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

‘The next day it had advanced, but still not so as to give serious alarm. However, afraid that it might gain upon us, I went out on horseback, and gave every direction to extinguish it. The next morning a violent wind arose, and the fire spread with the greatest rapidity. Some hundred miscreants, hired for that purpose, dispersed themselves in different parts of the town, and, with matches, which they concealed under their cloaks, set fire to as many houses to windward as they could, which was easily done, in consequence of the combustible materials of which they were built. This, together with the violence of the wind, rendered every effort to extinguish the fire ineffectual. I, myself, narrowly escaped with life. In order to shew an example, I ventured into the midst of the flames, and had my hair and eyebrows singed, and my clothes burnt off my back; but it was in vain, as they had destroyed most of the pumps, of which there were above a thousand; out of all these, I believe that we could only find one that was serviceable. Besides, the wretches that had been hired by Rostopchin ran about in every quarter, disseminating fire with their matches, in which they were but too much assisted by the wind.

‘This terrible conflagration ruined everything. I was prepared for everything but this. It was unforeseen, for who would have thought that a nation would have set its capital on fire? The inhabitants themselves did all they could to extinguish it, and several of them perished in their endeavours. They also brought before us numbers of the incendiaries, with their matches, as among such a popolazzo we never could have discovered them ourselves. I caused about two hundred of these wretches to be shot.

‘Had it not been for this fatal fire, I had everything my army wanted: excellent winter quarters; stores of all kinds were in plenty; and the next year would have decided it. Alexander would have made peace, or I would have been in Petersburg.’ I asked if he thought that he could entirely subdue Russia. ‘No,’ replied Napoleon; ‘but I would have caused Russia to make such a peace as suited the interests of France. I was five days too late in quitting Moscow. Several of the generals were burnt out of their beds. I, myself, remained in the Kremlin until surrounded by flames. The fire advanced, seized the Chinese and India warehouses, and several stores of oil and spirits, which burst forth in flames, and overwhelmed everything.

‘I then retired to a country-house of the Emperor Alexander’s, distant about a league from Moscow, and you may figure to yourself the intensity of the fire, when I tell you that you could scarcely bear your hands upon the walls or windows on the side next to Moscow, in consequence of their heated state.

‘It was the spectacle of a sea and billows of fire, a sky and clouds of flame; mountains of red rolling flames, like immense waves of the sea, alternately bursting forth, and elevating themselves to skies of fire, and then sinking into the ocean of flame below. Oh! it was the most grand, the most sublime, and the most terrific sight the world ever beheld.’

Napoleon, however, returned to the Kremlin on September 20, and, the main portion of the building being uninjured, a theatre was improvised therein. Early in October, he stated his determination to march on St. Petersburg, but never acted on it. Instead, he entered into negotiations for peace. Snow began to fall on October 13, a portent of an early winter, and winter quarters must be found. Events, however, did not march as he would have had them. On the 18th the Russians, under Beningsen, attacked and defeated Murat, and on the 19th Napoleon left Moscow, and the famous flight from thence began. Of the horrors of that flight, it is hardly the province of this work to dilate upon – mine is more to chronicle the feeling in England with regard to the events then passing. It may be said that it was bad taste to caricature such an appalling disaster – but when did a question of taste deter a satirist or caricaturist? Take, as an instance, an event which many of us well remember, the death of the Emperor Nicholas of Russia in 1855. That solemn event might well have been passed by, but it was food to the caricaturist, and he made money out of it. See ‘Punch’ of March 10, 1855, and note the ghastly cartoon of ‘General Février turned Traitor. “Russia has Two Generals in whom she can confide – Generals Janvier and Février.” Speech of the late Emperor of Russia.’

‘Jack Frost attacking Boney in Russia’ was published in November 1812. A fearful-looking monster, mounted on a northern bear, pursues Bonaparte (who flees), pelting him all the way with huge snowballs. Napoleon is on skates, and holds his poor frost-bitten nose, crying out, ‘By gar, Monsieur Frost this is a much colder Reception than I expected. I never experienced such a pelting before – I find I must take care of my nose, as well as my toes. Pray forgive me this time, and I swear by St Dennis never to enter your dominion again.’ Jack Frost makes answer, ‘What, Master Boney! have I caught you at last. I’ll teach you Russian fare. Take that, and that, as a relish, and digest it.’

