful operation! I feel the Citizenship oozing out at my fingers’ ends.—let all the family be plentifully supplied! Carry up a Bucket full to the Empress immediately!!!’

In June 1804 I. Cruikshank drew a picture called ‘the Right Owner.’ Louis the Eighteenth appears to Napoleon, and, pointing to his crown, says, ‘That’s Mine.’ Napoleon, who is seated on his throne, armed with sword, pistols, and dagger, shrinks back in violent alarm, exclaiming, ‘Angels and Ministers of Grace defend me.’

‘A Proposal from the New Emperor’ is a caricature by Ansell (July 9, 1804). He comes, cap, or rather crown, in hand, to John Bull, saying, ‘My Dear Cousin Bull—I have a request to make you—the good people whom I govern, have been so lavish of their favors towards me—that they have exhausted every title in the Empire—therefore, in addition, I wish you to make me a Knight of Malta.’ John Bull replies, ‘I’ll see you d—d first!! You know I told you so before.’

‘The Imperial Coronation’ is a very inartistic sketch by an unknown artist (July 31, 1804). Napoleon is being crowned by the Pope, who says, ‘In a little time you shall see him, and in a little time you shall not see him,’ and then lets down the crown, with cruel force, by a rope and pulley from the gibbet from which it has been suspended. Its weight crushes him through the platform on which he has been sitting, and he exclaims, ‘My dear Talleyrand, save me; My throne is giving way. I am afraid the foundation is rotten, and wants a deal of mending.’ Talleyrand sympathisingly answers, ‘Oh, Master, Master, the Crown is too heavy for you.’

I. Cruikshank drew ‘Harlequin’s last Skip’ (August 23, 1804). Bonaparte is represented in a harlequin’s suit, enormous cocked hat, boots, and a blackened face. His sword is broken, and, with upraised hands, in a supplicating attitude, he exclaims, ‘O Sacre Dieu! John Bull is de very Devil.’ John Bull, with upraised cudgel, says: ‘Mr. Boney Party, you have changed Characters pretty often and famously well, and skipped about at a precious rate. But this Invasion hop is your last—we have got you snug—the devil a trap to get through here—Your conjuration sword has lost its Power; you have lied till you are black in the face, and there is no believing a word you say—so now you shall carry John Bull’s mark about with you, as every swaggerer should.’

‘British men of war towing in the Invader’s Fleet,’ artist unknown (September 25, 1804), shows a number of English sailors seated on the necks of French and Dutch men, whom they are guiding over the sea to England. One sailor, evidently a Scotchman, is pulling his opponent’s ears; the poor Frenchman cries out, ‘Oh Morbleu! de salt water make me sick; O mine pauvre Ears!’ but his ruthless conqueror has no pity, ‘Deil tak your soul, ye lubberly Loon, gin ye dinna mak aw sail, I’ll twist off your lugs.’ An English sailor rides the redoubtable Boney, and pulls his nose: ‘Steady Master Emperor, if you regard your Imperial Nose. Remember a British Tar has you in tow—No more of this wonderful, this great and mighty nation who frighten all the world with their buggabo invasion.’ But Boney pleads, ‘Oh! mercy, take me back, me will make you all Emperors; it will be Boney here, Boney there, and Boney everywhere, and me wish to my heart me was dead.’ An Irish sailor on a Dutchman yells out, ‘By Jasus, my Jewel, these bum boats are quizzical toys and sure—heave ahead, you bog trotting spalpeen, or I shall be after keel hauling you. Huzza, Huzza, Huzza, my boys, Huzza! ’Tis Britannia boys, Britannia rules the waves.’ Another Dutchman complains, ‘O Mynheer Jan English you vill break my back.’ But the relentless sailor who bestrides him takes out his tobacco-box, and says, ‘Now for a quid of comfort! pretty gig for Jack Tars. Good bye to your bombast, we’re going to Dover, Was ever poor Boney, so fairly done over.’

A most remarkable caricature by Ansell (October 25, 1804) shows to what length party spirit will lead men—making truth entirely subservient to party purposes. It probably paid to vilify Napoleon, and consequently this picture was produced. It is called ‘Boney’s Inquisition. Another Specimen of his Humanity on the person of Madame Toussaint.’ Whatever may be our opinion of his treatment of Toussaint l’Ouverture, the only record we have in history (and I have expended much time and trouble in trying to find out the truth of the matter) is that his family, who were brought to France at the same time as himself, took up their residence at Agen, where his wife died in 1816. His eldest son, Isaac, died at Bordeaux in 1850. Now to describe the picture. Madame l’Ouverture is depicted as being bound to a stretcher nearly naked, whilst three Frenchmen are tearing her breasts with red-hot pincers. Another is pulling out her finger-nails with a similar instrument. She exclaims: ‘Oh Justice! Oh Humanity, Oh Deceitfull Villain, in vain you try to blot the Character of the English: ’tis their magnanimity which harrasses your dastard soul.’ One of the torturers says: ‘Eh! Diable! Why you no confess noting?’ Napoleon is seated on his throne, watching the scene with evident delight, chuckling to himself, ‘This is Luxury. Jaffa, Acre, Toulon and D’Enghien was nothing to it. Slave, those pincers are not half hot, save those nails for my Cabinet, and if she dies, we can make a confession for her.’

‘The Genius of France nursing her darling’ is by a new hand, T. B. d——lle (November 26, 1804). ‘France, whilst dandling her darling, and amusing him with a rattle, sings—

There’s a little King Pippin
He shall have a Rattle and Crown;
Bless thy five Wits,[2] my Baby,
Mind it don’t throw itself down!
Hey my Kitten, my Kitten, &c.

An unknown artist (December 11, 1804) gives us ‘The death of Madame Republique.’ Madame lies a corpse on her bed. Sieyès, as nurse, dandles the new emperor. John Bull, spectacles on nose, inquires, ‘Pray Mr. Abbé Sayes—what was the cause of the poor lady’s Death? She seem’d at one time in a tolerable thriving way.’ Sieyès replies, ‘She died in Child bed, Mr. Bull, after giving birth to this little Emperor.’

‘The Loyalist’s Alphabet, an Original Effusion,’ by James Bisset (September 3, 1804), consists of twenty-four small engravings, each in a lozenge.

‘A, stands for Albion’s Isle,’—Britannia seated.

‘B, for brave Britons renown’d.’—A soldier and sailor shaking hands.

‘C, for a Corsican tyrant,’—Napoleon, with a skull, the guillotine, &c., in the background.

‘D, his dread downfall must sound.’—Being hurled from his throne by lightning.

‘E, for embattl’d we stand,’—A troop of soldiers.

‘F, ’gainst the French our proud Foes,’—shews England guarded by her ships,’ and the flotilla coming over.

‘G, for our glorious Gunners,’—Three artillerymen, and a cannon.

‘H, for Heroical blows,’—shews a ship being blown up.

‘I, for Invasion once stood,’—Some soldiers carousing. The English flag above the tricolour.

‘J, proves ’twas all a mere Joke.’—A soldier laughing heartily, and holding his sides.

‘K, for a favorite King, to deal against Knaves a great stroke.—Medallion of George the Third.

‘L, stands for Liberties’ laws,’—A cap of liberty, mitre, pastoral staff, crown, and open book.

‘M, Magna Charta’s strong chain.’—A soldier, sailor, Highlander, and civilian, joining hands.

‘N, Noble Nelson, whom Neptune, near Nile crown’d the Lord of the Main,’—is a portrait of the Hero.

‘O, stands for Britain’s fam’d Oak,’—which is duly portrayed.

‘P, for each brave British Prince.’—The three feathers show the Prince of Wales, in volunteer uniform.

‘Q, never once made a Question, Respecting the Deeds they’d evince,’—is an officer drawing his sword.

‘If R, for our Rights takes the field,’—is a yeomanry volunteer.

‘Or S, should a signal display,’—The British Standard.

‘They’d each call with T for the Trumpet. To Horse my brave boys and away.’—A mounted Trumpeter.

‘U, for United, we stand, V for our bold Volunteers,’—represents one of the latter.

‘Whom W welcomes in War, and joins loyal X in three Cheers.’—A soldier and sailor, with hands clasped, cheering.

‘With Y all our Youths sally forth, the standards of Freedom advance,’—is a cannon between two standards.

‘With Z proving Englishmen’s Zeal, to humble the Zany of France,’—shews Napoleon with a fool’s cap on, chained to the wall in a cell.

CHAPTER XL.
NAPOLEON’S CORONATION.

Napoleon’s coronation was the great event of the year; but some time before it was consummated the English caricaturist took advantage of it, and J. B. (West), in September 1804, produced a ‘Design for an Imperial Crown to be used at the Coronation of the New Emperor.’ A perusal of the foregoing pages will render any explanation unnecessary.

Cushion of Usurpation

Napoleon omitted no ceremony which could enhance the pageant of his coronation. The Pope must be present: no meaner ecclesiastic should hallow this rite, and he was gently invited to come to Paris for this purpose. Poor Pius VII. had very little option in the matter. His master wanted him, and he must needs go; but Napoleon gilded the chain which drew him. During the whole of his journey he was received with the greatest reverence, and could hardly have failed to have been impressed with the great care and attention paid to him. For instance, the dangerous places in the passage of the Alps were protected by parapets, so that his Holiness should incur no danger. On his arrival at Paris he was lodged in the Tuileries, and a very delicate attention was paid him—his bedchamber was fitted as a counterpart of his own in the palace of Monte-Cavallo, at Rome.

The eventful 2nd of December came at last; but, before we note the ceremony itself, we must pause awhile to see how the English caricaturist treated the procession.

Hardly any one of Gillray’s caricatures (January 1, 1805) is as effective as ‘The Grand Coronation Procession of Napoleone the 1st, Emperor of France, from the Church of Notre Dame, Dec. 2nd, 1804. Redeunt Satania regna, Iam nova progenies cœlo demittitur alto!’ Huge bodies of troops form the background, whose different banners are—a comet setting the world ablaze; an Imperial crown and the letters SPQN; un Dieu, un Napoleon; a serpent biting its tail, surrounding a crowned N. and a Sun, ‘Napoleone y^e 1st le Soleil de la Constitution.’

The procession is headed by ‘His Imperial Highness Prince Louis Buonaparte Marbœuf’ (a delicate hint as to his paternity), ‘High Constable of the Empire,’ who, theatrically dressed, struts, carrying a drum-major’s staff fashioned like a sceptre. Behind him come ‘The Three Imperial Graces, viz. their Imp. High. Princess Borghese, Princess Louis (cher amie of y^e Emperor) & Princess Joseph Bonaparte.’ These ladies are clad in a most diaphanous costume, which leaves little of their forms to the imagination, and they occupy themselves by scattering flowers as they pass along.

THE THREE GRACES.

TALLEYRAND, KING AT ARMS.

After them comes ‘Madame Talleyrand (ci-devant Mrs. Halhead the Prophetess),’ a stout, Jewish-looking woman, who is ‘Conducting the Heir Apparent in y^e Path of Glory’—and a most precocious little imp it looks. After them hobbles ‘Talleyrand Perigord, Prime Minister and King at Arms, bearing the Emperor’s Genealogy,’ which begins with ‘Buone Butcher,’ goes on with ‘Bonny Cuckold,’ till it reaches the apex of ‘Boney Emperor.’ Pope Pius VII. follows, and under his cope is the devil disguised as an acolyte, bearing a candle; Cardinal Fesch is by, and acts as thurifer. The incense is in clouds: ‘Les Addresses des Municipalités de Paris—Les Adorations des Badauds—Les Hommages des Canailles—Les Admirations des Fous—Les Congratulations des Grenouilles—Les Humilités des Poltrons.’

NAPOLEON IN HIS CORONATION ROBES.

Then comes the central figures of the pageant, ‘His Imperial Majesty Napoleone y^e 1^st and the Empress Josephine,’ the former scowling ferociously, the latter looking blowsy, and fearfully stout. Three harridans, ‘ci-devant Poissardes,’ support her train, whilst that of Napoleon is borne by a Spanish don, an Austrian hussar, and a Dutchman, whose tattered breeches testify to his poverty. These are styled ‘Puissant Continental Powers—Train Bearers to the Emperor.’ Following them come ‘Berthier, Bernadotte, Angerou, and all the brave Train of Republican Generals;’ but they are handcuffed, and their faces display, unmistakably, the scorn in which they hold their old comrade. Behind them poses a short corpulent figure, ‘Senator Fouché, Intendant General of y^e Police, bearing the Sword of Justice.’ But Fouché is not content with this weapon. His other hand grasps an assassin’s dagger, and both it, and the sword, are well imbrued in blood. The rear of the procession is made up of a ‘Garde d’Honneur,’ which consists of a gaoler with the keys of the Temple and a set of fetters; a mouchard with his report, ‘Espionnage de Paris;’ Monsieur de Paris, the executioner, bears a coil of rope with a noose, and a banner with a representation of the guillotine—and a prisoner, holding aloft two bottles respectively labelled Arsenic and Opium. More banners and more soldiers fill up the background.

