English Caricature and Satire on Napoleon I. Volume II (of 2)

‘The poison was, as I have already observed, extremely violent in its nature; but, by reason of its subtlety, it was the more liable to lose its power by being kept for any length of time. This happened in the present instance. It caused the Emperor dreadful pain, but it did not prove fatal. When the Duke of Bassano perceived him in a condition closely resembling death, he knelt down at his bedside and burst into tears: “Ah! Sire!” he exclaimed, “what have you done?” The Emperor raised his eyes and looked at the Duke with an expression of kindness; then, stretching to him his cold and humid hand, he said: “You see, God has decreed that I shall not die. He, too, condemns me to suffer!”’

CHAPTER LV

NAPOLEON LEAVES FOR ELBA – HIS RECEPTION THERE

After a sad parting with his old guard at Fontainebleau, on April 20, Napoleon left for Elba, embarking on board an English frigate on the 28th. We can now resume the caricatures.

Rowlandson produced (April 12, 1814) ‘Bloody Boney, the Carcass Butcher; left off Trade and retiring to Scarecrow Island.’ Napoleon and the Empress, together with a bag of brown bread, are mounted on a donkey – he wears a fool’s cap, and she belabours the ass with a ‘Baton Marechale’; the young King of Rome precedes them on a Corsican dog. The usual direction-post (a gallows) shows the road to Elba, and ravens are hankering after him, saying, ‘We long to pick your bones.’ A heavy-booted postilion is calling out, ‘Be Gar, you Cocquin, now I shall drive my old Friends and bonne customers de English. Vive le Roi et le Poste Royale.’

Rowlandson plagiarised Gillray by almost slavishly copying ‘Death of the Corsican Fox’ (Vol. I. p. 204), only he substituted Blücher for George the Third, and changed the names on the dogs’ collars to Wellington, Swartzenberg, Kutusoff, Duke of York, and Crown Prince. This etching is called ‘Coming in at the death of the Corsican fox. Scene the Last’ (April 12, 1814).

‘A Grand Manœuvre! or, the Rogues march to the Island of Elba,’ G. Cruikshank (April 13, 1814). Here Napoleon is shewn weeping bitterly at his own disgrace. His hands are bound behind him, his tattered uniform is put on wrong side in front, his boots have no soles nor toes, and his spurs are strapped in front; some gamins are tugging at a halter which is round his neck, and are dragging him to a boat, in which sits the Devil, waiting for him; Talleyrand is doing all in his power to expedite matters by pushing him behind with an ‘Allied broom,’ and he goes to his doom amidst universal execrations. The little King of Rome is in one of his coat-tail pockets, and calls out, ‘By Gar, Papa, I have von grand manœuvre in your pocket.’

‘The Rogue’s March’ is by Rowlandson (April 15, 1814),

 
From fickle Fortune’s gamesome lap
What various titles flow;
The Emperor of Conj’rors Nap,
The King of Beggars, Joe!
 

a portion of which is reproduced. Blücher is dragging Napoleon and his brother, who are handcuffed, and on a placard which he bears on his shoulder is inscribed ‘Napoleon, late Emperor of the French, King of Italy, Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, Grand Arbiter of the fate of Nations, &c. &c. &c., but now, by the permission of the Allied Sovereigns, Exile in the Isle of Elba, an outcast from Society, a fugitive, a vagabond. Yet this is the conceited mortal who said, I have never been seduced by prosperity – Adversity will not be able to overcome me.’ In the background drummers are playing ‘The Rogue’s March,’ and all the European Powers dancing round the old Bourbon flag, on which is written ‘Rejoice O ye Kings, Vive le Roi!’

‘The Sorrows of Boney, or Meditations in the Island of Elba!!!’ (April 15, 1814) shews the disconsolate Emperor, seated on the rocky isle, weeping copiously, and staring anxiously at the Continent of Europe which is so well guarded by ships. This engraving did former duty as ‘Crocodile’s tears’ (see Vol. I. p. 241).