‘General Frost shaveing Little Boney’ (December 1, 1812) is very grim in its humour. Bonaparte begs, but in vain, for pity: ‘Pray Brother General, have Mercy. Don’t overwhelm me with your hoary element. You have so nipped me, that my very teeth chatter. O dear – I am quite chop fallen.’ But the unrelenting and unpitying Frost replies, ‘Invade my Country, indeed! I’ll shave, freeze, and bury you in snow, you little Monkey.’

‘Polish Diet with French Desert’ is the title of a caricature published December 8, 1812. It represents Bonaparte spitted, and being roasted before an enormous fire, on which is being cooked a frying-pan full of frogs, which, however, jump out of it into the fire. A Westphalian bear is turning the spit and jeering at the poor victim. ‘How do you like Benningsen baisting, Master Boney? and your Frogs?’ This ‘Benningsen baisting’ is being very liberally supplied to Boney by a gigantic Russian, who holds a huge ladleful of it in one hand, whilst with the other he grasps a red-hot poker of Russian iron. This ferocious Cossack says, ‘I’ll Roast – Beast (baste) – Dish – & Devour you! He smoaks Brother Bruin – another turn and he is done.’ Poor Napoleon, in his agony, calls out, ‘Our situation may be fun to you, Mr. Bear – but Death to us.’

The following shows the estimation in which Bonaparte’s bulletins were held by the English.

In December 1812 G. Cruikshank gave his idea of ‘Boney hatching a Bulletin, or Snug Winter Quarters.’ With the exception of one Frenchman, who wears pieces of board for snow-shoes, and who exclaims, ‘By Gar, he is almost lost!!’ Boney and all his army are up to their necks in snow. A general asks him, ‘Vat de devil shall ve say in de Bulletin?’ Boney replies, ‘Say!!!! why say we have got into comfortable Winter Quarters, and that the weather is very fine, and will last 8 days longer. Say we have got plenty of Soup Maigre, plenty of Minced Meat – Grill’d Bears fine eating – driving Cut-us-off to the Devil. Say we shall be at home at Xmas to dinner – give my love to darling – dont let John Bull know that I have been Cow poxed – tell a good lie about the Cossacks. D – n it, tell anything but the truth.’

There was another version of ‘The Valley of the Shadow of Death,’ published December 18, 1812, but it is not so good as that by Gillray already given (September 24, 1808): —

 
By conflagrations always harass’d,
No man was ever so embarrass’d;
He sought in vain a lurking place,
Destruction star’d him in the face;
Hemm’d in – he sought for peace in vain —
No peace could Bonaparte obtain;
He swore, when peace he could not get,
The Russians were a barb’rous set.
Intending now to change his rout,
He sent Murat on the look out;
Murat, tho’, met with a defeat,
Which play’d the deuce with Nap’s retreat.
How great was Bonaparte’s despair!
He raved, he swore, he tore his hair —
His troops were absolutely frozen,
No man was sure he had his nose on.
The Cossacks, too, made rude attacks,
And laid some hundreds on their backs;
So, in the midst of an affray,
Nap thought it best to run away.
 

According to the caricaturist, during the retreat Napoleon was nearly caught by Cossacks, and only saved by jumping out of window; but as the same story is told of him during his retreat from Leipsic, they may as well be combined, and the reader will thus be enabled to apply it to whichever event he prefers: —

 
He chang’d his dress – his horse bestrode,
And in full speed to Wilna rode;
As soon as he began to fly,
The Russians rais’d a hue and cry;
A great reward, as it is said,
Was offer’d for our hero’s head,
That some to take him might be bribed,
Thus Boney’s person was described —
His figure rather short and thin —
Black hair – black beard – projecting chin —
Nose aquiline, with marks of snuff,
Arch’d eyebrows – manners very rough —
Stern countenance, dress’d rather mean,
And in a grey surtout oft seen.
But, notwithstanding his dismay,
Poor Bonaparte got safe away.
When he to Wilna’s borders came,
He very wisely changed his name;
And in a sledge – ’twas so contriv’d,
At Paris in the night arriv’d.
 

