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

A picture by West (August 8, 1803), ‘Resolutions in case of an Invasion,’ is divided into six compartments. A tailor, with his shears, says, ‘I’ll trim his skirts for him.’ A barber, ‘I’ll lather his wiskers.’ An apothecary, with a pestle and mortar, ‘I’ll pound him.’ A cobbler, ‘I’ll strap his Jacket.’ A publican, ‘I’ll cool his Courage in a pot of Brown Stout.’ An epicure, ‘I’ll eat him.’

The punishment, for any attempt at invasion, was prophesied as being his certain downfall, and a nameless artist (August 12, 1803) produced an engraving of ‘A rash attempt, and woful downfall’ – Bonaparte snatching at the British Crown.

But as he climb’d to grasp the Crown,She knock’d him with the Scepter down,He tumbled in the Gulph profound,There doom’d to whirl an endless Round.

Britannia is represented as standing on a cliff, with a crown upraised in her left hand, and a sceptre in her right. Napoleon is shewn as tumbling into the infernal regions, to the great joy of attendant demons.

‘Observations upon Stilts’ is by an unknown artist (August 12, 1803), and represents Bonaparte upon a huge pair of stilts. He is looking, over to England, through a telescope, and is saying, ‘How very diminutive everything appears from this astonishing elevation. Who is that little man, I wonder, on the Island, the other side the ditch? he seems to be watching my motions.’ John Bull, the person referred to, is also using his telescope, exclaiming, ‘Why surely that can’t be Bonny, perch’d up in that manner. Rabbit him! if he puts one of his Poles across here, I’ll soon lighten his timbers.’

CHAPTER XXXIII

INVASION SQUIBS, continued– ‘HARLEQUIN INVASION’ – ‘BOB ROUSEM’S EPISTLE’ – NAPOLEON’S TOUR TO BELGIUM

‘Harlequin Invasion’ is by West (August 12, 1803). Napoleon is a Harlequin, and points with his wooden sword ‘Invincible’ to Great Britain, which is surrounded by goodly ships of war. Pantaloon, as the Pope, typifying Italy, lies dead, and Holland, dressed as a Pierrot, does not relish the command of his master, who tells him, ‘As Pantaloon is no more, I insist on your joining me to invade that little island.’ Poor Holland replies, ‘D – m me – if I do, Master – for I don’t like the look of their little ships – can’t you let me be at quiet – whisking me here, and there, and everywhere.’