On April 17, 1814, Rowlandson published ‘The Affectionate farewell, or kick for kick,’ which gives us Talleyrand kicking Napoleon and striking him with his crutch. ‘Va t’en Coquin, I’ll crack your Crown, you pitiful vagabond.’ The fallen Emperor not only puts up with these insults, but, turning round, says, ‘Votre très humble serviteur, Monsieur Tally.’ His maimed soldiery call out, ‘Bone him, my tight little Tally,’ and one even goes so far as to shout out, ‘What! let him sneak off without a mark or a scratch! No, no, I’ll darken his daylights for him.’

‘The Last March of the Conscripts, or Satan and his Satellites hurled to the land of oblivion’ (April 17, 1814), represents Napoleon and his brothers all chained together in a gang, heavily fettered, in tatters, and being whipped by a most ferocious Cossack. To add to poor Boney’s miseries, his little child is pulling at his coat-tails crying, ‘Didn’t you promise me I should be a King?’ Talleyrand is rejoicing, and a large box of crowns and sceptres is labelled, ‘To the right owners.’

‘A delicate finish to a French Usurper’ is by T. N. (April 20, 1814), although Mr. Grego places it as one of Rowlandson’s – who possibly may have etched it.

 
Boney, Canker of our joys,
Now thy tyrant reign is o’er;
Fill the Merry Bowl, my Boys,
Join in Bacchanalian roar.
Seize the villain, plunge him in;
See, the hated miscreant dies.
Mirth and all thy train come in,
Banish sorrow, tears, and sighs.
 

This represents Bonaparte, seated on a throne of skulls and bones, very ill indeed. His crown of tyranny has fallen off and is broken, and he is in the act of disgorging ‘The Throne of France,’ having already done so with Holland, Rome, Portugal, &c. – in fact, all his previous successes: nay, the very bees are flying away from off his imperial mantle. Time is putting an extinguisher on his head; whilst the Duke of Wellington, the Emperor Alexander, he of Austria, and the Crown Prince, stand looking at Blücher, who is administering his ‘black draught’ to the patient. Three dancing females – two of them holding a shield charged with the Bourbon lilies over the head of the third – typify the joy of France at the Emperor’s downfall and Louis the Eighteenth’s accession to the throne.

‘Boney at Elba – or, a Madman’s Amusement’ (April 20, 1814), is a very characteristic caricature.

 
So high he’s mounted on his airy Throne,
That now the wind has got into his Head,
And turns his brains to Frenzy.
 

Bonaparte, crowned with a straw crown, and wielding a straw sceptre, is setting light to a straw cannon, with which he is supposed to be aiming at straw dummies of Russia, Prussia, Austria, and Sweden. The cannon naturally catches alight, and his army (one corporal) calls out, ‘Ah! Diable, mais you was burn Le Materiel, you burn your playtings.’ The mad monarch, however, persists, and replies, ‘Now these fellows shall know what the Conqueror of the World can do – Corporal! D – you Sir! don’t you blow up the Bridge till I order you.’

‘“Cruce dignus,” the Grand Menagerie, with an exact representation of Napoleon Bonaparte,⁴¹ the little Corsican monkey, as he may probably appear at the island of Elba,’ is a reproduction of the engraving by Lee in 1803 of ‘Pidcock’s Grand Menagerie,’ and, as the letterpress is almost identical, it is not worth giving again (published April 20, 1814).