‘Nap nearly nab’d or a retreating jump just in time. Never did trusty squire with knight, Or knight with squire, e’er jump more right – Vide Boney’s Russian Campaign,’ was published in June 1813. It shows the Cossacks arriving, and Napoleon jumping out of window, to the great detriment of the flower-pots, pigs, and poultry. A general inside the house calls out, ‘Vite, Courez, mon Empereur, ce Diable de Cossack dey spoil our dinner!!!’

 
He by the Cossacks was pursued,
But luckily a dwelling view’d —
And, while his legions bravely fought,
Protection in this house he sought;
The guards, who had the place surrounded,
Were cut to pieces, kill’d and wounded.
Nap pricked his ears up at the rout,
He op’d the window and jump’d out —
Jump’d out! how great, then, was his dread,
Fell he upon his feet – or head?
No – not his feet – because he sat—
He could not fall like a Tom cat —
Nor would he break his pretty nose,
And so – another part he chose —
’Tis true – his bum was very sore,
His breeches, here and there, he tore;
But such a trifle little matters,
A Man can run altho’ in tatters —
So oft was Boney sore afraid
That he a pris’ner might be made;
But, as the man would fain his cracks hide,
He tuck’d his skirts about his backside.
 

There is another caricature of Napoleon’s escape from the Cossacks, by G. Cruikshank, published some time in 1813, entitled ‘The Narrow escape, or Boney’s Grand Leap à la Grimaldi!! No sooner had Napoleon alighted & entered a miserable house for refreshment, than a party of Cossacks rushed in after him. Never was Miss Platoff so near Matrimony!!! Had not the Emperor been very alert at Vaulting, and leapt through the Window, with the nimbleness of an Harlequin, while his faithful followers were fighting for his life, there would, probably, have been an end at once to that Grand Bubble, the French Empire.’ There is nothing particular about this picture; it is the same as the others – the same Cossacks, and the same episode of the leap.

CHAPTER L

REJOICINGS IN ENGLAND OVER THE RESULT OF NAPOLEON’S RUSSIAN CAMPAIGN – THE EMPEROR’S RETURN TO FRANCE

One of the last caricatures of this year is a very elaborate picture – ‘The Arms and Supporters of Napoleon Bonaparte the self created Emperor, alias the Corsican, and now the Curse of Europe.’ It was published December 1812, but the artist is unknown, which is a pity, as the execution is very good. The animus that inspired it will be seen in the following Explanation, which accompanies it: —

The Crest represents the World, which, England and Sweden excepted, is set on fire everywhere by the incendiary Corsican; his bloody actions and designs are expressed by the bloody hand and dagger reaching towards Spain. Tyranny, Hypocrisy, Barbarity and Villany are his standards, which are distinguishable through the smoke, and the fire, and have nearly enveloped the whole Globe.

His supporters are The French Devil, and the Corsican Devil.

The French Devil, or le diable boiteux, formerly a Nobleman and a priest: any body may easily guess that he, and Talleyrand, are one and the same creature: by the hour glass he indicates, however, that time is running away, and that Boney’s downfall is fast approaching. The Gallic cock destroying religion is his emblem.

The Corsican Devil, who, being intoxicated with unbounded ambition, wears an Iron crown ornamented with thorns: he cuts down the cap of liberty, because tyranny is his idol. The Serpent and the hyena are very proper emblems of his infamous character and conduct.

Description of the Arms divided into Eight Quarters

1. The Mushroom on a dunghill denotes his descent, or origin of family. The Crocodile expresses his treacherous transactions in Egypt, his apostacy, and his cowardly desertion from his army. The bloody hand, the guillotine, and the black heart, can only belong to such a monster.

2. Represents the shooting of 800 defenceless Turkish prisoners, near the town of Jaffa, ordered very coolly by the monster Boney.