What a sight that must have been on the morning of the 2nd of December! Visitors from all parts of France were there; and the cathedral of Notre-Dame must have presented a gorgeous coup d’œil, with its splendid ecclesiastical vestments, its magnificent uniforms, and the beautiful dresses and jewels of the ladies. It can hardly be imagined, so had better be described in the words of an eyewitness, Madame Junot.[3]

‘Who that saw Notre-Dame on that memorable day, can ever forget it? I have witnessed in that venerable pile the celebration of sumptuous and solemn festivals; but never did I see anything at all approximating in splendour to the coup d’œil exhibited at Napoleon’s Coronation. The vaulted roof re-echoed the sacred chanting of the priests, who invoked the blessing of the Almighty on the ceremony about to be celebrated, while they awaited the arrival of the Vicar of Christ, whose throne was prepared near the altar. Along the ancient walls of tapestry were ranged, according to their rank, the different bodies of the State, the deputies from every City; in short, the representatives of all France assembled to implore the benediction of Heaven on the sovereign of the people’s choice. The waving plumes which adorned the hats of the Senators, Counsellors of State, and Tribunes; the splendid uniforms of the military; the clergy in all their ecclesiastical pomp; and the multitude of young and beautiful women, glittering in jewels, and arrayed in that style of grace and elegance which is only seen in Paris;—altogether presented a picture which has, perhaps, rarely been equalled, and certainly never excelled.

‘The Pope arrived first; and at the moment of his entering the Cathedral, the anthem Tu es Petrus was commenced. His Holiness advanced from the door with an air at once majestic and humble. Ere long, the firing of cannon announced the departure of the procession from the Tuileries. From an early hour in the morning the weather had been exceedingly unfavourable. It was cold and rainy, and appearances seemed to indicate that the procession would be anything but agreeable to those who joined it. But, as if by the especial favour of Providence, of which so many instances are observable in the career of Napoleon, the clouds suddenly dispersed, the sky brightened up, and the multitudes who lined the streets from the Tuileries to the Cathedral, enjoyed the sight of the procession, without being, as they had anticipated, drenched by a December rain. Napoleon, as he passed along, was greeted by heartfelt expressions of enthusiastic love and attachment.

‘On his arrival at Notre-Dame, Napoleon ascended the throne, which was erected in front of the grand altar. Josephine took her place beside him, surrounded by the assembled sovereigns of Europe. Napoleon appeared singularly calm. I watched him narrowly, with the view of discovering whether his heart beat more highly beneath the imperial trappings, than under the uniform of the guards; but I could observe no difference, and yet I was at the distance of only ten paces from him. The length of the ceremony, however, seemed to weary him; and I saw him several times check a yawn. Nevertheless, he did everything he was required to do, and did it with propriety. When the Pope anointed him with the triple unction on his head and both hands, I fancied, from the direction of his eyes, that he was thinking of wiping off the oil rather than of anything else; and I was so perfectly acquainted with the workings of his countenance, that I have no hesitation in saying that was really the thought that crossed his mind at that moment. During the ceremony of anointing, the Holy Father delivered that impressive prayer which concluded with these words:—“Diffuse, O Lord, by my hands, the treasures of your grace and benediction on your servant, Napoleon, whom, in spite of our personal unworthiness, we this day anoint Emperor, in your name.” Napoleon listened to this prayer with an air of pious devotion; but just as the Pope was about to take the crown, called the Crown of Charlemagne, from the altar, Napoleon seized it, and placed it on his own head. At that moment he was really handsome, and his countenance was lighted up with an expression, of which no words can convey an idea. He had removed the wreath of laurel which he wore on entering the church, and which encircles his brow in the fine picture of Gérard. The crown was, perhaps, in itself, less becoming to him; but the expression excited by the act of putting it on, rendered him perfectly handsome.

‘When the moment arrived for Josephine to take an active part in the grand drama, she descended from the throne and advanced towards the altar, where the Emperor awaited her, followed by her retinue of Court ladies, and having her train borne by the Princesses Caroline, Julie, Eliza, and Louis. One of the chief beauties of the Empress Josephine was not merely her fine figure, but the elegant turn of her neck, and the way in which she carried her head; indeed, her deportment, altogether, was conspicuous for dignity and grace. I have had the honour of being presented to many real princesses, to use the phrase of the Faubourg St.-Germain, but I never saw one who, to my eyes, presented so perfect a personification of elegance and majesty. In Napoleon’s countenance, I could read the conviction of all I have just said. He looked with an air of complacency at the Empress as she advanced towards him; and when she knelt down—when the tears, which she could not repress, fell upon her clasped hands, as they were raised to Heaven, or rather to Napoleon—both then appeared to enjoy one of those fleeting moments of pure felicity, which are unique in a lifetime, and serve to fill up a lustrum of years. The Emperor performed, with peculiar grace, every action required of him during the ceremony; but his manner of crowning Josephine was most remarkable: after receiving the small crown, surmounted by the Cross, he had first to place it on his own head, and then to transfer it to that of the Empress. When the moment arrived for placing the crown on the head of the woman, whom popular superstition regarded as his good genius, his manner was almost playful. He took great pains to arrange this little crown, which was placed over Josephine’s tiara of diamonds; he put it on, then took it off, and finally put it on again, as if to promise her she should wear it gracefully and lightly.’

It is almost painful, after reading this vivid and soul-stirring description, to have to descend to the level of the caricaturist descanting on the same subject; it is a kind of moral douche bath, giving all one’s nerves a shock.

JOSEPHINE AT THE CORONATION.

NAPOLEON CROWNING HIMSELF.

Soon made they every preparation
For a most brilliant coronation:
’Twas on, as must each bard remember,
The nineteenth day of dark November[4]
When all the streets were strew’d with sand,
T’ exhibit a procession grand;
And the Cathedral, lately scorn’d,
With sumptuous frippery adorn’d.
Brave Bonaparte and Josephine,
Preceded by the Pope, walked in;
His Holiness the crown anointed,
And Boney Emperor appointed.
Then Corsica’s impatient son,
Snatch’d up the Crown, and put it on.
The Crown was decked with French frippery,
And with the oil, was rendered slippery;
Nap kept it on, tho’, without dread,
To let them know he had a head.
And as to dally he was loth,
He rapidly pronounc’d the oath—
As soon as he the oath had swallow’d,
Another Coronation follow’d—
Fair Josephine advanced, and lo!
Nap put on her a crown also.
‘Ah me!’ thought she, ‘there’s something wrong,
I fear it will drop off ’ere long.’
Of holy oil, it seems, the fair
Had got too plentiful a share.
This pantomimic business o’er,
Now marched they grandly as before;
For, tinsell’d pageantry united
With an equestrian troop, delighted
The new-made Emperor of Paris,
As much as Covent Garden Harris;
And all the people, for this wise end,
Were in the finest garments dizen’d;
They finish’d with illuminations,
Songs, music, dancing and orations.
The white wine, which in fountains flow’d,
Considerable mirth bestow’d.
The folks enjoy’d, free of expence,
The glare of lights, which was immense:
And the new Emperor, with glee,
Drank, till no longer he could see.

JOSEPHINE AS EMPRESS.

Authentic news of the coronation did not reach England for nearly a fortnight, and it was not till December 15 that the ‘Times’ was able to give its readers a full account of the ceremony. ‘The Thunderer’ waxed very wroth about it, as may be seen by the following extract from its leader of that date:—

‘The “Moniteur” merely insinuates that the sun miraculously penetrated through a thick fog, to be present at it: a compliment which is a little diminished by a subsequent assertion, that the lamps were afterwards able to supply his place by giving a noon-day brilliancy to the night. Then follows a disgusting hypocritical panegyric upon the union of civil and religious acts and ceremonies, the sublime representation of all that human and divine affairs could assemble to strike the mind—the venerable Apostolic virtues of the poor Pope, and the most astonishing genius of Buonaparte crowned by the most astonishing destiny!

‘The public will find these details, under their proper head, in this paper. To us, we confess, all that appears worthy of remark or memory in that opprobrious day is, that amongst all the Royalists and Republicans of France, it was able to produce neither a Brutus nor a Chœreas!

‘The day subsequent to the coronation, the people of Paris were entertained upon the bridges, boulevards, and public places, with popular sports, dancing, and other pastimes and diversions.

‘Upon the Place de Concorde, still stained with the blood of the lawful sovereign of France, were erected saloons and pavilions for dancing waltzes. Medals were given away to the populace; illuminations, artificial fireworks, pantomimes, and buffoons, musicians, temporary theatres, everything was represented and administered that could intoxicate and divert this vain and wicked people from contemplating the crime they were committing. To the profanation of the preceding day, it seems that all the orgies of wantonness and corruption succeeded in the most curious and careful rotation, and that all the skill and science of the Davids and Cheniers has been exhausted to keep them for four and twenty hours from thinking upon what they had done.’

But not only in leaders did the ‘Times’ pour forth its wrath; it published little jokelets occasionally, which were meant to be very stinging, as, for instance: Monsieur Napoleon has distributed his Eagles by thousands. What his talents might be doubtful of accomplishing, he expects from his talons.’

The ‘Daily Advertiser’, too, of December 15 contains some pretty sentiments on the coronation, such as, ‘If Modern Europe will, after such fair notice, and a notice so often repeated, by the French Government, still remain in sluggish inaction, in stupid astonishment, at the success of that Ruffian, who now wields the sceptre of Charlemagne, and has dragooned the Pope to his Coronation, it is evident that nations so besotted are only fit to be enslaved.’

CHAPTER XLI.

NAPOLEON’S LETTER TO GEORGE THE THIRD—NAVAL VICTORIES—CROWNED KING OF ITALY—ALLIANCE OF EUROPE—WITHDRAWAL OF THE ‘ARMY OF ENGLAND.’

Very shortly after his coronation, and with the commencement of the year 1805, Napoleon wrote a letter to George the Third, intimating how beneficial peace would be to both countries.

The text of this letter, and its answer, are as follow:—

Sire, my brother,—Called to the throne by Providence, and the suffrages of the Senate, the people, and the army, my first feeling was the desire for peace. France and England abuse their prosperity: they may continue their strife for ages; but will their governments, in so doing, fulfil the most sacred of the duties which they owe to their people? And how will they answer to their consciences for so much blood uselessly shed, and without the prospect of any good whatever to their subjects? I am not ashamed to make the first advances. I have, I flatter myself, sufficiently proved to the world that I fear none of the chances of war. It presents nothing which I have occasion to fear. Peace is the wish of my heart; but war has never been adverse to my glory. I conjure your Majesty, therefore, not to refuse yourself the satisfaction of giving peace to the world. Never was an occasion more favourable for calming the passions, and giving ear only to the sentiments of humanity and reason. If that opportunity be lost, what limit can be assigned to a war which all my efforts have been unable to terminate? Your Majesty has gained more during the last ten years than the whole extent of Europe in riches and territory: your subjects are in the very highest state of prosperity: what can you expect from a war? To form a Coalition of the Continental powers? Be assured the Coalition will remain at peace. A coalition will only increase the strength and preponderance of the French Empire. To renew our intestine divisions? The times are no longer the same. To destroy our finances? Finances founded on a flourishing agriculture can never be destroyed. To wrest from France her Colonies? They are to her only a secondary consideration; and your Majesty has already enough and to spare of these possessions. Upon reflection, you must, I am persuaded, yourself arrive at the conclusion, that the war is maintained without an object; and what a melancholy prospect, for two great nations to combat merely for the sake of fighting! The world is surely large enough for both to live in; and reason has still sufficient power to find the means of reconciliation, if the inclination only is not wanting. I have now, at least, discharged a duty dear to my heart. May your Majesty trust to the sincerity of the sentiments which I have now expressed, and the reality of my desire to give the most convincing proofs of it.

George the Third could not, constitutionally, personally reply to this letter, so Lord Mulgrave answered it, under date of January 14, and addressed it to Talleyrand. It ran thus:

His Britannic Majesty has received the letter addressed to him by the Chief of the French Government There is nothing which his Majesty has more at heart, than to seize the first opportunity of restoring to his subjects the blessings of peace, provided it is founded upon a basis not incompatible with the permanent interests, and security, of his dominions. His Majesty is persuaded that that object cannot be attained but by arrangements, which may at the same time provide for the future peace, and security, of Europe, and prevent a renewal of the dangers, and misfortunes, by which it is now overwhelmed. In conformity with these sentiments, his Majesty feels that he cannot give a more specific answer to the overture which he has received until he has had time to communicate with the Continental powers to whom he is united in the most confidential manner, and particularly the Emperor of Russia, who has given the strongest proofs of the wisdom, and elevation, of the sentiments by which he is animated, and of the lively interest which he takes in the security and independence of Europe.

Apropos of this pacific overture, there is a very badly drawn picture by Woodward (February 1, 1805), ‘A New Phantasmagoria for John Bull.’ Napoleon is seated on the French coast, directing his magic lantern towards John Bull, exclaiming, ‘Begar de brave Galanté shew for Jonny Bull.’ The magic lantern slide shows Napoleon coming over on a visit, with a tricoloured flag in one hand, the other leading the Empress Josephine, whose dress is semée with bees. ‘Here we come Johnny—A flag of Truce Johnny—something like a Piece! all decked out in Bees, and stars, and a crown on her head; not such a patched up piece as the last.’ The Russian bear is on one rock, John Bull on another—the latter having his sword drawn. He says: ‘You may be d—d, and your piece too! I suppose you thought I was off the watch—I tell you, I’ll say nothing to you till I have consulted Brother Bruin, and I hear him growling terribly in the offing.’

So we see that there was no hope of peace, as yet, and the war goes on. I can hardly localise the following caricature:—

Argus (January 24, 1805) drew ‘The glorious Pursuit of Ten against Seventeen.