1Ladies and Gentlemen, to dayWith scenes adapted to th’ occasionA Grand new Pantomime we play,Entitled – Harlequin’s Invasion.2No comic Pantomime beforeCould ever boast such tricks surprising;The Hero capers Europe o’er,But hush! behold the Curtain rising.3And first that little Isle survey,Where sleeps a Peasant boy, so hearty;That little Isle is Corsica,That peasant boy is Bonaparte.4Now lightnings flash and thunders roar,Dæmons of witchcraft hover o’er him;And rising thro’ the stage trap door,An evil genius stands before him.5His arms in solemn state are cross’d,His voice appalls th’ amaz’d beholders;His head in circling clouds is lost,And crimson pinions shade his shoulders.6Mortal, awake! the phantom cries,And burst the bonds of fear asunder!My name is Anarchy; arise!Thy future fortunes teem with wonder.7To spread my reign the earth around,Here take this sword, whose magic pow’r,Shall sense, and right, and wrong confound,And work new wonders ev’ry hour.8Throw off that peasant garb, beginT’ assume the party colour’d rover,And, as a sprightly Harlequin,Trip, lightly trip, all Europe over.9He spoke, and instant to the viewBegins the curious transformation;His mask assumes a sable hue,His dress a pantomimic fashion.10Now round the Stage, in gaudy prideCapers the renovated varlet,Shakes the lath weapon at his side,And shines in blue, and white, and scarlet.11High on a rock, his cunning eyeSurveys half Europe at a glance;Fat Holland, fertile Italy,Old Spain, and gay, regenerate France.12He strikes, with wooden sword, the earth,Which heaves with motion necromantic;The nations own a second birth,And trace his steps with gestures antic.13The Pope prepares for war, but soonAll pow’rful Harlequin disarms him,And changing into Pantaloon,Each motion frets, each noise alarms him.14With trembling haste he seeks to joinHis daughter Gallia, lovely rover!But she, transform’d to Columbine,Her father scorns, and seeks her lover.15The Dutchman next his magic feels,Chang’d to the Clown, he hobbles after;Blund’ring pursues the light of heels,Convulsing friends and foes with laughter.16But all their various deeds of sin,What mortal man has ever reckon’d?The mischief plann’d by Harlequin,Fair Columbine is sure to second.17They quickly kill poor Pantaloon,And now our drama’s plot grows riper,When e’er they frisk it to some tune,The Clown is forc’d to pay the piper.18Each foreign land he dances through,In some new garb behold the Hero,Pagan and Christian, Turk and Jew,Cromwell, Caligula and Nero.19A Butcher, Harlequin appears,The rapid scene to Egypt flying,O’er captive Turks his steel up rears,The stage is strew’d with dead and dying.20Next by the crafty genius taught,Sportive he tries Sangrado’s trick,Presents a bowl, with poison fraught,And kills his own unconscious sick.21Hey pass! he’s back to Europe flown,His hostile foll’wers disappointed:Kicks five old women from the throne,And dubs himself the Lord’s Anointed.22In close embrace with Columbine,Pass, gaily pass, the flying hours;While prostrate at their blood stained Shrine,Low bow the European powers.23Touch’d by his sword, the morals fly,The virtues, into vices dwindling,Courage is turn’d to cruelty,And public faith, to private swindling.24With Atheist Bishops, Jockey Peers,His hurly burly Court is graced;Contractors, Brewers, Charioteers,Mad Lords, and Duchesses disgraced.25And now th’ Invasion scene comes on;The patch’d and pyeball’d renegado,Hurls at Britannia’s lofty throneFull many an Insolent bravado.26The trembling Clown dissuades in vainAnd finds too late, there’s no retreating,Whatever Harlequin may gain,The Clown is sure to have a beating.27They tempt the main, the canvas raise,A storm destroys his valiant legions;And lo! our closing scene displaysA grand view of th’ infernal regions.28Thus have we, gentlefolks, to day,With pains proportion’d to th’ occasion,Our piece perform’d: then further say,How like you Harlequin’s Invasion?BOB ROUSEM’SEPISTLE TOBONYPART

This comes hoping you are well, as I am at this present; but I say, Bony, what a damn’d Lubber you must be to think of getting soundings among us English. I tell ye as how your Anchor will never hold; it isn’t made of good Stuff, so luff up, Bony, or you’ll be fast aground before you know where you are. We don’t mind your Palaver and Nonsense; for tho’ ’tis all Wind, it would hardly fill the Stun’ sails of an English Man of War. You’ll never catch a Breeze to bring ye here as long as you live, depend upon it. I’ll give ye a Bit of Advice now; do try and Lie as near the Truth as possible, and don’t give us any more of your Clinchers. I say, do you remember how Nelson came round ye at the Nile? I tell ye what, if you don’t take Care what you are about, you’ll soon be afloat in a way you won’t like, in a High Sea, upon a Grating, my Boy, without a bit of soft Tommy to put into your lanthorn jaws. I tell you now, how we shall fill up the Log-Book if you come; I’ll give ye the Journal, my Boy, with an Allowance for Lee way and Variation that you don’t expect. Now then, at Five A.M. Bonypart’s Cock-Boats sent out to amuse our English Men-of-war with fighting, (that we like). Six A.M. Bonypart lands, (that is, if he can); then we begin to blow the Grampus; Seven A.M. Bonypart in a Pucker; Eight A.M. Bonypart running away; Nine A.M. Bonypart on board; Ten a.m. Bonypart sinking; Eleven a.m. Bonypart in Davy’s locker; Meridian, Bonypart in the North Corner of – , where it burns and freezes at the same time; but you know, any port in a storm, Bony, so there I’ll leave ye. Now you know what you have to expect; so you see you can’t say I didn’t tell ye. Come, I’ll give ye a Toast: Here’s Hard Breezes and Foul Weather to ye, my Boy, in your Passage; here’s May you be Sea Sick; we’ll soon make ye Sick of the Sea; Here’s, May you never have a Friend here, or a Bottle to give him. And to conclude: Here’s the French Flag where it ought to be, under the English.