3. Shews the poisoning his own sick soldiers in the hospital at Jaffa, by his express orders.

4. Exhibits a scene never known before in the Civilized World. The foul murder (for it cannot be called anything else, though Boney excuses it by his mock Court Martial) of the Duke d’Enghien.

5. Here the monster compels the Pope to come to Paris, and to assist at a blasphemous coronation, where Boney stands upon no ceremony with the Holy Father. Boney puts on the iron crown himself with one hand, whilst the other hand is employed in robbing the Catholic Church of its head.

6. Exhibits another shocking scene; the truly English patriot, Captain Wright, is put to death, because he will not be a traitor to his king and country.

7. Here we behold the massacre of the defenceless citizens of Madrid, on the 2nd of May, 1808.

8. Represents the imprisonment of King Ferdinand the 7th because he will not renounce the Crown of Spain, nor marry Boney’s niece.

The Motto is taken from Proverbs, chapter xxviii. verse 15 – ‘As a roaring lion, and a ranging bear, so is a wicked ruler over the poor people.’

On December 16 of this year was published an ‘Extraordinary Gazette’ which perfectly electrified this country. It contained detailed reports of the successes over the French – news which filled every English heart with joy.

The ‘Times’ of December 17 says: – ‘We hardly know the terms in which we are to address the people of this and every other European country, on the subject of the Extraordinary Gazette contained in this day’s paper. It does more than confirm our hopes – it does more than justify the ardent expressions of triumph, in which we indulged yesterday. And really, in speaking of the successes of the Russians, we are obliged to abate the excess of our joy. Not from any doubt of their magnitude, or reality, for upon these our countrymen may rely; but from mere apprehension, lest the vicissitude of human affairs, which does not usually suffer mankind to exult beyond measure upon any occasion whatever, should, by we know not what unexpected reverse, abate somewhat of the transcendent felicity which is promised the world, by the overthrow, and disgrace, of its most detested and detestable tyrant. We shall only say, therefore, in so many words, that Buonaparte is wholly defeated in Russia; he is conquered, and a fugitive. And what can we say more? We have seen his army pass from victory to victory; we have seen it overthrow kingdoms, and subjugate realms, – insult sovereigns, and oppress peasants – violate every human right, and diffuse every species of human misery. And now where is it? Where shall we look for it? “A wide and capable destruction hath swallowed it up.” In this awful event we rather admire in humility the dispensations of Providence, than exult with pride over the fall of a haughty foe; it is hardly to be viewed as an occurrence between man and man, or between nation and nation; but as a divine judgment upon the earth.’

To give an idea of the state of tension at which men’s minds then were held, I may be pardoned if I give the following extract²⁵: ‘He [Professor Sedgwick] gave a curious account of Commemoration Day, on December 16, 1812. He was then a Fellow, and, on that day, not feeling well, had not been drinking his port wine so freely in the Combination Room, as it was, in those days, the custom of the Fellows to do. A man, he said, who did not then drink pretty hard, was considered a milksop. Leaving the other Fellows over their wine, he went to the gate, where the porter gave him a Newspaper, on opening which, he found the official announcement by Napoleon of the destruction of his grand army (sic). With this news he returned to the Combination Room, and there read the tidings, to the intense joy and excitement of all present. Old and young, he said, wept like children.’²⁶

The Russians estimated the French losses by capture from their first invasion of Russia to December 26, 1812, at 41 generals, 1,298 inferior officers, 167,510 non-commissioned officers and privates, and 1,131 pieces of cannon.

Buturlin estimated the total loss sustained by the French in the Russian campaign at ‘Slain in battle, one hundred and twenty-five thousand; died from fatigue, hunger, and cold, one hundred and thirty-two thousand; prisoners (comprehending forty-eight generals, three thousand officers, and upwards of one hundred and ninety thousand men), one hundred and ninety-three thousand; total, four hundred and fifty thousand,’ and this takes no count of the thousands of non-combatants who perished.

The destruction of his army, his crushing defeat, and Mallet’s conspiracy, all determined Napoleon to return to France, and he reached Paris about half-past eleven at night on December 18. How different from his hitherto triumphal entries! Maria Louisa had retired to rest, and was woke by the cries of her attendants, who were frightened at the sight of a man muffled up in furs, not knowing he was their august master. And thus he slunk home!