God like his Courage seem’d, whom nor Delight
Could soften, nor the Face of Death affright.’

The French and Spaniards are in full flight, calling out, ‘By Gar dare be dat tam Nelson dat Salamander dat do love to live in de fire, by Gar we make haste out of his way, or he blow us all up.’ Nelson leads on nine old sea dogs, encouraging them thus: ‘The Enemy are flying before you my brave fellows, Seventeen against Ten of us. Crowd all the Sail you can, and then for George, Old England—Death or Victory!!!’ His followers utter such sentences as the following: ‘My Noble Commander, we’ll follow you the world over, and shiver my Timbers but we shall soon bring up our lee way, and then, as sure as my name is Tom Grog, we’ll give them another touch of the Battle of the Nile’—‘May I never hope to see Poll again, if I would not give a whole month’s flip if these lubberly Parly vous would but just stop one half watch,’ &c. &c.

The style in which our sailors worked is very aptly illustrated in a letter from an officer on board the Fisgard, off Cape St. Vincent, dated November 28, 1804.[5] We must remember that war was not officially declared against Spain until January 11, 1805; but this gentleman writes: ‘We cannot desire a better station; we heard of hostilities with Spain on October the 15th, and on that very day we captured two Ships. Lord Nelson received from us the first intelligence—we have already taken twelve ships and entertain hopes of as many more. Yesterday we fell in with the Donegal, Capt. Sir R. Strachan, who has taken a large Spanish Frigate, the Amphitrite, after a chase of 46 hours, and 15 minutes’ action, in which the Spanish Captain was killed; the prize was from Cadiz, with despatches for Teneriffe and the Havana, laden with stores. The Amphitrite Frigate, of 42 Guns, was one of the finest Frigates in the Spanish Navy. The Donegal chased the Amphitrite for several hours, sometimes gaining upon her, and sometimes losing; at length the Amphitrite carried away her mizen top mast, which enabled the Donegal to come up with her. A Boat was then despatched by Sir Richard for the purpose of bringing the Spanish Captain on board. Some difficulty arose from neither party understanding the language of the other; at length Sir Richard acquainted the Spanish Captain, that in compliance with the Orders he had received from his Admiral, he was under the necessity of conducting the Amphitrite back again to Cadiz, and he allowed the Spanish Captain three minutes to determine whether he would comply without compelling him to have recourse to force. After waiting six minutes in vain for a favourable answer, the Donegal fired into the Amphitrite, which was immediately answered with a broadside. An engagement then ensued, which lasted about eight minutes, when the Amphitrite struck her colours. During this short engagement the Spanish Captain was unfortunately killed by a musket ball. The Donegal has also captured another Spanish ship, supposed the richest that ever sailed from Cadiz, her cargo reported worth 200,000l.’

Another letter, dated November 29, adds, ‘We have this day taken a large Ship from the River de la Plata.’

They had captured the following ships previous to December 3:—

On February 26, 1805, Gillray published ‘The Plumb Pudding in danger; or State Epicures taking un Petit Souper—’ the great globe itself, and all which it inherits, ‘is too small to satisfy such insatiable appetites.’ Napoleon is taking all Europe, whilst Pitt is calmly appropriating all the ocean to himself.

THE PLUMB PUDDING IN DANGER.

There is now almost a total cessation of caricature until the autumn; and it probably was in this wise. Napoleon did not actively bother this country; his thoughts were, for the time, elsewhere. On March 17 a deputation from the Italian Republic waited upon him, stating that it was the desire of their countrymen that he should be their monarch, and accordingly on April 2 he and Josephine left Paris for Milan.

Another project fill’d his head,
For vanity must still be fed;
A second Charlemagne to prove,
Our hero resolutely strove.
Addresses manufactured he,
All which were sent to Italy;
To get additional renown,
He to restore the iron crown
Of Italy resolved,—by which
He hoped his pockets to enrich.
T’ obtain, was certainly his aim,
O’er the Peninsula, a claim.
Now, Nap, while filling out his wine,
Told Josephine his bold design—
‘My dear,’ said he, and kiss’d her lip,
To Italy, we’ll take a trip.’
To bring about this great event,
The Emperor and Empress went.
When in Milan they both arrived,
To coax the people Nap contrived;
And being a great Saint believed,
With adulation was receiv’d;
He, by his condescension, proved
How dearly he his children loved.
And on the Twenty Sixth of May
Began our hero to display
Another Coronation splendid,
While on a throne he sat attended.
Now highly honor’d and rever’d,
The diadem of France appear’d
On his right hand, and inter alia,
All its magnificent regalia.
Whilst on his left hand, to the sight,
The crown of iron sparkled bright;
Tho’ iron, this they used to call,
The cross was iron, that was all.[6]
The rest was diamonds and pure gold,
And very lovely to behold.
The Cardinal Archbishop then
Began the ceremony—when
Nap was Italian King protested,
And with th’ insignia too invested;
The altar steps he hasten’d soon up,
And taking quick the precious boon up,
He placed the Crown upon his head,
And in a voice of thunder said
‘Since heav’n has giv’n to me this Crown,
Who dares to touch it, I’ll knock him down.’[7]

An amateur drew, and Gillray etched (August 2, 1805), ‘St. George and the Dragon, a Design for an Equestrian Statue from the Original in Windsor Castle.’ Napoleon (a most ferocious dragon) has seized upon poor Britannia, who, dropping her spear and shield, her hair dishevelled, and her dress disordered, with upraised arm, attempts to avert her fate; but St. George (George the Third) on horseback, comes to the rescue, and, smiting that dragon, cleaves his crown.

As a practical illustration of the servile adulation with which he was treated, take the following etching by Woodward (September 15, 1805): ‘Napoleon’s Apotheosis Anticipated, or the Wise Men of Leipsic sending Boney to Heaven before his time!!! At the German University of Leipsic, it was decreed that the Constellation called Orion’s Belt should hereafter be named Napoleon in Honor of that Hero.—Query—Did the Wise men of Leipsic mean it as an honor, or a reflection on the turbulent spirit of Boney, as the rising of Orion is generally accompanied with Storms and Tempests, for which reason he has the Sword in his hand.’ Orion has his belt round Napoleon’s neck, and is hoisting him up to heaven thereby; Napoleon is kicking and struggling, and exclaims, ‘What are you about—I tell you I would rather stay where I was.’ The German savants are watching him through their telescopes, saying, ‘He mounts finely’—‘I think we have now made ourselves immortal’—‘It was a sublime idea’—‘Orion seems to receive him better than I expected.’ This is confirmed in ‘Scot’s Magazine,’ 1807[8]: ‘The University of Leipzig has resolved henceforth to call by the name of Napoleon that group of stars which lies between the girdle and the sword of Orion; and a numerous deputation of the University was appointed to present the “Conqueror” with a map of the group so named!’

Napoleon hardly reckoned on Austria taking up arms against him without a formal declaration of war, and was rather put to it to find men to oppose the Allies, whose forces were reckoned at 250,000 men; whilst France, though with 275,000 men at her disposal, had 180,000 of them locked up in the so-called ‘Army of England.’ We can imagine his chagrin in having to forego his cherished plan of invasion, and being compelled to withdraw his troops from the French shores.

The ‘Times’ (how different a paper it was in those days to what it is now!) is jubilant thereupon.[9] ‘The Scene that now opens upon the soldiers of France, by being obliged to leave the coast and march eastwards, is sadly different from that Land of Promise, which, for two years, has been held out to them, in all sorts of gay delusions. After all the efforts of the Imperial Boat-Builder, instead of sailing over the Channel, they will have to cross the Rhine. The bleak forests of Suabia will make but a sorry exchange for the promised spoils of our Docks and Warehouses. They will not find any equivalent for the plunder of the Bank in another bloody passage through “the Valley of Hell”; but they seem to have forgotten the magnificent promise of the Milliard.’

The French papers affected to make light of this death-blow to their hopes; one of them, quoted in the ‘Times’ of September 13, says: ‘Whilst the German Papers, with much noise, make more troops march than all the Powers together possess, France, which needs not to augment her forces in order to display them in an imposing manner, detaches a few thousand troops from the Army of England to cover her frontiers, which are menaced by the imprudent conduct of Austria.’

The caricaturist, of course, made capital out of it, and Rowlandson (October 1, 1805) designed ‘The departure from the Coast or the End of the Farce of Invasion.’ Napoleon, seated on a sorry ass, is sadly returning, inland, homeward, to the intense delight of some French monkeys. His Iron Crown is tottering off his head, and his steed is loaded with the Boulogne Encampment, the Army of England, and Excuses for non-performance. The British Lion on the English cliffs lifts his leg and gives Boney a parting salute. The latter exclaims, ‘Bless me, what a shower! I shall be wet through before I reach the Rhine.’

The action of the Allies is shown by the caricature, ‘Tom Thumb at Bay, or the Sovereigns of the Forest roused at last,’ by Ansell (October 1805), which shows the Lilliputian Emperor, who has thrown away his crown and sceptre, being fiercely pursued by a double-headed eagle, a bear, and a boar, and is rushing into the open jaws of a ferocious lion. ‘Which way shall I escape? If I fly from the Bear and the Eagle, I fall into the jaws of the Lion!!’ Holland, Spain, and Italy, all have yokes round their necks—but, seeing Bonaparte’s condition, Holland takes his off and lays it on the ground. The Spaniard, surprised, exclaims, ‘Why! Mynheer, you have got your yoke off!’ And the Italian, who is preparing to remove his, says, ‘I think Mynheer’s right, and now’s the time, Don, to get ours off.’ An army of rats is labelled, ‘Co-Estates ready to assist.’

CHAPTER XLII.
SURRENDER OF ULM—BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR—PROPOSALS FOR PEACE—DANIEL LAMBERT.

Meantime the Austrians were in a very awkward position. General Mack was, from October 13, closely invested in Ulm, and Napoleon had almost need to restrain his troops, who were flushed with victory and eager for the assault. The carnage on both sides would, in such a case, have been awful; but Napoleon clearly pointed out to Mack his position: how that, in eight days, he would be forced to capitulate for want of food: that the Russians were yet far off, having scarcely reached Bohemia; that no other aid was nigh:—and on October 20, the gates of Ulm were opened, and 36,000 Austrian troops slowly defiled therefrom. Sixteen generals surrendered with Mack, and Napoleon treated them generously. All the officers were allowed to go home, their parole, not to fight against France until there had been a general exchange of prisoners, only being required; and Napoleon sent 50,000 prisoners into France, distributing them throughout the agricultural districts.

Gillray drew (November 6, 1805) ‘The Surrender of Ulm, or Buonaparte and Gen^l Mack coming to a right understanding—Intended as a Specimen of French Victories—i.e. Conquering without Bloodshed!!!’ It shows a little Napoleon, seated on a drum, whilst Mack and some other generals are grovelling on all fours, delivering up their swords, banners, and the keys of Ulm, to the conqueror. Napoleon, pointing to three large sacks of money, borne by as many soldiers, exclaims: ‘There’s your Price! There’s Ten Millions—Twenty!! It is not in my Army alone that my resources of Conquering consists!! I hate victory obtain’d by effusion of blood.’ ‘And so do I,’ says the crawling Mack; ‘What signifies Fighting when we can settle it in a safer way.’ On the ground is a scroll of ‘Articles to be deliver’d up. 1 Field Marshal. 8 Generals in Chief. 7 Lieutenant Generals. 36 Thousand Soldiers. 80 pieces of Cannon. 50 Stand of Colours. 100,000 Pounds of Powder. 4,000 Cannon Balls.’

This subject also attracted the pencil of I. Cruikshank (November 19, 1805): ‘Boney beating Mack—and Nelson giving him a Whack!! or the British Tars giving Boney his Hearts desire, Ships, Colonies and Commerce.’ Mack is kneeling in a suppliant manner before Bonaparte, who stamps upon his captive’s sword, addressing him: ‘I want not your Forts, your Cities, nor your territories! Sir, I only want Ships, Colonies and Commerce’—a very slight variation from the real text of his address to the vanquished Austrian officers: ‘I desire nothing further upon the Continent. I want ships, colonies, and commerce; and it is as much your interest, as mine, that I should have them.’ During this peroration military messengers are arriving. One calls out, ‘May it please your King’s Majesty’s Emperor. That Dam Nelson take all your ships. Twenty at a time. Begar, if you no come back directly they vill not leave you vone boat to go over in.’ Another runs along crying, ‘Run, ma foi, anoder Dam Nelson take ever so many more ships.’ This is an allusion to the battle of Trafalgar (October 21, 1805),[10] where Nelson paid for his victory with his life. This is further illustrated in another portion of the engraving, by Nelson, who is towing the captured vessels, kneeling at Britannia’s feet, saying: ‘At thy feet, O Goddess of the seas, I resign my life in the service of my country.’ Britannia replies: ‘My Son, thy Name shall be recorded in the page of History on tablets of the brightest Gold.’