hisBob + Rousemmark

P.S. You see as I coudn’t write, our Captain’s Clerk put the Lingo into black and white for me, and says he’ll charge it to you.

Woodward (August 13, 1803) illustrated a very amusing little ballad. The picture is simple. Napoleon, as usual, with an enormous cocked hat and sword. John Bull, of ample rotundity, with his oaken cudgel. It is called ‘John Bull and Bonaparte!! to the tune of the Blue Bells of Scotland.

When, and O when, does this little Boney come?Perhaps he’ll come in August, perhaps he’ll stay at home;But it’s O in my heart, how I’ll hide him should he come.Where, and O where, does this little Boney dwell?His birth-place is in Corsica – but France he likes so well,That it’s O the poor French, how they crouch beneath his spell.What cloathes, and what cloathes, does this little Boney wear?He wears a large cock’d hat, for to make the people stare;But it’s O my oak stick! I’d advise him to take care!What shall be done, should this little Boney die?Nine cats shall squall his dirge, in sweet melodious cry;And it’s O in my heart, if a tear shall dim my eye!Yet still he boldly brags, with consequence full cramm’d,On England’s happy island his legions he will land;But it’s O in my heart, if he does, may I be d – d.’

In June of this year, Bonaparte, and Josephine, took a tour into Belgium, and the Côtes du Nord. What it was like, cannot better be told than in the words of De Bourrienne. ‘Bonaparte left Paris on June 3: and, although it was not for upwards of a year afterwards, that his brow was encircled with the imperial diadem, everything connected with the journey, had an imperial air. It was formerly the custom, when the kings of France entered the ancient capital of Picardy, for the town of Amiens to offer them, in homage, some beautiful swans. Care was taken to revive this custom, which pleased Bonaparte greatly, because it was treating him like a king. The swans were accepted, and sent to Paris, to be placed in the basin of the Tuileries, in order to show the Parisians, the royal homage which the First Consul received, when absent from the Capital.’ So it was all through his progress. The caricature here described is, of course, exaggerated, but it shows the feeling which animated the popular breast on this particular journey.

‘Boney at Brussels’ is by I. Cruikshank (August 14, 1803), and here he is represented seated on a throne, with a Mameluke, armed with sword and pistol, on each side of him. He is provided with a huge fork in each hand, with which he is greedily feeding himself from dishes provided in the most humble and abject manner by all kinds of great dignitaries.

He has his mouth full of an ‘Address to the Deified Consul.’ The next morsel, which is on one of the forks, is ‘To the Grand Consular Deity,’ and the other fork is dug well into ‘We burn with desire to lick the Dust of your Deified feet.’ A prelate begs him to ‘Accept the Keys of Heaven and Hell;’ and other dishes are labelled ‘Act of Submission,’ ‘Your most abject Slave, Terror of France,’ and ‘The Idol of our Hearts, Livers, Lights, Guts, and Garbage, Souls and all.’

‘John Bull out of all Patience!!’ is by Roberts (August 16, 1803), and represents him in a Cavalry uniform, and a most towering rage, astride of the British Lion, which is swimming across to France. He is shouting out, ‘I’ll be after you, my lads – do you think I’ll stay at home waiting for you? If you mean to come, d – n it, why don’t you come? do you think I put on my regimentals for nothing?’ Boney and his army are running away, the former calling out ‘Dat is right my brave Friends, take to your heels, for here is dat dam Jean Bool coming over on his Lion.’