The following broadside was published April 23, 1814, price 3d.: —

Cruce Dignus

EPITAPH

Underneath a Gibbet over a Dunghill

at Elba

Underneath this Dunghill

Is all that remains of a mighty Conqueror

NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE,⁴²

Who, with inflexible Cruelty of Heart,

And unexampled Depravity of Mind,

Was permitted to scourge the Earth, for a Time,

With all the Horrors of War

Too ignorant and incapable to do good to Mankind

The whole force of his mind was employed

In oppressing the weak, and plundering the industrious

He was equally detested by all:

His enemies he butchered in cold blood:

And, fearing to leave incomplete the Catalogue of his Crimes,

His friends he rewarded with a poisoned Chalice

He was an Epitome

Of all that was vicious in the worst of Tyrants;

He possess’d their Cruelty, without their Talents;

Their Madness without their Genius;

The Baseness of one, and the Imbecility of another

Providence at last,

Wearied out with his Crimes,

Returned him to the Dunghill from which he sprung,

BRITON!

Ere you pass by,

Kneel and thank thy God,

For all the Blessings of thy glorious Constitution;

Then return into the peaceful Bosom of thy Family, and continue

In the practice of those Virtues

By which thy Ancestors

Have obtained the Favor of the Almighty

Tiddy doll, the gingerbread manufacturer, is once more introduced into caricature (April 21, 1814): ‘Broken Gingerbread (G. H. invt – G. Cruikshank fect). Napoleon is at Elba, in an extremely dilapidated condition; a wretched thatched hut has on it a board painted, ‘Tiddy Doll, Gingerbread baker. N.B. – Removed from Paris.’ On his head he carries a tray of broken gingerbread, and calls out, ‘Buy my Images! Here’s my nice little gingerbread Emperors and Kings, retail and for exportation.’ In the background can be seen the coast of France, on which the people are rejoicing and dancing round a flag, ‘Vivent les Bourbons!’

‘The HellElbaronian Emperor going to take possession of his new Territory’ (April 23, 1814), by G. H., engraved by G. Cruikshank. Here Napoleon, ragged and heavily fettered, is in an iron cage, which is drawn by a mounted Cossack. Others surround and guard him, and we can well understand the captive’s ejaculatory ‘Oh – d – n these Cossacks.’

‘Nap dreading his doleful Doom or his grand entry into the Isle of Elba’ (April 25, 1814), represents the exiled Emperor at the moment of his landing. He has just been put ashore in a small boat, and his slender luggage, which is guarded by his solitary follower, a Mameluke, is deposited on the shore. With one hand in the breast of his coat, and the other thrust deep into his breeches pocket, suffering, too, from the impertinent inquisitiveness of the natives, it is no wonder that he appears downcast, and says, ‘Ah, Woe is me, seeing what I have, and seeing what I see.’ He is, however, tried to be comforted by a blowsy bumboat woman, who, offering him her long clay pipe, pats him on the back with ‘Come cheer up my little Nicky, I’ll be your Empress.’

George Cruikshank (May 1, 1814) gives us ‘Snuffing out Boney,’ an operation which is being performed by a gigantic Cossack.

Hardly a caricature, is a picture attributed to Rowlandson (May 1, 1814), in which is depicted Napoleon’s throne overturned, together with his crown and sceptre. The Devil himself is clutching Napoleon, who is terrified at the heavenly apparition of a hand holding a flaming sword, and the legend, ‘Thou ’rt doom’d to Pain, at which the Damn’d will tremble, and take their own for Joys.’ This etching is called ‘The Tyrant of the Continent is fallen. Europe is free. England Rejoices. Empire and Victory be all forsaken; To Plagues, Poverty, Disgrace, and Shame. Strip me of all my Dignities and Crowns. Take, O Take your sceptres back, Spare me but life!’

CHAPTER LVI

NAPOLEON AT ELBA – HIS OCCUPATIONS WHILST THERE – FAITH BROKEN WITH HIM – THE VIOLET – GENERAL REJOICINGS AT HIS EXILE

In the ‘Satirist’ of May 1, 1814, is a picture by G. Cruikshank, called ‘Otium cum dignitate, or a view of Elba.’ It is not a good one. Napoleon, ragged and stockingless, smoking a short clay pipe, is blowing up the fire with a pair of bellows. Bertrand is kissing a female, probably Pauline, on the sly, and Jerome Bonaparte is mending nets.