Rowlandson (November 13, 1805) further alludes to the surrender of Ulm and the battle of Trafalgar: ‘Nap Buonaparte in a fever on receiving the Extraordinary Gazette of Nelson’s Victory over the combined Fleets.’ Boney is very sick and miserable, the combined effects of the news which he has read in the paper which falls from his trembling hands—the ‘Extraordinary Gazette. 19 Sail of the line taken by Lord Nelson.’ He appeals to four doctors, who are in consultation on his case: ‘My dear Doctors! those Sacré Anglois have play’d the Devil vid my Constitution. Pray tell me what is the matter with me. I felt the first symptoms when I told Gen^l Mack I wanted Ships, Colonies and Commerce. Oh dear! oh dear! I shall want more ships now—this is a cursed sensation—Oh I am very qualmish.’ One doctor opines it is ‘a desperate case,’ another that he is ‘Irrecoverable.’ One recommends bleeding; but one has thoroughly investigated the case, and found out the cause: ‘Begar, me have found it out, your heart be in your breeches!’

Now with such fury they push’d on,
Memmengen the French Army won,
And by the treachery of Mack,
Ulm surrendered in a crack—
Soon after the capitulation,
The Austrians with consternation
Laid down their arms, and to their shame,
Napoleon’s prisoners became——

There were no caricatures of the battle of Trafalgar—the victory was purchased at too great a cost; but Gillray executed a serious etching in memory of Nelson, published on December 29, 1805, the funeral of the hero taking place on the subsequent 9th of January.

The following caricature shows the quality of news supplied to our forefathers:—

‘John Bull exchanging News with the Continent’ is by Woodward, December 11, 1805, and represents Napoleon and a French newsboy on a rock called Falsehood, disseminating news the reverse of true. The ‘Journal de l’Empire’ says that Archduke Charles is dead with fatigue; the ‘Journal de Spectacle’ that England is invaded. The ‘Gazette de France’ informs us that the English fleet is dispersed, and the ‘Publicité’ follows it with the news that the combined fleets are sent in pursuit. False bulletins are being scattered broadcast. These, however, have but little effect on John Bull, who, attired as a newsboy, stands on the rock of Truth, flourishing a paper, ‘Trafalgar London Gazette extraordinary,’ and bellowing through his horn, ‘Total defeat of the Combin’d Fleets of France and Spain,’ which is vividly depicted in the background.

‘Tiddy doll, the great French Gingerbread Baker, drawing out a new Batch of Kings—his man Hopping Talley mixing up the Dough,’ is a somewhat elaborate etching by Gillray (January 23, 1806). The celebrated gingerbread maker has, on a ‘peel,’ three kings, duly gilt—Bavaria, Wurtemberg, and Baden—which he is just introducing into the ‘New French Oven for Imperial Gingerbread.’ On a chest of three drawers, relatively labelled Kings and Queens, Crowns and Sceptres, and Suns and Moons, are a quantity of ‘Little Dough Viceroys, intended for the next batch.’ Under the oven is an ‘Ash hole for broken Gingerbread,’ and a broom—‘the Corsican Besom of Destruction’—has swept therein La République Française, Italy, Austria, Spain, Netherlands, Switzerland, Holland, and Venice. On the ground is a fool’s cap and bells, which acts as a cornucopia (labelled ‘Hot Spiced Gingerbread, all hot; Come, who dips in my lucky bag’), which disgorges stars and orders, principalities, dukedoms, crowns, sceptres, cardinals’ hats, and bishops’ mitres; and a baker’s basket is full of ‘True Corsican Kinglings for Home Consumption and Exportation.’

TIDDY DOLL, THE GREAT FRENCH GINGERBREAD BAKER, DRAWING OUT A NEW BATCH OF KINGS.

Talleyrand—with a mitre on his head, and beads and cross round his waist, to show his ecclesiastical status; with a pen in his mouth, and ink-pot slung to his side, to denote his diplomatic functions—is hard at work at the ‘Political Kneading Trough,’ mixing up Hungary, Poland, Turkey, &c., whilst an eagle (Prussia) is pecking at a piece of dough (Hanover).

To thoroughly understand this caricature, we must first of all know something about Tiddy Doll. He was a seller of gingerbread, and was as famous in his time as was Colly Molly Puff in the time of Steele and Addison. He had a refrain, all his own, like a man well known to dwellers in Brighton and the West End of London—‘Brandy balls.’ Hone[11] gives the best account of him that I know. Discoursing on May fair, he says: ‘Here, too, was Tiddy-doll; this celebrated vendor of gingerbread, from his eccentricity of character and extensive dealings in his way, was always hailed as the king of itinerant tradesmen.[12] In his person he was tall, well made, and his features handsome. He affected to dress like a person of rank: white, gold-laced, suit of clothes, laced ruffled shirt, laced hat and feather, white silk stockings, with the addition of a fine white apron. Among his harangues to gain customers, take this as a specimen: “Mary, Mary, where are you now, Mary? I live, when at home, at the second house in little Ball Street, two steps under ground, with a wiscum, riscum, and a why not. Walk in ladies and gentlemen; my shop is on the second floor backwards, with a brass knocker at the door. Here is your nice gingerbread, your spice gingerbread; it will melt in your mouth like a redhot brickbat, and rumble in your inside like Punch and his wheelbarrow.” He always finished his address by singing this fag end of some popular ballad.

[MUSIC]

Ti - tid - dy, ti - ti ti - tid - dy, ti - ti ti - tid-dy, ti - ti

tid-dy did-dy dol - lol, ti - tiddy, ti - diddy ti - ti, tid-dy, tiddy, dol.’

Pitt died on January 23, 1806, and Fox succeeded him. It is probable that Napoleon reckoned somewhat on Fox’s friendship, and hence the following caricature:—

BONEY AND THE GREAT STATE SECRETARY.

‘Boney and the Great Secretary’ (Argus, February 1806) gives a good portrait of Fox. Napoleon wishes to be friendly: ‘How do you do, Master Charley, why you are so fine, I scarcely knew ye—don’t you remember me, why I am little Boney the Corsican—him that you came to see at Paris, and very civil I was to you, I’m sure. If you come my way I shall be glad to see you, so will my wife and family. They are a little changed in their dress, as well as you. We shall be very happy to take a little peace soup with you, whenever you are inclined, Master Charley.’ But Fox shakes his fist at him: ‘Why, you little Corsican Reptile! how dare you come so near the person of the Right Honble C—— J—— F—— one of his M—— principal Secretaries of State, Member of the P.C. &c., &c., &c., &c., &c., &c., &c., &c.—go to see You!!! Arrogant little Man, Mr. Boney—if you do not instantly vanish from my sight—I’le break every bone in your body—learn to behave yourself in a peaceable manner, nor dare to set your foot on this happy land without My leave.’

Of ‘Pacific Overtures, or a Flight from St. Cloud, “over the Water to Charley,” a new Dramatic Peace now rehearsing’ (Gillray, April 5, 1806), only a portion is given in the accompanying illustration, but quite sufficient to explain the negotiations for peace then in progress.

This caricature is far too elaborate to reproduce the whole, and the allusions therein are extremely intricate and, nowadays, uninteresting. A theatrical stage is represented, with Napoleon descending in clouds, pointing to Terms of Peace, which are being displayed by Talleyrand, and saying, ‘There’s my terms.’ These are as follow: ‘Acknowledge me as Emperor; dismantle your fleet; reduce your army; abandon Malta and Gibraltar; renounce all Continental connexion; your Colonies I will take at a valuation; engage to pay to the Great Nation, for seven years annually, £1,000,000; and place in my hands as hostages, the Princess Charlotte of Wales, with ten of the late administration, whom I shall name.’

King George has stepped from his box on to the stage, and is surveying this vision through his glass, exclaiming: ‘Very amusing terms indeed, and might do vastly well with some of the new made little gingerbread kings[13]; but we are not in the habit of giving up either “ships, or commerce, or colonies” merely because little Boney is in a pet to have them!!!’

Ansell (April 1806) drew ‘Roast Beef and French Soup. The English Lamb * * * and the French Tiger,’ and it seems merely designed for the purpose of introducing Daniel Lambert, who was then on exhibition—‘Daniel Lambert who at the age of 36 weighed above 50 Stone, 14 Pounds to the Stone, measured 3 yards 4 inches round the Body, and 1 yard 1 inch round the leg. 5 feet 11 inches high.’ It shows the redoubtable fat man seated on a couch, carving a round of beef, which is accompanied by a large mustard-pot, a huge loaf, and a foaming pot of stout. Napoleon, seated on a similar couch, on the opposite side of the table, is taking soup—then an unaccustomed article of food with Englishmen—and looks with horror at the other’s size and manner of feeding.

Daniel Lambert was like Mr. Dick in ‘David Copperfield,’ who would persist in putting King Charles the First’s head into his Memorial; he could hardly be kept out of the caricatures. Ansell produced one (May 1806)—‘Two Wonders of the World, or a Specimen of a new troop of Leicestershire Light Horse.—Mr. Daniel Lambert, who at the age of 36 weighed above 50 Stone, 14 Pounds to the Stone, measured 3 yards 4 inches round the body and 1 yard 1 inch round the leg, 5 feet 11 inches high. The famous horse Monarch, the largest in the World is upwards of 21 hands high, (above 7 foot)[14] and only 6 Years old.’ Lambert is mounted on this extraordinary quadruped, and, sword in hand, is riding at poor little Boney, who exclaims in horror, ‘Parbleu! if dis be de specimen of de English light Horse, vat vill de Heavy Horse be? Oh, by Gar, I vill put off de Invasion for anoder time.’

Yet once more are these two brought into juxtaposition, in an engraving by Knight (April 15, 1806), ‘Bone and Flesh, or John Bull in moderate Condition.’ Napoleon is looking at this prodigy, and saying, ‘I contemplate this Wonder of the World, and regret that all my Conquered Domains cannot match this Man. Pray, Sir, are you not a descendant from the great Joss of China?’ Lambert replies, ‘No Sir, I am a true born Englishman, from the County of Leicester. A quiet mind, and good Constitution, nourished by the free Air of Great Britain, makes every Englishman thrive.’

Another of Gillray’s caricatures into which Napoleon is introduced, but in which he plays a secondary part, is called ‘Comforts of a Bed of Roses; vide Charley’s elucidation of Lord C—stl—r—gh’s speech! Nightly Scene near Cleveland row.’ This is founded on a speech of Lord Castlereagh’s, in which he congratulated the Ministry as having ‘a bed of roses.’ But Fox, in reply, recounted his difficulties and miseries, and said: ‘Really, it is insulting to tell me I am on a bed of roses, when I feel myself torn, and stung, by brambles, and nettles, whichever way I turn.’

Fox and Mrs. Fox are shown as sleeping on a bed of roses, some of which peep out from underneath the rose-coloured counterpane, but which display far more of thorns than of roses. There is the India rose, the Emancipation rose, the French rose, the Coalition rose, and the Volunteer rose. Fox’s slumbers are terribly disturbed; his bonnet rouge, which he wears as night-cap, has tumbled off; his night-shirt is seized at the neck, on one side by the ghost of Pitt, who exclaims: ‘Awake, arise, or be for ever fall’n!’ The other side is fiercely clutched by Napoleon, who, drawn sword in hand, has just stepped on to the bed from a cannon labelled ‘Pour subjuguer le monde.’ Amidst a background of smoke appear spears, and a banner entitled ‘Horrors of Invasion.’ The Prussian eagle is preparing to swoop down upon him, and, from under the bed, crawls out a skeleton holding an hour-glass, whilst round its fleshless arm is entwined a serpent ‘Intemperance, Dropsy, Dissolution.’ John Bull, as a bull-dog, is trying to seize Napoleon.

‘John Bull threatened by Insects from all Quarters’ is by an unknown artist (April 1806). John Bull is on ‘The tight little Island,’ and seated on a cask of grog. With one hand he flourishes a cutlass, and the other grasps a pistol, of which weapon two more lie on the ground. With these he defies the insects, which come in swarms. There are Westphalian mites, American hornets, Dutch bluebottles, Italian butterflies, Turkish wasps, Danish gnats, and, worst of all, a French dragon-fly, in the shape of Napoleon. John Bull is saying: ‘Come on my Lads—give me but good sea room, and I don’t care for any of you—Why all your attacks is no more than a gnat stinging an Elephant, or a flea devouring Mr. Lambert of Leicester.’

A very clever caricature is by Knight (June 26, 1806) of ‘Jupiter Bouney granting unto the Dutch Frogs a King. The Frogs sent their deputies to petition Jupiter again for a King. He sent them a Stork, who eat them up, vide Æsop’s fables.’ The discontented Dutch spurn their King Log, and pray, ‘We present ourselves before the throne of your Majesty. We pray that you will grant us, as the supreme Chief of our Republic, Prince Louis.’ Napoleon, as Jupiter, seated on an eagle (which is made to look as much like a devil as possible), says: ‘I agree to the request. I proclaim Prince Louis, King of Holland. You Prince! reign over this People.’ And the stork is duly despatched on its mission. Talleyrand, as Ganymede, supplies Jupiter with a cup of comfort for the discontented.

CHAPTER XLIII.
NEGOTIATIONS FOR PEACE—DEATH OF FOX—NAPOLEON’S VICTORIOUS CAREER—HIS PROCLAMATION OF A BLOCKADE OF ENGLAND.

Apropos of the negotiations for peace, there is a picture of Woodward’s (July 1806), in which Fox is just closing the door behind a messenger laden with despatches. John Bull, whose pockets are stuffed with Omnium and Speculation on Peace, entreats him with clasped hands: ‘Now do Charley, my dear good boy, open the door a little bit farther, just to enable me to take in a few of my friends at the Stock Exchange.’ But Fox remonstrates: ‘Really, Mr. Bull, you are too inquisitive—don’t you see the door for Negotiation is opened? don’t you see the back of a Messenger? don’t you see he has got dispatches under his arm? what would you desire more?’