In June 1813 was published ‘Naps glorious return or the conclusion of the Russian Campaign.

 
A few Usurpers to the Shades descend.
By a dry death, or with a quiet end.’
 

In this plate we see Maria Louisa preparing to go to bed, Madame Letitia, Napoleon’s mother, pulling off her stockings. The old lady cries out, ‘Ah, de Ghost!! de Ghost of mon Nap.’ The Empress is frightened, and exclaims, ‘Jesu Maria, what is this so woe begone? It cannot be my husband, he promised to return in triumph, it must be his Ghost.’ Even his little boy, the King of Rome, doubts his identity. He is getting ready for bed, and already has his nightcap on, but he runs away in fright, crying, ‘That ain’t my Papa!! he said he would bring me some Russians to cut up. I think they have cut him up.’ Whilst Bonaparte, who enters in a most dilapidated condition, with his toes coming through his boots, his sword and scabbard broken, and his face besmeared with dirt, calls out dolefully, ‘Me voici! your poor Nap escape from de Cossack – by gar, I jump out of de window for my life, and I now jump into bed vid my wife.’ The ladies-in-waiting have fainted, and one, having left the warming-pan in the bed, has set it on fire, and it is burning brightly.

On January 1, 1813, was published another caricature of the retreat from Moscow: ‘Boney returning from Russia covered with Glory, leaving his Army in Comfortable Winter Quarters.

 
Nap and Joe, from France would go
To fill the world with slaughter,
Joe fell down, and broke his crown,
And Nap came tumbling after.’
 

Napoleon, with one of his generals, is in full retreat, in a sledge, leaving his army pursued by the Russians, and the ground strewn with dead men and horses. The general asks, ‘Will your Majesty write the Bulletin?’ ‘No,’ answers Napoleon, ‘you write it! tell them we have left the Army all well, quite gay, in excellent Quarters, plenty of provisions – that we travelled in great Style – received everywhere with congratulations, and that I have almost compleated the repose of Europe.’

George Cruikshank (February 22, 1813) produced, after a picture by David, a most laughable caricature, called ‘The Hero’s Return.

 
Dishonest, with lopp’d arms, the man appears,
Spoil’d of his nose, and shorten’d of his ears.
She scarcely knew him, striving to disown
His blotted form, and blushing to be known.’
 

Dryden’s Virgil, Book 6.

Poor Napoleon, in very evil case, sans nose, ears, fingers, and toes, is borne in, supported by two Mamelukes, and riding on the back of another, who is on all fours. The Empress is tearing her hair, and weeping violently, whilst a maid-of-honour is holding a smelling-bottle to her nose. Another lady-in-waiting has seized the King of Rome, who is yelling with fright at the sight his father presents. His very dog barks at him, and universal consternation prevails. The Oriental on the floor holds a glass bottle containing Napoleon’s nose; whilst three others in the rear bear respectively bottles which hold the Emperor’s fingers, toes and ears.

After the return of Napoleon from Moscow, the following jeu d’esprit was published: —

 
When Emperor Nap to France returned,
He much admired his boy;
The nurse, whose anxious bosom burned
T’ increase the father’s joy.
 
 
‘How much he talks! how much he’s grown!’
Would every moment cry;
‘Besides he has learnt to run alone.’
Says Boney, ‘So have I.’
 

Here is another: —

Napoleon a Runaway from his Army

 
‘A new Achilles, I,’ spake Gaul’s stern chief,
Nor spake a lie – albeit he were a thief;
For, like Achilles, to the untimely grave
Hosts he had hurled, the bravest of the brave;
Insate of wrath, stiffnecked, implacable,
Wrecker of towns; and fleet of foot as well;
So like was he in much; yet not in all; —
The heel, that slew the Greek, has saved the Gaul.
 

