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

‘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.’

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, devotedTo 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 hugThey 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, theyAlternately 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 smoked16 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.’