‘Experiments at Dover, or Master Charley’s Magic Lanthorn,’ is by Rowlandson (July 21, 1806), and shows Fox seated on the seashore, projecting images on to the opposite coast. The slide he is passing through the lantern begins with a ‘Messenger from Boulogne,’ then a ‘Messenger to Paris,’ then ‘More Dispatches’; and he is now showing Bonaparte as a newsboy, with his horn, calling out ‘Preliminaries of Peace.’ The next, and final, picture to come is a man waving his hat and shouting ‘Huzza.’ Fox is saying: ‘There, Master Bull, what do you think of that—I told you I would surprize you. Preliminaries of Peace! Huzza!’ But John Bull is not quite satisfied with his conduct, and fancies there has been something kept from him. ‘Why yes, it be all very foine, if it be true. But I can’t forget that d—d Omnium last week—they be always one way or other in contradictions! I tell thee what, Charley, since thee hast become a great man—I think in my heart thee beest always conjuring.’

‘The Pleasing and Instructive Game of Messengers—or Summer Amusement for John Bull,’ by Ansell (August 1806), shows us the Channel, on both sides of which a lively game is being kept up by means of racket bats, a constant supply of balls, in the shape of messengers, between the two countries, being kept in the air. Their messages are Peace, Hope, Despair, No peace, Passports, Peace to a Certainty, No peace, Credentials, Despatches, &c. On the French side, Napoleon and Talleyrand keep the game alive, ‘Begar Talley, dis be ver amusant—Keep it up as long as you can, that we may have time for our project.’ Sheridan, Fox, and others play on the English side; John Bull being merely a spectator, not too much amused, as a paper, protruding from his pocket, shows: ‘Very shy at the Stock Exchange.’ Sheridan calls out: ‘That’s right my lads, bang ’em about. John Bull seems quite puzzled.’ Fox asks: ‘Is not it a pretty game Johnny?’ Johnny, however, says: ‘Pretty enough as to that, they do fly about monstrous quick to be sure: but you don’t get any more money out of my pocket for all that!!’

NEWS FROM CALABRIA.

Gillray gives us a veritable caricature in ‘News from Calabria! Capture of Buenos Ayres! i.e. the Comforts of an Imperial Dejeune at St. Clouds’ (September 13, 1806), a portion only of which is given in illustration. Boney is here, terrific in his wrath; poor Talleyrand, who has brought the news, is receiving grievous punishment from his Imperial master. Not only is his ear pulled (a favourite trick of Napoleon’s), but he is being belaboured with the tea-urn, which is made in the form of the world: his master crying out: ‘Out on ye Owl, noting but song of Death!!’ Napoleon has kicked over the breakfast-table, and the scalding contents of the tea-urn are being deposited in the lap of Josephine, who screams with agony and terror. The maids of honour and courtiers, though refraining from open demonstration, look aghast at the imperial violence, which is not diminished by the presence of a number of messengers, whose news is particularly unwelcome: ‘Spain in despair for the loss of her Colonies.’ ‘All Germany rising, and arming en Masse.’ ‘Holland starving, and ripe for a revolt.’ ‘St. Petersburg: refusal to ratify the French Treaty.’ ‘Prussia rousing from the Trance of Death.’ ‘Swedish defiance. Charles XII. redivivus.’ ‘Switzerland cursing the French yoke.’ ‘Italy shaking off her Chains.’ ‘La Vendée again in motion.’ ‘Portugal true to the last gasp.’ ‘Sicily firing like Etna.’ ‘Denmark waiting for an opportunity.’ ‘Turkey invoking Mahomet.’ Naturally, all this bad news contributes towards making it a ‘hard time’ for Talleyrand.

Argus gives us (September 1806) ‘The Continental Shaving Shop. Boney beats Jemmy Wright, who shaved as well as any man, almost, not quite’ (September 1806). As a barber, he is going to shave the Grand Turk, and, flourishing an enormous razor of Corsican steel, seizes his beard. This the Turk naturally objects to, saying: ‘By the Holy Prophet, I must not part with my beard, why, my people will not acknowledge me for the grand Signor again at Constantinople.’ Talleyrand, as assistant, is lathering the Turk’s face, persuading him, ‘Come, come, don’t make such a fuss, my Master will cut away when he catches anybody in his shop.’ Boney calls out: ‘Lather away Talley. I’ll soon ease him of his superfluities and make him look like my Christian customers.’

The sort of treatment they are likely to get is clearly set forth in an announcement on the wall. ‘Nap Boney, shaver general to most of the Sovereigns on the Continent, shaves expeditiously, and clean, a few gashes excepted; is ready to undertake any new Customer who is willing to submit to the above.’ His treatment is exemplified by the appearance of Austria, whose gashed face and head is ornamented with strips of court-plaister. He is talking to John Bull, who looks in at a window: ‘Come, Johnny, come in and be shaved, don’t be frightened at the size of the razor, it cuts very clean, I assure you.’ His reply is, ‘By Goles so it seems, and leaves a dom’d sight of gashes behoind, as you and Mynheer can testify!!’ Poor Holland is in even a worse plight than Austria, and is talking to Prussia, who is sitting in a chair, ready lathered for shaving. Says he to the Dutchman: ‘I hope he don’t mean to shave me as he has you, and my neighbour Austria there? I should not sit here so quietly with my face lathered.’ Holland replies: ‘Yaw Mynheer very close shaver, its nix my doll when you are used to it.’

‘Political Quadrille’ is by Ansell (October 1806), and represents two sets playing that game of cards. One set is composed of George the Third, Russia, Spain, and Prussia. The other consists of Napoleon, Italy, Holland, and Austria. George the Third says: ‘I never had luck when the Curse of Scotland[15] was in my hand—however I have now discarded it—Ay this will do—I have now a strong suit, without a knave among them.’ Russia observes: ‘I never had such luck since I have been a Russian, compleatly bested off the board—but that I must endeavour to forget, and try to play better in future.’ Spain says: ‘I was obliged to play, tho’ it was forced Spadille. My Queen deceived me—but however I must not now give myself Ayres, as I have lost all my Dollars.’ Prussia remarks: ‘Shall I play or not? If I play, I fear I shall be bested, and if not, they will call me Prussian Cake.’

In the other set of players, Napoleon says: ‘I begin to fancy I can play alone—No, I can call a King when I please, I am strong in my suits—besides I know how to finesse my Cards.’ Austria says: ‘For the present I fear the game is up with me, so I pass.’ Italy says: ‘I fear it is nearly over with poor Ponto.’ Holland reflects: ‘I have got a King without calling one—but I have no Trump now, and I fear I shall lose all my fish.’

Fox died in September 1806, and was buried, October 10, in Westminster Abbey, close to the remains of his rival Pitt. With him were buried the last hopes of a peace with France, and, in October, finding all negotiations unsuccessful (Great Britain requiring Russia to be made a party to the Treaty, which France refused), Lord Lauderdale demanded his passports, and left for England.

Meanwhile, Napoleon marched on from victory to victory. The battle of Jena, the occupation of Erfurth, Greissen, Hall, Leipzig, Ascherleben, Bemburg, Spandau, Potsdam, and, lastly, of Berlin, were all in his triumphal march.

A public entry having made,
At Berlin he his airs display’d;
A Court day absolutely held,
And due attendance there compell’d.
Of Prussia’s King he made a scoff,
And all his little taunts play’d off.
And here he issued a decree,
The most invet’rate that could be,
In hopes t’annoy Great Britain’s trade,
All Commerce with her he forbade.
The Capture he ordain’d, ’tis true,
Of British ships—the seizure, too,
Of letters, if in English written,
Or if directed to Great Britain;
And this he styled—a strange romance!
The fundamental law of France.

The decree is dated from Berlin, November 21, 1806, and, after a preamble, states:—‘1. The British Islands are declared in a state of blockade. 2. All trade and intercourse with the British Islands is prohibited; consequently letters or packets addressed to England, or written in the English language, will not be conveyed by post, and will be seized. 3. Every native of England, whatever his rank and condition, who may be found in the countries occupied by our troops, or by those of our allies, shall be made prisoners of war. 4. Every warehouse, and all merchandise and property of any description whatever, belonging to an English subject, or the produce of English manufactures or colonies, is declared good prize. 5. Trade in English merchandise is prohibited, and all merchandise belonging to England, or the produce of her manufactures, and colonies, is declared good prize. 6. One half of the produce of the confiscation of the merchandise, and property, declared good prize by the preceding articles, will be appropriated to the indemnification of the merchants, for losses they have sustained, through the capture of trading vessels, by English cruisers. 7. No vessel coming directly from England, or her colonies, or having been there since the publication of the present decree, will be received in any port. 8. Any vessel which, by means of a false declaration, shall contravene the above article, shall be seized, and the Ship and Cargo shall be confiscated as if they were English property,’ &c.

The Times, of December 8, commenting on this proclamation, says:—‘If our orders of Council, and our Navy are not competent to seal up the ports of France, we should be glad to know how Buonaparte, who can scarce venture to steal a ship to sea, is to retaliate with effect upon this country. We believe none of the nations, which are yet free to trade with us, will be deterred by a Decree emitted at Berlin, from sending their produce to the markets of Britain. Of all the follies that have ever escaped from Buonaparte, in the extravagance, and intoxication, of his ambition, and success, this we consider as one of the greatest. He, in fact, pledges himself to that which he has no adequate means whatever of carrying into effect. His Decree will have as little influence upon the trade of England, as his Navy has.’

Ansell designed (December 1806) ‘Jack Tars conversing with Boney on the Blockade of Old England.’ Napoleon is vapouring about behind his fortifications, flourishing his sword, ‘The Terror of the Continent,’ and saying: ‘Begar by my Imperial decree, England is in a State of Blockade.’ Two sailors are in a small boat called the Nelson, and one says: ‘Why what do you mean by that, you whipper snapper—Heres Tom Pipes, and I, in this little cock boat, will Blockade you so that you dare not bring out a single vessel—Blockade, indeed! you are a pretty fellow to talk of blockading!’ His companion contemptuously adds: ‘I wonder, Jack, you throw away your precious time in talking to such a lubber.’ John Bull, pipe in hand, stands on the cliffs of Albion, roaring with laughter. ‘I cannot help laughing at the whimsical conceit.’

Souley (December 1806) drew ‘Bonaparte blockading John Bull.’

Boney for want of proper Sail,
By threats bombastic would prevail.

Boney and his army are crossing the Channel in their cocked hats; he, presenting sword and pistol at John Bull, says: ‘I’ll Blockade ye, ye English Scoundrel. ’Tis you thwart all my designs—’Tis you and you only who dare oppose MY WILL. But I’ll Blockade ye—and not one of your rascally Craft shall stir.’ John Bull, convulsed with laughter, is dancing, and saying: ‘Shiver my timbers, here’s a go! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Why Master Boney you look like Neptune crossing the Line. I suppose next you will be blockading the moon.’

And so ends the year 1806.

CHAPTER XLIV.
NAPOLEON’S POLISH CAMPAIGN—BATTLE OF EYLAU—MEETING OF THE EMPERORS AT TILSIT—CAPTURE OF THE DANISH FLEET.

1807 commences with ‘John Bull playing on the Base Villain’ (artist unknown, January 1, 1807), in which we see that revered personage playing ‘Britains Strike home’ on poor Boney, with a sword in lieu of a bow, and grasping him tightly round the neck.

In November 1806, Napoleon, with his army, had entered Poland, and, on December 18 of the same year, he entered Warsaw.

An unknown artist (January 1807) depicts ‘The Entrance into Poland or another Bonne Bouche for Boney.’ On their knees are the Polish magnates, who exclaim: ‘What a happy day for Poland!’ The foremost is kissing the toe of Napoleon, who says: ‘Rise up free and independent Polanders, depend upon it you shall have a King, and I’ll be Vice Roy over him.’ Behind, a standard-bearer carries a flag, on which is shown a pair of shackles, a guillotine, and two crossed swords, with the legend, ‘Comfort for the Poles.’ Beside him, another French soldier is emptying a sack of fetters.

The Russians withdrew for a time, but only to return in force, and Napoleon had to change his tactics to meet them; he therefore proposed to concentrate his forces, and compel the Russians to give battle, with the Vistula in their rear, and he himself between them and Russia. His despatches, however, were intercepted, and the battle was precipitated. Augereau’s division lost its way, and was cut up by the Russians; and Bernadotte did not come, as the despatches, bidding him do so, had been captured. The fight in the snow at Preuss Eylau was fearful, and the carnage, especially in the churchyard, was horrible. Four thousand men died there. The French put down their loss in this battle as 2,000 killed, 6,000 wounded; while the loss of the Russians was 7,000 dead, 16,000 wounded, 12,000 prisoners, and 45 cannon taken.