Napoleon was not the man to sit still under defeat, and, very shortly after his return, he set himself to repair losses. These were heavy; there was an entirely new artillery to be provided, remounts for his cavalry, and, what was of the greatest importance, a new army to be made. This he got by anticipating the conscription of 1814, and the patriotism of his people helped him largely with the remainder. The caricaturist has sharp eyes, and he produced ‘Bonaparte reviewing his Conscripts,’ which is an anonymous picture, dated February 23, 1813, and represents the Emperor, who is mounted on a jackass, and who has a very motley following, reviewing his Dutch light horse, who are mounted on frogs, every man with a keg of Hollands under his arm.

There is a very comical picture of ‘Bonaparte addressing the Legislative Body’ after his return from Russia (designed December 1, 1812, published February 24, 1813). Here the discomfited Emperor is in very sorry plight: his coat is in tatters, his breeches cover only a very small portion of his legs, his toes are well out of his boots, and he in vain tries, with his handkerchief, to stop the tears which flow so copiously, as he says, ‘I myself entered Russia. The Russian Armies could not stand before our armies. The French Arms were constantly victorious – A swarm of Tartars turned their parricidal hands against the finest provinces of that vast Empire which they had been called upon to defend – But the excessive and premature rigour of the winter brought down a heavy calamity upon my army – In a few nights I saw everything change. – The misfortunes produced by rigour of hoar frosts, have been made apparent in all their extent – I experienced great losses – they would have broken my heart, if under such circumstances, I could have been accessible to any other sentiments than those of the interest – the glory – and the future prosperity of my people – I have signed with the Pope, a Concordat, which terminates all the differences that unfortunately had arisen in the Church – The French Dynasty reigns – and will reign in Spain – I am satisfied with all my allies – I will abandon none of them – The Russians shall return into their frightful climate.’

On March 6, 1813, appeared ‘The Wags of Paris or Downfall of Nap the Great. “But the circumstance said to have annoyed the Emperor most, was, some Wags of Paris taking of Dogs, and for sev’ral nights together, tied Tin Kettles to their tails, and labels round their necks, with the words ‘Run away from Moscow,’ & giving them liberty, they ran with velocity, and fury, in various directions, to the great Entertainment of the Parisians.” Courier 1 Mar. 1813.’ One of these dogs has got between Napoleon’s legs, and is throwing him down, while he calls out, ‘Sacré Dieu!! Plot Anglais!! Not a Dog in Paris but shall feel my Vengeance!! Shoot! hang them all! Not the Empress’s Favorite shall escape. D – d John Bull – d – d Russian bears, not content with hunting Me from the frightful climate, but sends Mad Dogs to Hunt Me in my own Capital!!!’ The Governor of Paris replies, ‘Sire, be pacified. All the Dogs in Paris shall be tried by a Military Commission for a Conspiracy against your Sacred Majesty. All John Bull’s bull dogs shall be destroyed! Pomeranian Danish Mastiffs & all but your Majesty’s own breed of Blood hounds.’

‘Anticipation for Boney– or, a Court Martial on the Cowardly Deserter from the Grand Army,’ by G. Cruikshank (March 6, 1813), is an imaginary scene of what might happen, did the Emperor meet with his deserts. The Parisian mob have the upper hand, and a cobbler has been proclaimed Emperor in his stead. Before this awful being, Boney is dragged by a ferocious butcher, who, with an enormous axe in one hand, holds in the other the halter which encircles the neck of poor trembling Boney, who is on his knees, with upraised, supplicating hands. The sans-culotte Emperor Crispin is seated in a chair, on a haut pas; a cap of liberty, on a pole, behind him. In one hand he holds a hammer, and one foot rests on a lapstone. Pointing to the wretched culprit, he says, ‘Well! you are found guilty of cowardly deserting from the grand army, and, by repairing here with your cobbling defence, you have done a d – d bad job for yourself, and, as your time waxes near its end, I would have you prepare your Sole for your Last. So off with his head, Mr. Butcher.’ The butcher looks unutterable things at Boney, saying, ‘Ah, D – n you we’ll cut off your head, and your Tail too!’ The poor craven wretch, with streaming eyes, and upstanding hair, pitifully supplicates that at all events his head should be spared. But the yelling mob cry out, ‘Off with his head.’ ‘Aye, Aye, he has butchered Millions.’ And the women and children scream, ‘Where’s my husband, wretch?’ ‘Where’s my Father?’ ‘Where’s my Daddy?’ &c.