‘Boney’s Elbowa Chair, a new Throne for a new Emperor; or an old sinner brought to the stool of repentance. A dialogue between one of his admirers & John Bull, on his being laid up with a cutaneous or skin disorder’ (G. Cruikshank, May 5, 1814). Boney is in his rocky home raggedly dressed, with a fool’s cap on his head, and sitting on a close stool. He is surrounded with medicine-bottles and pots of brimstone and itch salve, and he is scratching himself violently. John Bull says: —

 
‘So! your poor friend Nap Boney is kick’d from a throne,
And must sit on a stool close at Elba alone.’
‘He is not poor,’ said Nic, ‘he has got fat and grown flabby.’
‘He has also,’ said John, ‘got the Itch, or grown scabby.
For not even his wife will consent to go nigh him;
And all his old Mamelukes flout and defy him;
Perhaps thou, in pity, will lift up his latch,
And rub him with Brimstone or help him to scratch.
Pray go, and take with thee the birds of thy feather,
And all catch the Itch, or grow scabby together.’
 

‘Needs must when Wellington Drives, or Louis’s Return!!’ (May 1814) is a very badly drawn picture by Marks. Louis the Eighteenth, unable to walk, by reason of the gout, is being drawn along in a sort of Bath chair by Napoleon, and attended on either side by Blücher and Wellington. The latter is punishing poor Napoleon with a birch-rod, saying meanwhile, ‘I desire, you will sing God save the King.’ Boney, with his handkerchief to his eyes, says, ‘I’ll be d – d if I do.’ Blücher is of opinion, ‘You’l be d – d whether you do or not.’

A very commonplace caricature is ‘The Tyrant, overtaken by Justice, is excluded from the world,’ and it would not be noticed here did it not introduce us to a new artist, L. M. (? Lewis Marks). Napoleon, chained to his rock, disconsolately gazes at that world which he may not reach, the Devil meanwhile pointing the finger of scorn at him (May 1814).

In ‘the departure of Apollo and the Muses – or Farewell to Paris’ (May 1814), by I. Sidebotham, we have the restitution of the art treasures, taken by Napoleon, to their different owners – a long string of waggons, filled with pictures, &c., are labelled Holland, Italy, Venice, Berlin, and Vienna. Louis the Eighteenth, at the Louvre, laments it, and says, ‘Dear Talley, persuade them to leave us a few of these pretty things for my chambers, they will pacify the Deputies, and amuse the people.’ Talleyrand replies, ‘I have tried every scheme to retain them, but it seems they have at last found us out, and are not to be humbug’d any longer.’ Apollo and the Muses have mounted a fine gold car, which is drawn, not only by horses, but by the British Lion as well – the former being postilioned by Blücher; the latter by the Duke of Wellington, who calls out, ‘Go along, Blucher, let us haste to restore the stolen Goods.’

Of his entry into Elba the poet thus sings: —

 
On board th’ Undaunted he embark’d —
‘A noble vessel,’ he remark’d,
And now the banish’d malefactor
(So late a wild and busy actor),
His entry into Elba made
Upon the fourth of May. ’Tis said
To see the wondrous little man
Th’ inhabitants all eager ran.
A great blue coat our hero sported,
And was most pompously escorted;
Three fiddles and two fifes preceded,
For he some consolation needed;
Pity my fall became the strain
Which they struck up to sooth his pain;
‘Oh change that doleful air,’ he said,
And therefore the musicians played,
In hopes to comfort the poor elf,
Go to the De’il, and shake yourself.
‘Give me a horse,’ he cried; of course
Nap was provided with a horse,
And round the island quick he rode,
Which his wild disposition shewed;
The little children, at his view,
Cried out, ‘Oh, there’s a bug-a-boo!’
Without a wife – without a mother,⁴³
Without a sister, or a brother,
And even of a friend bereft,
Poor Nap is to his conscience left.
 