That the blockade still galled us is evidenced by a caricature of Woodward’s (January 27, 1807), who designed ‘The Giant Commerce overwhelming the Pigmy Blockade.’ Commerce is a strange figure: its cap is Wedgwood ware, its face Staffordshire ware, its eyes Derby Porcelain, and its mouth Worcester porcelain. Its body is Wool, arms of printed calico, and its hands are encased in Woodstock gloves. It wears a Norwich shawl, has leather breeches, Fleecy hosiery stockings, and Staffordshire shoes. It is actively employed in hurling various missiles at Napoleon, who is sheltered behind his fortifications. These implements of offence consist of such articles as Birmingham steel, pig iron, scissors, combs, knives and forks, block tin, sugar, patent coffins, Birmingham buttons, and a cask each of London porter, Maidstone, Geneva, and British spirits. Napoleon entreats: ‘Pray Mr. Commerce don’t overwhelm me, and I will take off de grande Blockade of old England.’

The two following caricatures were designed and published before the news had arrived in England of the crushing defeat of the Russians at Eylau, which only appeared publicly in the ‘Times’ of March 10.

Ansell (March 1807) gives ‘Boney and his Army in Winter Quarters.’ In the background is a State Prison for Prisoners of War; and, in the centre of the picture, the Russian bear hugs poor Boney, and prepares to drop him in the river Bug, in which is a board inscribed, ‘Hic Jacet. Snug in the Bug several thousands of the great nation.’ Bruin growls: ‘Hush a bye! Hush a bye! take it all quietly, you’ll soon find yourself as snug as a bug in a rug.’ But Boney, writhing in the embrace, cries out: ‘Oh D—n the Bug, I wish I had never seen it. My dear Talley—don’t tell my faithful subjects the true state of my situation. Any thing but the truth, my dear Talley—Oh this Cursed Russian bear, how close he hugs me.’ Talleyrand, with one foot in the Vistula, and the other on land, replies: ‘Leave me alone for a Bulletin’—applies his lips to a trumpet, from which issues a true and a false report. The true one, ‘4000 prisoners, 3000 drowned, 12 Eagles taken, 12000 killed,’ is disappearing into thin air; whilst that ‘For Paris’ is as follows: ‘Grand Bulletin. The august Emperor of the great Nation informs his faithful, and beloved, subjects, that, having performed wonders on the banks of the Bug, he has now closed a glorious campaign for the season, and retired with ease, and comfort, into Winter quarters.’

‘The Political Cock horse’ (Souley, March 10, 1807) shows Napoleon’s somewhat ragged white charger stumbling over a stone, ‘Insatiable Ambition.’ Benningsen has jumped up behind him, seized the reins, and hurled Boney to the ground. In his fall he loses his sword ‘Oppression,’ and cries out pitifully, ‘Stop, stop, good Benningsen, don’t kill a poor fellow! An Armistice! an Armistice! I have very good proposals of peace for you.’ But the relentless Russian prepares to run him through with his sword, saying: ‘You Bombastic Scoundrel, Robber, Murderer, Violator, Incendiary, &c., &c., &c. You thought of reigning with your Iron Crown (in) the North, as well as the South. But know, Tyrant, that the Sons of the North are to be your Superior.’ John Bull encourages him with ‘Bravo, bravo, brave Russians: One home stroke more, and good bye to Master Boney.’

THE NEW DYNASTY, OR THE LITTLE CORSICAN GARDENER PLANTING A ROYAL PIPPIN TREE.

Of Gillray’s caricature of ‘The New Dynasty; or the little Corsican Gardener Planting a Royal Pippin Tree,’ only a portion is given—that relating to Napoleon. The Old Royal Oak is being hewn down by ‘All the Talents,’ and Talleyrand is busy digging a hole to receive Napoleon’s royal pippin, which is to take its place. The topmost pippin, which is crowned, represents Lord Moira, who claimed to be descended from the old kings of Ballynahinch. The others are, ‘Countess of Salisbury beheaded 1505,’ ‘Duchess of Cleves put to death in 1453,’ ‘Henry de la Pole beheaded in 1538,’ ‘Plantagenet beheaded in 1415,’ ‘Crookback Richard killed at Bosworth,’ ‘Edmund, 4th son of Henry 2, beheaded.’ The royal pippins behind, which have already been planted, and have taken root, are labelled respectively, ‘Etruria, Wurtemburg, Saxon, Holland, and Italian;’ whilst on the ground, by a basket, are grafts, which respectively represent Sir Francis Burdett, Cobbett, and Horne Tooke.

Napoleon pursued his victories over the Russians. Dantzig was taken; at Friedland the Russians lost 18,000 men and 25 generals, killed and wounded, and at last Königsberg was taken by Soult, after having been evacuated by the Russians. It was time for them to beg for an armistice, and on June 21 one was concluded. Napoleon was asked to have an interview with the Emperor of Russia, to which he consented, and Tilsit was the place appointed; and, in order that this meeting should be quite private, and free from interruption, Napoleon ordered a large raft to be moored in the middle of the Niemen, on which was erected a room with two antechambers, all elegantly furnished and decorated. Both the roof and the doors were ornamented with French and Russian eagles. On June 25 they met; Napoleon reached the raft first, and stood on its edge to welcome Alexander. They met and parted in a most friendly manner. This incident, it is needless to say, afforded a fine subject to the caricaturist.

Ansell gives us, certainly, a more comic representation of the meeting of the Emperors than any other caricaturist (July 1807). Bonaparte is hugging the Emperor of Russia in a most exaggerated style, saying: ‘My dear Brother—receive this Fraternal Embrace out of pure affection.’ But Russia, finding the raft tilting violently, and not liking such demonstrative affection, exclaims, ‘Zounds, Brother, you’ll squeeze me to death—besides, I find my side of the raft is sinking very fast.’ Poor Prussia is floundering in the water, his crown floating away from him: ‘What a Prussian cake I was to listen to him—I am afraid I shall never recover it.’

Nap, with the hopes of peace delighted,
The Russian Emperor invited,
And for this interview, with craft,
Had been prepar’d a pretty raft,
Which on the river Niemen floated,
With two commodious tents, devoted
To the sole use of the contractors,
Who were indeed conspicuous actors;
The signal given, as commanded,
Each from his boat together landed,
And on this raft, their ends to get,
By Nap, was Alexander met—
Exchanging the fraternal hug
They took their seats in manner snug;
When Nap began his wheedling jargon,
And made, depend on’t, a good bargain.
The peace of Tilsit, as recorded,
A temporary rest afforded.

And now three sovereigns, they say,
Sat down together very gay:
Meaning the Emperor of Russia,
Our hero, and the King of Prussia:
Their visits to each other, they
Alternately were wont to pay.
Napoleon talk’d of this and that,
And entertain’d them with his chat.
Their life guards, who were much delighted,
To dinner, were by Nap invited,
The brotherly embrace went round,
There was not a discordant sound.
In harmony the day they spent,
Each countenance display’d content.
Now matters were so well arrang’d,
A while they uniforms exchang’d,
And after they had dined, and talk’d,
Together through the streets they walked.

Ansell drew (July 1807) ‘An Imperial Bonne bouche, or the dinner at Tilsit.’ Napoleon, attended by his guards, sits on one side of the table, and the Emperor of Russia opposite to him; the latter has but an empty plate, and a castor of cayenne pepper before him, whilst Napoleon is stuffing his mouth with ‘Continental slices,’ and has besides, immediately before him, ‘Austerlitz biscuit,’ ‘Friedland Pye,’ and ‘Eylau Custard,’ which he intends carving with his sword. But he banters his brother Emperor with ‘My dear Brother, you dont eat; What is the matter with you? see what a hearty meal our other beloved Cousin, and brother, is making, from the Crumbs that fall from the table.’ And Prussia is seen on his knees, picking up some fragments of a ‘Prussian Cake.’ Russia, with expectant knife and fork, looks very blankly at his confrère, and replies: ‘How the deuce, brother, am I to eat when you keep everything to yourself?’

‘Mutual Honors at Tilsit, or the Monkey, the Bear and the Eagle’ (August 1807), by Ansell, represents Napoleon, as a monkey, seated on a drum, having a plaque upon his breast, inscribed ‘Order of St. Andrew, to our Faithful &c. &c. &c. Fudge,’ decorating a bear with ‘The Legion of Honor. To our trusty and beloved Cousin &c. &c. Fudge.’ The poor bear wears a fool’s cap and bells, and is muzzled, whilst its throat is galled by a spiked collar, called, in irony, ‘Collar of Independence.’ Napoleon says, ‘Really, Brother Bruin—you never look’d so fine in your life. You cannot think how the medal, and cap and bells, become you.’ But the bear ruefully ruminates, ‘I shall really be ashamed to return to my own Fraternity. I wonder what my old Friend, the Lion, will say.’ The Prussian eagle is also decorated with the collar of the Legion of Honour, but is in a wofully dilapidated condition, which is well explained by its own reflections: ‘It is certainly very fine—but, what with having one of my heads chopped off—and the crown half cracked of the other; besides having my wings cropp’d, I think, somehow, I was better off before.’

The English, perforce, had to keep up their courage, and one etching, by Ansell (August 1807), represents, in the background, Napoleon on his throne, and all the European sovereigns grovelling before him. The foreground is occupied by Britannia and John Bull. The former asks: ‘Do give me your advice—what am I to do—All my foreign Allies have deserted me,—even Russia has joined them, they are bending at the feet of the usurper.’ John Bull, a truculent-looking sailor, with oaken Cudgel, replies: ‘What are you to do? Why stick to me, your old and faithful ally John Bull, who will never desert you while he has a timber to support him.’ The picture is called ‘Britannia in tribulation for the loss of her Allies, or John Bull’s advice.’

In ‘The Polish Pie, or the Effects of the Peace at Tilsit’ (artist unknown, September 10, 1807), we see the Emperor of Russia, and Napoleon, carving a huge ‘Polish pie,’ the Russian’s opinion of which is ‘I think I never relished a Pie so well in all my life.’ Whilst thus engaged, comes poor, wounded, tattered Prussia, humbly, with hat in hand: ‘Pray give a part of the Pie to a poor broken-down Prussian—You know you promised me formerly you would not touch it; but now you have reduced me to poverty, crutches, and a wooden leg—you’ll not allow me a mouthfull, ’tis a very hard case indeed! Pray remember a poor Prussian!’ Napoleon turns to his brother Emperor, and opines, ‘Suppose, Cousin, we give him a small piece of the Crust, just to keep him from grumbling.’

The Danes sought to curry favour with Napoleon, or perhaps they were obliged to act as they did; but they closed their ports, such as Holstein, &c., to British ships, which John Bull could not stand. So Admiral Gambier, with a fleet, having on board 20,000 troops, sailed to set matters right. Negotiations failed, and the admiral used the force majeure at his disposal. Copenhagen was bombarded, and on September 8 the British took possession of the fortifications, &c., of Copenhagen, captured the whole Danish fleet, fully armed and equipped, consisting of 18 sail of the line, 15 frigates, 6 brigs, and 25 gun-boats, which were safely navigated to England, with the exception of one ship, which was stranded. Unfortunately, Copenhagen itself suffered severely, guns not being so scientifically constructed as at present, and accuracy as to range was impossible.

‘Gulliver towing the Fleet into Lilliput!’ (I. Cruikshank, October 16, 1807) shows Admiral Gambier swimming towards England, towing the captured vessels. George the Third, on a Martello tower, watching him through his spy-glass, and saying, with his accustomed iteration, ‘What, What, Gulliver the 2nd—he—Gulliver the 2nd—More Nelsons—more Nelsons—brave fellows!’ On the Continent Napoleon is seen furious, and the countries under his sway are in different attitudes of despair. Napoleon shouts out, ‘Curse that fellow; here, Tally, stop him: what! will nobody stop him? Then begar, we never shall invade England, and all our schemes are frustrated.’ On the coast of Zealand a Jack Tar is thus explaining to a native: ‘Hold your jaw; You know as how you used to rob our forefathers, you lubber, and so you wanted to assist that French Monkey to do it again, but it would not do.’

Ansell published (October 21, 1807) ‘Malignant Aspects looking with envy on John Bull and his Satellites, or, a New Planetary System.’ In a centre medallion sits John Bull, happily smoking, and with a jug of good October by his side. He is surrounded by the British navy, and a halo of glory. Rushing towards him is ‘A Corsican Comet Frenchified,’ and chained to him is ‘A Russian bear with two heads, an appendage to the Comet.’ There is a ‘Danish Mouse,’ an ‘Italian Greyhound,’ an ‘American Torpedo,’ a ‘Swiss Cheese,’ a ‘Spanish Puff,’ a ‘Dutch frog,’ besides many ‘minor Constellations with malignant aspects.’

CHAPTER XLV.

FRENCH ENTRY INTO PORTUGAL—BLOCKADE OF ENGLAND—FLIGHT OF THE PORTUGUESE ROYAL FAMILY—THE PENINSULAR WAR—FLIGHT OF KING JOSEPH.

On October 18 or 19 Junot entered Portugal, and then it was that John Bull began to fear for his stock of port wine. This is very amusingly put in a picture: ‘In Port, and Out of Port, or news from Portugal,’ which is the title of a caricature by Woodward (November 10, 1807), and it represents Bonaparte seated on a pipe of ‘Genuine Old Port.’ With folded arms he thus speaks: ‘Now Master Jean Bull—more news for you. You’ll soon be out of Port.’ A miserable-looking ‘Portugee’ approaches John Bull, with cap in hand, saying: ‘I be, d’ye see, de poor Portuguese. Vat he mean be de Port Wine; which he will be glad to change for your bag of guineas dere—begar—but dat is mine—between ourselves.’ John Bull, who is sitting down, smoking, with a jug of ale and a huge bagful of guineas by his side, replies: ‘D—n him, and his Port too—I am snug in Port, and while I have the port holes of my wooden walls, and a glass of home brew’d ale, his conquests shall never trouble me.’