Drilling went on, a necessary step to the formation of a new army, and the French temperament is well shown in a caricature, published in April 1813, of ‘Nap reviewing the Grand Army, or the Conquest of Russia anticipated,’ in which, during the march past, he points to his soldiers with his sword, and says to two of his generals, ‘With this Army will I crush those Russian Scourges, and make all Nations tremble at my wrath.’ One general, in his enthusiasm, exclaims, ‘Parbleu! vid dis Armée ve vil conquer de Heaven!!!’ The other, evidently an Anglophobe, says, ‘And de Hell too, dat we may send dere de dam Anglais.’

In April Napoleon judged that his army was in a fit state to take the field, and the caricaturist’s idea of a council of war is humorously told in the picture of ‘Boney and the Gay lads of Paris calculating for the next Triumphal entry into Moscow.’ This broadside, which made its appearance in April 1813, represents Bonaparte and his generals in council. The latter are in different stages of dilapidation, some having lost their noses, others with their feet bound up, and all more or less suffering from frost-bite. One, pointing to a map, says, ‘By Gar, Sire, we had better go to Petersburgh at once.’ Napoleon replies, ‘Aye, and then we can march to Siberia, and release the Exiles, who will gladly join us, and abjure their tyrant.’ Two generals, in conversation together, do not seem to relish the plan. One remarks, ‘Sacre Dieu, I no like de Russia Campaign. I lose my nose, my fingers, and toes, in de last.’ And the other replies, ‘Eh bien, den now we lose all our odds and ends.’ The letterpress is as follows: —

 
Master Boney was fain, after fighting with Spain,
And loseing some thousands of men;
To make an attack on the Russian Cossack,
With Nations to assist him full Ten.
 
 
He began with a boast, that he’d scower their Coast,
And drive them all into the Sea;
He continued his blow, till he got to Moscow,
His designed Winter quarters to be.
 
 
But when he got there, Lord how he did stare
To see the whole place in a flame,
Not a house for his head, not a rug for his bed,
Neither plunder, nor victuals, nor fame. ·
 
 
So he sent every Scout, who ran in and out,
But brought neither forage, nor food;
For that d – d Wittgenstein, so compleat hem’d him in,
That they dared not to venture a rood.
 
 
Now the fire having ceas’d, and the frost much encreas’d,
No cov’ring, no clothes to protect ’em;
Boney thought to be packing, Kutusoff began hacking,
And the Cossacks did fairly dissect ’em.
 
 
Says this Corsican wight, Why let my Friends fight,
As for me, the old Proverb I’ll follow,
He that fights and then runs, may, in spite of their guns,
Live! and some future day beat them hollow.
 
 
But take care, Master Nap, you meet with no trap,
To poke either leg or your head in;
Loss of legs stops your flight, lose your head, why the sight
Will be welcome at Miss Platoff’s²⁷ wedding.
 
 
In a sledge it is said, this King was convey’d,
Like a criminal back into France;
But his Army and Friends, to make them amends,
He gave them a precious cold dance.
 
 
The frost kill’d one half, the rest Kutusoff
Kill’d, or prisoners made in their flight;
Thus the Russians did beat Nap and Friends so compleat,
That no Armies e’er suffered such plight.
 
 
Now this madman, ’tis said, has ta’en in his head
To attempt at another Campaign,
With but half of his friends, yet still he intends
To venture to Moscow again.
 
 
But if Nap, and Ten more, were beaten before,
By raw Russian troops single handed;
With what chance can he hope against Russia to cope,
When their force with Allies is extended?
 
 
No, No, Master Nap, you’ll not feather your cap
Any more, for your race is near run;
And your murderous heart, is destined, Bonaparte,
To suffer for crimes it has done.
 
 
Then ye Nations whose voice through fear, not from choice,
To this tyrant its homage has paid,
Join the brave Russian throng, that your miseries ere long
May with Nap in Oblivion be laid.