On June 4, 1814, was published (artist unknown) ‘An Imperial vomit’ in which Bonaparte is disgorging the kingdoms he has swallowed up. The Prince Regent, behind him, says, ‘I think now my little fellow, you are pretty well clear’d out, and I hope you will never give us the trouble to Prescribe or Proscribe any more.’

‘Drumming out of the French Army!!!’ is the title of a picture published in June 1814. Blücher has Bonaparte in a drum, which he carries before him, beating him alternately with a birch-rod and a drum-stick, Russia, Prussia, and Austria looking on.

Lewis Marks produced, in June 1814, ‘Boney and his new subjects at Elba.’ The poverty-stricken condition to which the Emperor is reduced is too graphically portrayed, and his ragged army of four is very vividly illustrated. He thus addresses them: ‘Gentlemen, my friends despise and d – n England, Russia, Prussia, Germany, and Sweden, and obey me – and I will make kings of you all.’

Napoleon might well say that his ‘territory was somewhat small;’ but, small as it was, his restless activity set to work to improve it. He made roads where none had existed, canals and aqueducts, a lazaretto, and stations for tunny-fishing. Vineyards were improved, and the little island was quite prosperous. Numerous visitors came to pay their respects to the Emperor, causing money to be spent; vessels brought provisions, and took away what the inhabitants had to export. Porto Ferrajo was gay and lively, its name being changed to Cosmopoli. A new flag was manufactured, having a red bend dexter, charged with three bees on a white field, and Moorish pirates were very chary of touching vessels bearing this flag. In May Cambrone brought out some volunteers of the old guard, and Napoleon exercised and inspected his little army.

But these things cost money, and that was one of the things wanting to Napoleon. The conditions of the treaty with him were shamefully broken. Hear what he says himself about it:⁴⁴ ‘It was stipulated and agreed to, that all the members of my family should be allowed to follow me to Elba; but, in violation of that, my wife and child were seized, detained, and never permitted to join a husband and a father. They were also to have had the Duchies of Parma, Placentia, and Guastalla, which they were deprived of. By the treaty, Prince Eugene was to have had a principality in Italy, which was never given. My mother and brothers were to receive pensions, which were also refused to them. My own private property, and the savings which I had made on the civil list, were to have been preserved for me. Instead of that, they were seized in the hands of Labouillerie the treasurer, contrary to the treaty, and all claims made by me rejected. The private property of my family was to be held sacred: it was confiscated. The dotations assigned to the army on the Mont Napoleon were to be preserved: they were suppressed; nor were the hundred thousand francs which were to be given as pensions to persons pointed out by me, ever paid. Moreover, assassins were sent to Elba to murder me. Never,’ continued Napoleon, ‘have the terms of a treaty been more evidently violated, and indeed openly scoffed at, than those were by the allies.’

Louis the Eighteenth was very tame after Napoleon, who, in spite of his draining France of men and treasure, had implanted a deep personal love for him in the hearts of his people; and, from some fancied saying of his, that ‘he would return in the spring,’ the violet, the flower of spring, was taken as his emblem, and so worn. He was spoken of under the name of Caporal Violette, or Papa Violette, and the people comforted themselves with ‘En printemps il reviendra.’

There were several coloured engravings of bunches of violets, bearing the portraits of Napoleon, Maria Louisa, and the King of Rome – or Prince of Parma, as he was then called – published in France; notably one by Cann, ‘Violettes du 20 Mars 1815,’ from which, in all probability, Cruikshank took his caricature of ‘The Peddigree of Corporal Violet (G. H. invt et del. etched by G. Cruikshank 9 June 1815)’; but, in the arrangement of the flowers, it is superior to any of the French pictures that I have seen.