Napoleon, in a decree dated from Hamburg, November 10, and also in another dated Milan, December 27, again declared England in a state of blockade, and he made all under his sway to cease all connection with that country, as far as commercial matters were concerned; and this is how the caricaturist met it:—

‘Blockade against Blockade, or John Bull a Match for Boney’ (Ansell, November 1807), shows the different sides of a ‘Wall of Blockade.’ John Bull is well victualled, and has a fine surloin of beef, and a full tankard, &c.; and he says: ‘Now Master Boney, we shall see which will hold out the longest, my wall against yours. Aye, aye, I can see you. I have left a peep hole. I believe you will soon be glad to change your Soup Maigre for my Roast beef.’ Boney, with only a basin of Soup Maigre before him, looks very disconsolate: ‘Who could have thought that he would build a wall also—I really think I had better have left him alone—Some how I don’t relish this Soup Maigre.’

‘The Continental Dockyard,’ by Woodward (November 27, 1807), shows a very tumbledown erection, called ‘The Gallic Storehouse for English Shipping,’ but it contains none. It only holds the ‘Yaw Mynheer,’ the ‘Don Diego,’ the ‘Swede,’ the ‘Dane,’ and the ‘Napoleon,’ on which a number of shipwrights are engaged, being driven to their task by Napoleon, with drawn sword. He thus addresses the master shipwright: ‘Begar you must work like de Diable, ve must annihilate dis John Bull.’ The unlucky foreman replies: ‘Please you, my Grand Empereur, ’tis no use vatever. As fast as ve do build dem, he vas clap dem in his storehouse over de way.’ Accordingly, we see in ‘John Bull’s Storehouse’ a large collection of captured vessels from the Armada—‘Portobello,’ ‘Camperdown,’ ‘St. Vincent,’ ‘Nile,’ and ‘Trafalgar.’ John Bull and a number of sailors enjoy this cheering sight. Says he to them: ‘I say my lads, if he goes on this way we shall be overstocked.’ And a sailor remarks: ‘What a deal of pains some people take for nothing.’

I. Cruikshank (December 20, 1807) gives us ‘The Bear, the Monkey, the Turkey, and the Bull, or the true cause of the Russian war.’ Bonaparte, as the French Monkey, is leading the Russian Bear by a collar and chain, and thus addresses him: ‘The case is this, if you will make war against that overgrown Bull over the way, you shall have a slice of that fine Turkey! and the Eastern Star.’ The Turkey is represented as saying: ‘I wish I was well out of their clutches, but I am afraid they will have me at last.’ The Eastern Star appears on the horizon, and represents the Indies. A Bull, on the opposite coast, is in a menacing attitude, and bellows forth: ‘You had better beware, for, remember the old adage—When you play with a Bull, take care of his horns.’

‘John Bull refreshing the Bear’s Memory’ is by I. Cruikshank (December 20, 1807), and shows the former worthy opening an enormous volume, his journal, and thus addressing a crowned bear, who has a collar round his neck inscribed ‘This bear belongs to Napoleon,’ and who regards the book through an enormous pair of spectacles. ‘So you say, Master Bruin, that my visit to Denmark has no parallel in History—do be so good as to turn your spectacles to this page, and refresh your memory.’ And he points to a page of his journal, in which is written: ‘The Great, the Magnanimous, Catherine of Russia seized upon one third of the Kingdom of Poland, and kept it to herself. These peaceful Danes seized on the City of Hamburgh.’

On January 1, 1808, I. Cruikshank published ‘Boney stark mad, or more Ships, Colonies, and Commerce.’ It shows the fleet in the Tagus, and the British Admiral (Sir Sidney Smith) calling out through his speaking-trumpet, ‘Bon jour, Monsieur, if you would like a trip to the Brazils, I’ll conduct you there with a great deal of pleasure; perhaps you would like a taste of Madeira by the way.’ This is to Talleyrand, on whom Bonaparte is venting his rage, kicking him, and tearing off his wig, saying: ‘Stop them, stop them. Murder, fire! Why did you not make more haste, you hopping rascal? now, all my hopes are blasted, my revenge disappointed, and—I’ll glut it on you—Monster—Vagabond—Villain!!!’

The explanation of this caricature is, that as the French army was marching direct to Lisbon, the whole of the Portuguese Royal family embarked for the Brazils, on November 29, under convoy of a British squadron.

‘Delicious Dreams! Castles in the Air! Glorious Prospects! vide an Afternoon Nap after the Fatigues of an Official Dinner,’ is by Gillray (April 10, 1808), and shows the Cabinet asleep, a punch-bowl on the table, and full and empty bottles all around. They are so quiet that the mice are licking the Treasury plates. Behind Castlereagh’s chair is a cat (Catalani). Mr. Perceval sleeps with his arms on the table; the Duke of Portland in the chairman’s seat; Lord Liverpool with his back to the table; Canning, negligently lolling back in his chair, uses Lord Melville, who is under the table, as a footstool. The delicious dream they see has for its background the Tower of London, before which passes Britannia seated on a triumphal car, fashioned somewhat like a ship, and drawn by a bull; and, behind the car, chained to it, come, first, Bonaparte, the Russian Bear, Prussia, Austria, and Spain.

‘The Corsican Tiger at Bay’ (Rowlandson, July 8, 1808) shows Napoleon as a Tiger (or rather, as the artist has depicted him, a leopard), with his fore-feet on four Royal Greyhounds, whilst a pack of Patriotic Greyhounds are rushing to attack him. John Bull, standing on the white cliffs of Albion, presents his gun at him, singing the nursery rhyme—

‘There was a little man,
And he had a little gun,
And his bullets were made of lead——

D—me, but we’ll manage him amongst us.’ The Russian Bear and Austrian Eagle are chained together; but Austria thus proposes: ‘Now, Brother Bruin, is the time to break our chains.’ The Dutch frog, too, joins in the chorus: ‘It will be my turn to have a slap at him next.’

‘Boney Bothered, or an unexpected meeting’ (Ansell, July 9, 1808). This shows Boney having gone right through the world, and, coming out on the other side, planting his foot on the East Indies, at Bengal; but he is utterly astonished to find John Bull there also, armed with his redoubtable oaken cudgel. ‘Begar,’ says he, ‘Monsieur Jean Bull again! Vat! you know I was come here?’ To which John Bull, from whose pocket peeps a bundle of Secret Intelligence, replies, ‘To be sure I did—for all your humbug deceptions. I smoked[16] your intentions, and have brought my Oak Twig with me, so now you may go back again.’

We now come to a period of our history which is interesting to all of us—the Peninsular War. Napoleon had turned his attention to Spain, and the Spanish king had abdicated, and been sent to Fontainebleau, with ample allowances. Joseph Bonaparte had been chosen king of Spain, and Murat had his kingdom of Naples. But the Spanish nation did not acquiesce in these arrangements. They broke into open revolt, the English helping them with arms and money, and, on June 6, the Supreme Junta formally declared war against Napoleon. This much is necessary to explain the following caricature:—

Gillray (July 11, 1808) drew ‘The Spanish Bull fight, or the Corsican Matador in danger,’ and kindly tells us that ‘The Spanish Bull is so remarkable for Spirit, that, unless the Matador strikes him dead at the first blow, the Bull is sure to destroy him.’ In the Theatre Royale de l’Europe sits George the Third, a trident in one hand, his spy-glass in the other, keenly watching the exciting fight, as also are the delighted sovereigns of Europe, the Pope, the Sultan of Turkey, and the Dey of Algiers. The Spanish Bull has broken the Corsican chain and collar which bound him, and, trampling on his king, has gored and tossed the Matador, Napoleon, whose sword is broken in an ineffectual attempt to despatch the animal. On the ground are three wounded bulls—Prussian, Dutch, and Danish—bellowing for help.

Woodward gives us a capital caricature in ‘The Corsican Spider in his web’ (July 12, 1808). Napoleon is there represented as a bloated spider, ‘Unbounded ambition,’ and he is just swallowing a Spanish fly. There are plenty of flies in his web—Austrian, Dutch, Portuguese, Hanoverian, Etrurian, Prussian, Hamburg, Italian, Venetian, and small flies innumerable. The Pope fly is just being entangled, and says, ‘I am afraid I shall be dragg’d in.’ ‘The Russian Fly’ has touched the fatal web, and exclaims, ‘I declare I was half in the web before I made the discovery.’ In fact, the only two that are as yet free from the baneful mesh is the Turkish fly, who thinks, ‘I am afraid it will be my turn next,’ and the British fly, who, well and hearty, calls out, ‘Ay, you may look, master Spider, but I am not to be caught in your web.’

To understand the next caricature, which, though dated July 27, must have been published somewhat later, we must note that Joseph Bonaparte entered Madrid, in state, on July 20, but, ominously, without any welcome from the people: although money was scattered broadcast, none but the French picked it up. He knew little of what was going on—how Moncey had been obliged to raise the siege of Valencia, and that Dupont had surrendered at Baylen. This latter piece of news he did not receive till the 26th or 27th of July; when he learned also that Castaños, with constantly increasing forces, was marching towards Madrid, he left that city for Vittoria.

A broadside caricature (artist unknown, July 27, 1808) shows Joseph leaving Madrid, his crown falling off, heading his troops, who are carrying off heaps of treasure. It is headed ‘Burglary and Robbery!!! Whereas on the night of the 20th of July last, a numerous gang of French Banditti entered the City of Madrid, and burglariously broke into the Royal Palace, National Bank, and most of the Churches thereof, murdering all who opposed them in their infamous proceedings.

‘The said banditti remained in Madrid until the 27th of the said month, and then suddenly departed, laden with immense booty, having stolen from thence several waggon-loads of plate, and every portable article of value, taking the road to France; all patriotic Spaniards are hereby requested to be aiding, and assisting, in the apprehension of all, or any, of the said robbers; and, whoever apprehends all, or any, of them, shall receive the thanks, and blessings, of every well-disposed person in Europe.

‘The said Banditti were headed by Joe Nap, a ferocious ruffian of the following description:—He is about five feet seven inches high, of a meagre, squalid aspect, saffron-coloured complexion. He was, when he escaped, habited in a royal robe, which he is known to have stolen from the King’s Wardrobe at Naples. He is a brother of the noted thief who has committed numberless robberies all over Europe, murdered millions of the human race, and who was latterly at Bayonne, where it is supposed he tarried, for the purpose of receiving the stolen goods which his brother was to bring from Spain.’

The war, in aid of Spain, against France, was now taken up in earnest, and Sir Arthur Wellesley was sent to Spain with a large body of troops, whilst reinforcements were to come from other quarters.

Almost one of the last of Gillray’s political caricatures, and a very good one it is, is ‘Apotheosis of the Corsican Phœnix’ (August 2, 1808). It has an imaginary quotation from a supposed ‘New Spanish Encyclopædia, edit. 1808. When the Phœnix is tired of Life, he builds a Nest upon the mountains, and setting it on Fire by the wafting of his own Wings, he perishes Himself in the Flames! and from the smoke of his Ashes arises a new Phœnix to illumine the world!!!’ This very graphic etching shows, on the summit of the Pyrenees, a globe, which is the nest of the Phœnix—Napoleon, with orb and sceptre, but, his crown falling off, he has fanned all Europe into a blaze with his wings. Around his neck is a ‘cordon d’honneur’ of daggers, and, amid the smoke which rises from the pyre, is seen a dove with olive branch, having on its wings ‘Peace on earth.’

I. Cruikshank still kept up the idea of Tiddy-Doll in ‘The Oven on Fire—or Boney’s last Batch entirely spoiled!!!’ (August 24, 1808.) He is on his knees, with arms outspread in consternation, for, in putting Dupont, on a ‘peel,’ into the oven—‘Spain and Portugal’—flames burst out, labelled Asturian Legions, Army of Portugal, Biscay, Catalonian Army, Army of Galicia, Andalusian Army, Army of New and Old Castille, British Army and Fleet, Estramadurean Army, Leon, Army of Valencia, Murcia, and Army of Granada; whilst in the centre of the flames is the legend ‘A people United can never be conquered.’ Poor Dupont exclaims, ‘Oh Nap, Nap! what is this? Instead of a King, you’ve only made me a Dup(e)ont.’ Bonaparte himself cries out, ‘Zounds, I shall be overwhelmed with this Patriotic Blaze. I did not think there was a single spark left, but I find there is more than all the Engines of France can extinguish.’ Talleyrand, who stands by his kneading-trough, which is labelled ‘State Prison,’ rests quiet, and says, ‘Aye Aye, I told you that you would burn your fingers at that batch of Ginger-bread—but I have nothing to do with it. I am only a Jailor, so there is an end to all my glory.’