The subjoined illustration also does duty for ‘The Sorrows of Boney, or Meditations in the Island of Elba, April, 15, 1814,’ but, having priority, it appears here as: —

‘CROCODILE’S TEARSORBonaparte’s LamentationA NEW SONGTune ‘Bow, wow, wow.’By gar, this Johnny Bull – be a very cunning elf, Sir,He by de Arts and Commerce thrive, and so he gain de pelf, Sir;But he no let us rob de land – or else, with naval thunder,He’ll send dat lion bold, Jack Tar, and make us all strike under.Lack, Lack a day, fal lal, &c.By gar, de British Bulvarks be – a very grand annoyance,I’m told, against all EUROPE join’d, they’ve often dar’d defiance!Then what can France and Holland do? By gar, dat day me rue, Sir,When I de peaceful Treaty broke – to England prov’d untrue, Sir.Lack, lack a day, fal lal, &c.And then, when in von passion thrown, by gar, I took occasion,To shew de Gasconade de France! and threat them with Invasion!John Bull, he made at me de scoff, and call’d me Gasconader,By gar, me find he ne’er will flinch – from any French Invader!Lack, lack a day, fal lal, &c.And now, what vex me worse than all, John Bull prepare for war, Sir,For, fraught with vengeance, he send out that valiant dog, Jack Tar, Sir,By gar, he sweep de Channel clean, and den he mar our sport, Sir,He either take de ships of France, or block them in de port, Sir,Lack, lack a day, fal lal, &c.This spoil’d my scheme for sending troops from Gallia’s shore to Dover,So then, by gar, me send them off, and then they took Hanover;But, for to ratify the terms, th’ Elector did not choose, Sir,Because, I’m told, the British King, to sign them did refuse, Sir.Lack, lack a day, fal lal, &c.O! next I make more gasconade, and then most loudly boast, Sir,That I would send flat-bottom’d boats, and soon invade de coast, Sir,‘That all the men in arms I found, by gar, I’d take their lives, Sir,And put to sword the Britons all, their children, and their wives, Sir!!!’Lack, lack a day, fal lal, &c.I found my boasting threats are vain, for now, all ranks, by gar, Sir,From fifteen, up to fifty-five, are all prepar’d for war, Sir,They swear, ‘no Gallic yoke they’ll bear, or Corsican’s proud sting, Sir,But, bravely for their Freedom fight, their Country, and their King! Sir.’Lack, lack a day, fal lal, &c.And then they talk of warlike deeds – of Edward the Black Prince, Sir,And how their Harries fought of old – true courage to evince, Sir,In modern times, a Nelson brave! and Abercrombie’s fame, Sir,O’er Gallia’s fleets and armies too, have spread eternal shame, Sir.Lack, lack a day, fal lal, &c.By gar, me always thought, till now, I was a mighty Hero!But then, I’m told, the people say, me cruel was as Nero,Because three thousand Turks I slew, they say I was to blame, Sir,As also when at Jaffa I – did poison sick and lame, Sir.Lack, lack a day, fal lal, &c.By gar, I find my ardor fail, and all my courage cool, Sir,De World confess I am de knave– de English call me fool, Sir;Hard fate! alas, that I am both! my heart, of grief, is full, Sir,By gar, me wish I was at peace! with honest Johnny Bull! Sir.Lack, lack a day, fal lal, &c.

CHAPTER XXXIV

INVASION SQUIBS, continued– THE BOTTLE CONJUROR – PIDCOCK’S MENAGERIE

In order to understand the next caricature, it is necessary to go back to January 16, 1749, when a famous hoax was played on the public. The ‘Gentleman’s Magazine’ for that month says, ‘A person advertised that he would, this evening, at the Theatre in the Hay-market, play on a common walking cane the music of every instrument now used, to surprising perfection; that he would, on the stage, get into a tavern quart bottle, without equivocation; and while there, sing several songs, and suffer any spectator to handle the bottle; that, if any spectator should come mask’d, he would, if requested, declare who they were; that, in a private room, he would produce the representation of any person dead, with which the party requesting it could converse some minutes as if alive, &c.’

