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

‘Europe,’ by Timothy Lash ’em (April 11, 1814), gives us a pyramid formed by all the States of that Continent. It is surrounded by clouds, from whence issue the heads of Napoleon’s victims – ‘Wright, Georges, Pichegru, Moreau, Palm, and Hofer’ – and on the summit of the pyramid, planting the Bourbon flag, is the ghost of the Duc d’Enghien, who hurls Napoleon into hell, where Robespierre and Marat are awaiting him.

His operations Nap pursued,And frequently the troops reviewed.One day, the first of April too,Boney attended the review.He thought the soldiers still his own,Tho’ well the contrary was known.Some of the Generals, ’tis said,The Paris newspapers had read,And of the news, before the crowd,They talk’d together very loud.Our hero still retained his cheer,For he pretended not to hear.As soon as the review was done,Brave Marshal Ney (to have some fun,And let him know his fatal doom),Followed poor Boney to his room. —‘In Paris there’s a revolution —You’ve heard of the new constitution.’Nap, seeming not to understand,Ney clapp’d the paper in his hand;He read, with evident attention,’Twas gaining time tho’ for invention.Alas, poor Nap! ’tis as he feared —And like fall’n Wolsey he appear’d.Exactly the same scene indeed —There is that paper for you – read:Then with what appetite you can —Go, eat your breakfast, my good man.Nap, spite of all, was very cool,Tho’ certainly an April fool:But great indeed was his vexation,When bade to sign his abdication;He looked aghast, he sigh’d, and trembledBefore the Generals all assembled —Twas hard on Boney, we must own,Thus to renounce his crown and throne.How could he help it? for – oh Lord!There was a Cossack with a sword!To add to brave Napoleon’s dread,There was a pistol at his head!So very furious look’d the men,Poor Nap could scarcely hold the pen.And when he did, so great his fright,His name poor Nap could scarcely write;At length, while he was sitting down,He sign’d – ‘I abdicate my Crown.’

The scene, however, was not quite as the poet makes it out, but it was bad enough, if we may credit Madame Junot: ‘We have read of the revolutions of the seraglio: of those of the Lower Empire: of the assassinations of Russia; we have seen the blood-stained crowns of India given to vile eunuchs; but nothing in the pages of history presents any parallel to what passed at Fontainebleau during the days, and above all the nights, passed there by the hero, abandoned by fortune, and surrounded by those whom he supposed to be his friends. A thick veil was drawn over the event, for the principal actors in it carefully concealed their baseness from the eye of the world. Few persons are aware that Napoleon was doomed to death during the few days which preceded his abdication, by a band of conspirators composed of the most distinguished chiefs of the army.

‘“But,” said one of them in the council in which these demons discussed their atrocious project, “what are we to do with him? There are two or three among us, who, like Antony,39 would exhibit their blood stained robes to the people, and make us play the part of Cassius and Brutus. I have no wish to see my house burned, and to be sent into exile.” “Well,” said another, “we must leave no trace of him. He must be sent to heaven like Romulus.” The others applauded, and then a most horrible discussion commenced. It is not in my power to relate the details. Suffice it to say that the Emperor’s death was proposed and discussed for the space of an hour, with a degree of coolness which might be expected among Indian savages armed with tomahawks. “But,” said he who had spoken first, “we must come to some determination. The Emperor of Russia is impatient. The month of April is advancing, and nothing has been done. Now, for the last time, we will speak to him of his abdication. He must sign it definitely – or – ” A horrible gesture followed the last word.

‘Yes, the life of Napoleon was threatened by those very men whom he had loaded with wealth, honours, and favours; to whom he had given lustre from this reflection of his own glory. Napoleon was warned of the conspiracy, and it must have been the most agonising event of his whole life. The torments of St. Helena were nothing in comparison with what he must have suffered when a pen was presented to him by a man who presumed to say, “Sign – if you wish to live.” If these last words were not articulated, the look, the gesture, the inflection of the voice, expressed more than the tongue could have uttered.’

How these rats left the falling house! – Berthier, with a lie on his lips, promising to return, yet knowing full well he never meant to; Constant, his valet, running away with 100,000 francs, and burying them in the forest of Fontainebleau; and Rustan, the faithful Mameluke, running away to Paris. Is it not a sickening sight to see these pitiful rogues deserting their master?

On April 11 the treaty of abdication was signed by the allies, and by it Napoleon was to keep his title of Emperor, and have the sovereignty of the Island of Elba, where, however, he must permanently reside. He was guaranteed a revenue of 6,000,000 francs. Josephine and the other members of the Emperor’s family were to have 2,000,000 francs divided amongst them; and Maria Louisa and the King of Rome were to have the Duchies of Parma, Placentia, and Guastalla.

But, when all was finished, he felt his position too hard to bear. He would have recalled his abdication – but it was too late. Tom from his high estate, separated from his wife and child, deserted by the creatures of his bounty, life was not worth living for; existence was wretched, and he tried to put an end to it by poison on the night of April 12. Baron Fain, in ‘The Manuscript of 1814,’ gives a good account of this occurrence, but not nearly as graphic as does Madame Junot: —

‘Throughout the day his conversation turned on subjects of the most gloomy kind, and he dwelt much on suicide. He spoke so frequently on the subject, that Marchand,40 his first valet de chambre, and Constant were struck with it. They consulted together, and both, with common consent, removed from the Emperor’s chamber an Arabian poniard, and the balls from his pistol-case. The Duke of Bassano had also remarked this continued allusion to suicide, notwithstanding his efforts to divert Napoleon’s thoughts from it. The Duke spoke to Marchand, after he had taken leave of the Emperor, previous to retiring to rest, and he expressed himself satisfied with the precautions which had been taken. The Duke had been in bed some time, when he was awoke by Constant, who came to him pale and trembling: “Monsieur le Duc,” he exclaimed, “come immediately to the Emperor. His Majesty has been taken very ill!” The Duke of Bassano immediately hurried to the bedside of the Emperor, whom he found pale and cold as a marble statue. He had taken poison!

‘When Napoleon departed for his second campaign in Russia, Corvisart gave him some poison of so subtle a nature, that in a few minutes, even in a few seconds, it would produce death. This poison was the same as that treated of by Cabanis, and consisted of the prussic acid which has subsequently been ascertained to be so fatal in its effects. It was with this same poison that Condorcet terminated his existence. Napoleon constantly carried it about him. It was enclosed in a little bag hermetically sealed, and suspended round his neck. As he always wore a flannel waistcoat next his skin, the little bag had for a long time escaped the observation of Marchand, and he had forgotten it. Napoleon was confident in the efficacy of this poison, and regarded it as the means of being master of himself. He swallowed it on the night above mentioned, after having put his affairs in order and written some letters. He had tacitly bade farewell to the Duke of Bassano and some of his other friends, but without giving them cause for the slightest suspicion.

‘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 lapWhat 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 DignusEPITAPH Underneath a Gibbet over a Dunghill at ElbaUnderneath this DunghillIs all that remains of a mighty ConquerorNAPOLEON BUONAPARTE,42Who, with inflexible Cruelty of Heart,And unexampled Depravity of Mind,Was permitted to scourge the Earth, for a Time,With all the Horrors of WarToo ignorant and incapable to do good to MankindThe whole force of his mind was employedIn oppressing the weak, and plundering the industriousHe 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 ChaliceHe was an EpitomeOf 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 anotherProvidence 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 continueIn the practice of those VirtuesBy which thy AncestorsHave 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 madeUpon the fourth of May. ’Tis saidTo see the wondrous little manTh’ 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 strainWhich 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 courseNap 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,43Without 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.