We have seen the European monarchs sitting down to a game of quadrille. Ansell (August 1808) gives us its conclusion. Spain has suddenly arisen, and, upsetting the table, seizes Napoleon by the throat, accusing him of foul play: ‘I tell you, you are a Scoundrel, and if you do not restore my King, whom you have stolen from the other table, and reinstate Ponto—by the honor of a Spanish Patriot, I will strangle you.’ Trembling Bonaparte replies, ‘Don’t be so boisterous, I only borrowed him, merely to make up the pack.’ The Pope is on the floor, and the stolid Dutchman, with his hat in hand, says, ‘Donder and Blixens, I be quite tired of de game. Yaw! Yaw! now is de time for me to rise.’ At the other table all take a lively interest in the squabble. George the Third rises from his seat and grasps his ‘heart of oak’ stick, saying, ‘What! what! a dust, eh? so much the better. Boney got the worst of the game. I must lend a hand.’ Russia, with hand on sword, turns in his chair, remarking that ‘Now is the time to rub off the rust of Tilsit.’ Prussia rises, exclaiming, ‘If I don’t take advantage of the present opportunity, I shall indeed be a Prussian Cake.’ Austria reaches his hat and sword from its peg on the wall, and says, ‘Ah! Ah! the game has taken a different turn from what I expected, I must not be idle.’

The next caricature relates to the bad success of Napoleon’s arms. The raising the siege of Saragossa, the defeat of Vimiera, and the Convention of Cintra, by which the French were to evacuate Portugal, were not facts likely to be relished in France.

‘The Fox and the Grapes’ is another of Woodward’s (September 15, 1808), where the Corsican Fox interviews the Gallic Cock. The former says, ‘Believe me, my dear Doodle doo, you would not like them—I found them so sour that I absolutely could not touch them,’ in answer to the Cock’s query—‘But my good friend, you promised to bring me home some Spanish Grapes and Portugal plums: where are they?’

‘Prophecy explained’ is by Rowlandson (September 17, 1808), and the text taken is from the Revelation of St. John (chap. xvii. verse 10): ‘And there are seven kings, five are fallen, and one is, and the other is not yet come, and when he cometh he must continue but a short space.’ The five that are fallen are the Kings of Würtemberg, Saxony, Holland, Bavaria, and Prussia, and these have fallen into a ‘Slough of Disgrace and Ridicule.’ The ‘one that is,’ it is needless to say, is Napoleon; and the ‘one that continued but a short space,’ is King Joseph, who, having been chased beyond the Pyrenees, has his crown snatched from him. There are many other caricatures on this subject of the flight of Joseph, but, although interesting, they hardly come within the scope of personal satire on Napoleon.

Rowlandson gives us (September 20, 1808) ‘Napoleon the little in a Rage with his great French Eagle!!’ Napoleon, with his sword drawn, and his hands clenched, is in a terrible rage with his brother Joseph, who, under the guise of a crowned eagle, is limping along with one leg in a sling. Napoleon thus addresses him: ‘Confusion and Destruction—what is this I see? Did I not command you not to return till you had spread your Wing of Victory over the whole Spanish Nation?’ And the poor bird meekly replies: ‘Aye, its fine talking Nap, but if you had been there, you would not much have liked it—The Spanish Cormorants pursued me in such a manner, that they not only disabled one of my legs, but set me a moulting in such a terrible way that I wonder I had not lost every feather; besides, it got so hot, I could not bear it any longer.’

There is a caricature (September 24, 1808) of ‘A hard passage, or Boney playing Base on the Continent.’ He is here represented as playing on the bass viol from the score of the ‘Conquest of Spain and Portugal.’ His task seems hard, and he exclaims: ‘Plague take it! I never met with so difficult a passage before. But, if I can once get over the Flats, we shall do pretty well, for you see the Key will then change into B sharp.’ A muzzled Russian bear is trying to play on the French horn, and says: ‘Why that is Natural enough, brother Boney, though this French horn of yours seems rather out of order.’

CHAPTER XLVI.
PENINSULAR WAR, continued—MEETING AT ERFURT.

‘The Valley of the Shadow of Death’ is, as far as I know, the last caricature of Gillray (September 24, 1808) in connection with Napoleon—if, indeed, it can be called a caricature, for it is far too serious in its conception. Napoleon’s situation at the moment is here firmly grasped. He is surrounded by enemies. With notched sword in hand, he leads the Russian bear. He is pursued by the German eagle and the spirit of Charles XII. Above is the ‘Turkish New Moon Rising in blood,’ the obscured portion of which is represented by ‘French Influence,’ the bright crescent as ‘English Influence,’ and the whole is dropping blood. A fiery comet, with a tiara as a nucleus (the Pope), is darting thunderbolts of excommunication upon him; whilst Junot and Dupont, shackled together at their necks, amidst clouds, seem to warn him of his fate. Immediately in front of him is a Portuguese wolf, which has broken its chain, a Sicilian terrier, and the Leo Britannicus. Death also appears, lance in one hand, hour-glass in the other, on a mule of ‘True Royal Spanish breed.’ In the Ditch of Styx is disappearing ‘Rex Joseph,’ whose hands and crown alone appear above water. Creeping upwards from the slime of the Lethean Ditch, is ‘The Rhenish Confederation of starved Rats, crawling out of the Mud,’ also ‘Dutch Frogs spitting out their spite’; whilst the ‘American Rattle Snake is shaking his tail,’ and the ‘Prussian scarecrow is attempting to fly.’

Certainly ‘Nap and his Partner Joe’ is not one of Rowlandson’s happiest efforts (September 29, 1808). Some Dons are kicking the brothers into the gaping jaws of a devil, singing meanwhile, ‘So seeing we were finely nick’d. Plump to the Devil we boldly kick’d. Both Nap and his Partner Joe.’

‘Nap and His fiends in their glory’ (October 1, 1808) shews him, his brother Joseph, Death, and the Devil, carousing. Napoleon is rising and giving a toast. ‘Come, gentlemen, here is success to Plunder and Massacre.’ There is below a song to the tune of ‘Drops of Brandy.’

NAP.

These Spaniards are terrible rogues,
They will not submit to my fetters;
With patience so gracefully worn,
Nay, sought for, by Nations their betters.
But let us return to the Charge
And no longer with lenity treat them.
Once get them to lay down their arms,
And I warrant, brave boys, we shall beat them.
Rum ti iddidy—iddidy
Rum ti iddidy—ido.

DEATH.

Brother Boney, we’ll never despair,
A trusty good friend I have found you.
Kill, plunder, and burn and destroy,
And deal desolation around you.
Then gaily let’s push round the glass,
We’ll sing and we’ll riot and revel,
And I’m sure we shall have on our side
Our very good friend, here, the Devil.
Rum ti, &c.

THE DEVIL.

Believe me, friend Death, you are right.
Although I’m an ugly old fellow,
When mischief is getting afloat,
O! then I am jolly and mellow.
As soon as these Spaniards are crush’d,
Again we’ll be merry and sing Sirs,
And that we will quickly accomplish,
And Joey here, he shall be King, Sirs.
Rum ti, &c.

DON JOEY.

Excuse me from lending my aid,
You may jointly pursue them and spike them;
But lately, I’ve seen them—and own,
I speak the plain truth,—I don’t like them.
They Liberty cherish so dear,
That they constantly make her their guide, O,
Who pleases may make themselves King,
But may I be d—d if I do.
Rum ti, &c.

APOLLYON, THE DEVIL’S GENERALISSIMO, ADDRESSING HIS LEGIONS.

‘Apollyon, the Devil’s Generalissimo, addressing his legions,’ a portion of which is here reproduced, is by I. Cruikshank (October 7, 1808). His speech is as follows: ‘Legions of Death. After having ravished, murdered, and plundered, on the banks of the Danube, and the Vistula, I shall order you to march through France, without allowing you a moment’s rest!! I have occasion for you—the hideous presence of Religion, and Loyalty, contaminates the Continent of Spain, and Portugal. Let your aspect drive them away from thence; let us carry our conquering Eagles to the gates of Heaven: there also we have an injury to avenge—you have exceeded all modern murderers—you have placed yourselves on a level with the most ferocious cannibals—Eternal War, Robbery, and Plunder shall be the reward of your Exertions, for I never can enjoy rest till the Sea is covered with your Blood!!’ And the army rejoice, shouting: ‘Ha, Ha, more Blood!’

A rather clever broadside, artist unknown (October 1808), shows us ‘General Nap turned Methodist Preacher.’ Napoleon, in a black gown, occupies the pulpit, having in his hand a musket with fixed bayonet, on which is a windmill, and, in his wig, he has fixed a cross, tricoloured flag, surmounted by a cap of liberty, and a crescent. In the vestry hang a military uniform, an episcopal mitre, and chasuble, or cope—a Turkish costume, a bottle of arsenic for the poor sick of Jaffa, a musket labelled ‘Scarecrow,’ and a bloody dagger, which does duty as the ‘Imperial Cross.’ A general acts as clerk, the organ pipes are cannon, and the audience, when not military, is seated on drums. The letterpress is as follows: ‘General Nap turned Methodist Preacher, a new attempt to gull the credulous; dedicated to Mr. Whitbread. “Dear Sam, repeat my Words, but not my Actions.” “Dearly beloved brethren, Honour, Country, liberty! this is the order of the day; far from us all idea of conquest, bloodshed, and war. Religion and true Philosophy must ever be our maxim. Liberty, a free Constitution, and no Taxes, that is our cry. No Slave trade; humanity shudders at the very thought of it!! The brave, the excellent, English detest it. Yea, we shall all be happy. Commerce, Plenty, and all sorts of pretty things will be our lot. Good Jacobins, rise and assert your rights. And you, brave soldiers, the honour of France, Plunder and Blood shall once more be your cry. Double pay and cities burnt will come down in showers upon you. Yea! ye shall all be Generals, all be members of the Legion of Honour! The Eagles will once more cover the world. Now is the time to destroy Great Britain, that treacherous country which always seeks our ruin. Honour and Victory will lead us.

‘“Dear Countrymen, without good faith there is no tie in this world. Dear Jacobins, we all acknowledge no God, and nothing else. Let the Altars be lighted up, and your organs play the Marseillois, that sacred air, which fires every Frenchman’s breast. Yea, I swear by this holy Cross I now hold in my hands, and in this sacred place, that you are all free, and without restraint, that my intentions are pure, and that I wish for nothing else but Peace, Plunder, and Liberty! Amen!!”’

‘Political Quacks, or the Erfurt Co-partnership commencing Business’ (artist unknown, November 1808) shows Napoleon, as a quack doctor, on a stage with a muzzled bear (Russia), who is distributing handbills, and says: ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I am proud to say, as well as my muzzle will permit me, that I have a large share in the concern.’ Seated behind Napoleon are his different patients, whilst Death, grinning through a curtain, calls out: ‘Walk up, walk up, kill or cure.’ Napoleon himself, as the quack doctor, has in his hand one of his famous cannon-ball pills, one of which ‘is a dose,’ and a trayful of them is on the floor of the stage. They are named Naples, Egypt, Lodi, Alps, Switzerland, &c.; and he declaims: ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, depend upon it here is no deception. Observe the patients ranged behind me. On my right, a Prussian Gentleman, who was much afflicted with a complication of disorders, till I cured him by administering a few leaden Boluses—next to him is an Austrian patient, entirely reliev’d by my Austerlitz draught, next to him is a Spaniard, whose case is rather doubtful—I won’t say much about it. The next is a Dutchman—he was a little crack’d, but I have made him as lame as a frog—beyond him is an old gentleman of the Popish persuasion, whom I cured with one bottle of my Italian drops—there are many more in the background, whom I have cured of various disorders, or have now in my care—but, Ladies and Gentlemen, let me particularly draw your attention to the great Russian bear, once a very fierce animal, but dumb like the rest of his species, but after taking a dose of my Friedland Pills, and an application of the Tilsit powder, he is able to converse like a rational being!!!’ Talleyrand, who is on the stage, calls out: ‘Ah, Master Bull, what, are you among the crowd? come now, you and your Sweedish Friend had better step up into the Booth, and take a dose or two of my Master’s pills.’ But John Bull surlily declines the invitation with, ‘We’ll see you and your Master d—d first.’

This of course refers to the meeting of Napoleon and Alexander at Erfurt, where, besides, were collected the Kings of Prussia, Saxony, Bavaria, Würtemberg, and Westphalia, the Prince Primate, the Princes of Anhalt, Coburg, Saxe Weimar, Darmstadt, Baden, Nassau, and Mecklenburg. The two great potentates rivalled each other in their courtesies. But solid business was also to be done; they did not meet simply to waste their time in fêtes. Napoleon engaged not to meddle with Alexander’s designs on Sweden and Turkey, and not to help the Poles. Alexander, on his side, promised not to interfere in Spain, and to recognise the Kings of Spain and Naples. And they wrote a joint letter to George the Third, proposing a general peace, on the basis that each should keep what he had. The English Government, however, asked that Spain and Sweden should be parties; but this, not suiting the designs of the Imperial thieves, the negotiations came to an end.

Nap, with the Russian Emp’ror, now,
Became quite free, we must allow;
At Erfurth, the appointed spot,
They met together, as I wot,
And German kings and princes, too,
Were present at this interview;
Save Emp’ror Francis,[17] who, they say,
Sent an apology that day.
How many compliments were paid,
How great the pomp that was display’d.
Oh, nothing—nothing could be grander
Than Bonaparte and Alexander!
Alternately they dined together,
And often rode out in fine weather;
To be so jovial, gay, and free,
Suited Napoleon to a T.
Thro’ Alexander’s mediation
With England, a negociation
Was set a going, for the end
Of leaving Spain without a friend.
The British monarch, ever wise,
Refus’d t’ abandon his allies,
Still Spain by England was protected,
And Boney’s terms with scorn rejected.