The bait took, and the theatre was crowded: patience was exhausted, and some one in the pit calling out that ‘For double prices, the conjurer will go into a pint bottle,’ an uproar began, which ended in the wreckage of the house, which was made into a bonfire outside, and the carrying off of the treasury.

With this introduction we can the better understand ‘Britannia blowing up the Corsican Bottle-Conjurer,’ by I. Cruikshank (August 17, 1803), which represents Napoleon being violently ejected into the air, in an extremely disorganised condition, from the mouth of a bottle which is labelled ‘British Spirits composed of True Liberty, Courage, Loyalty and Religion,’ and in which is seated Britannia, helmed, and armed with spear and shield.

Woodward designed ‘The Corsican Moth’ (August 22, 1803), which, flying towards the candle, exclaims: ‘It is a very fierce flame; I am afraid I shall singe my wings!’ George III. consoles himself with: ‘Thou little contemptible insect, I shall see thee consumed by-and-by.’

This very vivid caricature explains itself. The French Court are consuming all the good things to be got by the invasion of England in anticipation, when the fearful ‘Mene, Mene, Tekel Upharsin,’ the mystic handwriting on the wall, appears. Napoleon is in consternation, but his wife and the assembled guests do not seem to notice it. Josephine is here, as generally, depicted as being very fat. She was not so at this time, nor for some time after. Madame Junot says: ‘I observed that Josephine had grown very stout since the time of my departure from Spain. This change was at once for the better and the worse. It imparted a more youthful appearance to her face; but her elegant and slender figure, which had been one of her principal attractions, had entirely disappeared. She was now decidedly embonpoint, and her figure had assumed that matronly air which we find in the statues of Agrippina, Cornelia, &c.’ The three ladies behind her chair are supposed to represent Pauline, who was afterwards the Princess Borghese, the Princess Louise, and the Princess Joseph Bonaparte.

‘A Knock Down blow in the Ocean, or Bonaparte taking French leave,’ is by some unknown artist (August 24, 1803). John Bull, stripped to the waist in true pugilistic style, has encountered Bonaparte in the Channel, and, with one well-directed blow, has sunk him, leaving only his hat and boots to tell the tale. With great satisfaction the old man says: ‘There, my lad, I think that blow will settle the business. D – n me, he is gone in such a hurry he has left his hat and spurs behind him.’ The English give ringing cheers: ‘John Bull for ever! Huzza! Huzza! Bravo! Bravo!’ But the French look very rueful, and, wringing their hands and weeping, exclaim: ‘Ah! misericorde, pauvre Bonaparte. O dat Terrible Jean Bool.’

AN INVASION SKETCH

If there be one Person so lost to all Love for his Country, and the British Constitution, as to suppose that his Person or his Property, his Rights and his Freedom, would be respected under a Foreign Yoke, let him contemplate the following Picture – not Overcharged, but drawn from Scenes afforded by every Country: Italy, Holland, Switzerland, Germany, Spain, Hanover, which has been exposed to the Miseries of a French Invasion.

London, 10 Thermidor – Year —

General Bonaparte made his public entrance into the capital, over London Bridge, upon a charger from his Britannic Majesty’s Stables at Hanover, preceded by a detachment of Mamelukes. He stopped upon the bridge for a few seconds, to survey the number of ships in the river; and, beckoning to one of his Aid-de-camps, ordered the French flags to be hoisted above the English – the English sailors on board, who attempted to resist the execution of this order, were bayonetted, and thrown overboard.

When he came to the Bank, he smiled with complaisance upon a detachment of French grenadiers, who had been sent to load all the bullion in waggons, which had previously been put in requisition by the Prefect of London, Citizen Mengaud, for the purpose of being conveyed to France. The Directors of the Bank were placed under a strong guard of French soldiers, in the Bank parlour.