For want of space, I have but partially reproduced it. It is described ‘First as a Consular Toad Stool, rising from a Corsican Dunghill, then changing to an Imperial Sun Flower, from that to an Elba fungus’ (where the illustration commences), ‘and lastly to a bunch of Violets, which are so disposed as to represent a whole length Profile of Buonaparte, with a bust of Maria Louisa, and her Son, the Prince of Parma,’ which portraits, undoubtedly existing in the picture, will be a pleasing exercise of patience on the part of my readers to discover.

Although not English caricature, I may be pardoned for giving, as a type of then French feeling, a song sung by the troops amongst themselves. It is full of slang of the period, which the notes will elucidate: —

 
Pendant que Louis Dix-huit à gogo⁴⁵
Mangeait, buvait, faisait dodo,⁴⁶
Un beau jour, le Papa
Quitte son île, et le voilà!
 
 
Chorus. Chantons le père de la violette
Au bruit de sons,⁴⁷ et de canons!
 
 
Quand à la cour on sait cela,
Le Comte d’Artois monte son dada,⁴⁸
Mais pour barrer le Papa,
Il faut un autre luron⁴⁹ que ça!
Chantons, &c.
 

During Napoleon’s exile Josephine had died, on May 29. She had lived quite long enough, and had experienced as many, and as great, vicissitudes as any woman.

In June the Emperor of Russia, the King of Prussia and his sons, with a numerous suite, visited London, and were made LL.D.’s at Oxford, great fun being made at the time about conferring the degree on Blücher, Dr. Blücher figuring in many caricatures.

‘John Bull mad with Joy! or the First of August 1814,’ shows the old fellow in ecstasies of delight. He has thrown away his hat, and is waving his wig, dancing all the time. The Prince Regent says, ‘Ah, ha! Johnny, I knew you’d be delighted,’ and shows him the ‘Bill of Fare of the Grand National Jubilee for the Peace of 1814. Hyde Park – A grand fair – Messrs Gyngall, Richardson, and Punches shows – a grand sea fight upon the Serpentine – Fireworks in Kensington Gardens – plenty of gin and beer – St. James’ Park – a Balloon – Chinese bridge and Pagoda – Boat race on the Canal – fireworks – plenty of port, sherry, claret, champagne, &c., &c., &c. Green Park – Castle and Temple – Fireworks and Royal Booths.’ In his right hand the capering and joyous John swings a miniature gallows, on which hang the prince’s enemies, and he cries out in his joy, ‘Huzza for the Prince of Princes! Damn the lying London Papers! May Whitbread be drown’d in one of his own butts! and Tierney be choked with his long speeches. Here I have your enemies as they should be! I shall stick this in my Corn field to frighten the Crows! so Huzza, again and again, for the Prince of Princes.’

This was the outcome of the Grand Jubilee on August 1, which was celebrated in London – notably in the parks. ‘Mad with joy’ was the proper expression. See what this peace meant for the nation – a revival of trade, a remission of taxes, cheaper provisions, the reuniting to their families of beloved ones who had undergone so much for their country. No one can wonder that the people went ‘mad with joy,’ and were not ashamed to confess it. There was a pagoda on a Chinese⁵⁰ bridge thrown over the canal in St. James’s Park, and at night fireworks were displayed thereon. Chinese lanterns all along the Mall and Birdcage Walk. In the Green Park was a ‘Temple of Concord,’ near which was a fine booth for the accommodation of the foreign ambassadors and guests whom the Regent delighted to honour. Small men-of-war waged a mimic sea-fight on the Serpentine, and in Hyde Park was a regular fair. Sadler went up in his balloon, but nearly came to grief, and descended somewhat precipitately in Mucking Marshes, on the Essex coast, sixteen miles below Gravesend. Sad to say, about midnight the pagoda caught fire, and two people lost their lives. The fair in Hyde Park was kept going for several days afterwards.

So we leave the year 1814, with Napoleon seemingly safe, yet far from contented, and the English people revelling in the new and welcome blessings of peace.