From the Bank, the First Consul proceeded, in grand procession, along Cheapside, St. Paul’s, Ludgate Hill, Fleet Street, and the Strand, to St. James’s Palace. He there held a grand Circle, which was attended by all his officers, whose congratulations he received upon his entrance into the Capital of these once proud islanders. Bonaparte, previous to his arrival, appointed two Prefects, one for London, and one for Westminster. Citizen Mengaud, late Commissary at Calais, is the Prefect of London, and Citizen Rapp, of Westminster. He also nominated Citizen Fouché to the office of Minister of Police. The Mansion-house has been selected for the residence of the Prefect of London, and Northumberland House for the residence of the Prefect of Westminster. As it has been deemed necessary to have the Minister of Police always near the person of the First Consul, Marlborough House has been given to Citizen Fouché. Lodgings have been prepared elsewhere, for the late owners of that splendid Palace.

London was ordered to be illuminated, and detachments of French Dragoons paraded the principal streets, and squares, all night.

11 Thermidor

Bonaparte, at five o’clock in the morning, reviewed the French Troops on the Esplanade at the Horse Guards. A Council was afterwards held, at which the following Proclamations were drawn up, and ordered to be posted in every part of the City:

By Order of the First ConsulPROCLAMATIONSt. James’s Palace.

Inhabitants of London, be tranquil. The Hero, the Pacificator, is come among you. His moderation, and his mercy, are too well known to you. He delights in restoring peace and liberty to all mankind. Banish all alarms. Pursue your usual occupations. Put on the habit of joy and gladness.

The First Consul orders,

That all the Inhabitants of London and Westminster remain in their own houses for three days.

That no molestation shall be offered to the measures which the French Soldiers will be required to execute.

All persons disobeying these Orders, will be immediately carried before the Minister of Police.

(signed) Bonaparte.The Minister of Police Fouché.PROCLAMATIONTo the French Soldiers

Soldiers! Bonaparte has led you to the Shores, and the Capital of this proud island. He promised to reward his brave companions in arms. He promised to give up the Capital of the British Empire to pillage. Brave Comrades take your reward. London, the second Carthage, is given up to pillage for three days.

(signed) Bonaparte.The Minister of War, par interim Angereau.

The acclamations of the French soldiery —Vive Bonaparte—le Heros—le Pacificateur—le Magnanime– resound through every street.

12th, 13th, 14th, Thermidor

London Pillaged! The doors of private houses forced. Bands of drunken soldiers dragging wives, and daughters, from the arms of husbands, and fathers. Many husbands, who had the temerity to resist, butchered in the presence of their Children – Flames seen in a hundred different places, bursting from houses which had been set fire to, by the vivacity of the troops. Churches broken open, and the Church plate plundered – The pews and altars converted into stabling – Four Bishops murdered, who had taken refuge in Westminster Abbey – The screams of women, and of children, mix with the cries of the soldiers —Vive la Republique! Vive Bonaparte!

St. Martin’s Church converted into a depôt for the property acquired by the pillage of the soldiery.

15 Thermidor

A proclamation published by the First Consul, promising protection to the inhabitants.

The houses of the principal Nobility and Gentry, appropriated to the use of the French Generals. Every house is required to furnish so many rations of bread and meat for the troops.

At a Council of State, presided over by Bonaparte, the two Houses of Parliament are solemnly abolished, and ordered to be replaced by a Senate, and a Council of State. General Massena appointed Provisional President of the former, and General Dessolles of the latter. The Courts of Law are directed to discontinue their sittings, and are replaced by Military tribunals.

16 Thermidor

A contribution of twenty millions ordered to be levied upon London. A deputation was sent to Bonaparte to represent the impossibility of complying with the demand, the Bank and the Capital having been pillaged. After waiting in the ante-chamber of the Consul for four hours, the deputation are informed by a Mameluke guard, that Bonaparte will not see them. Two hundred of the principal citizens ordered to be imprisoned till the contribution is paid.