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.’

1.

Ladies and Gentlemen, to day With scenes adapted to th’ occasion A Grand new Pantomime we play, Entitled--Harlequin’s Invasion.

2.

No comic Pantomime before Could ever boast such tricks surprising; The Hero capers Europe o’er, But hush! behold the Curtain rising.

3.

And first that little Isle survey, Where sleeps a Peasant boy, so hearty; That little Isle is Corsica, That peasant boy is Bonaparte.

4.

Now 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.

5.

His 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.

6.

Mortal, awake! the phantom cries, And burst the bonds of fear asunder! My name is _Anarchy_; arise! Thy future fortunes teem with wonder.

7.

To 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.

8.

Throw off that peasant garb, begin T’ assume the party colour’d rover, And, as a sprightly Harlequin, Trip, lightly trip, all Europe over.

9.

He spoke, and instant to the view Begins the curious transformation; His mask assumes a sable hue, His dress a pantomimic fashion.

10.

Now round the Stage, in gaudy pride Capers the renovated varlet, Shakes the lath weapon at his side, And shines in blue, and white, and scarlet.

11.

High on a rock, his cunning eye Surveys half Europe at a glance; Fat Holland, fertile Italy, Old Spain, and gay, regenerate France.

12.

He strikes, with wooden sword, the earth, Which heaves with motion necromantic; The nations own a second birth, And trace his steps with gestures antic.

13.

The _Pope_ prepares for war, but soon All pow’rful Harlequin disarms him, And changing into _Pantaloon_, Each motion frets, each noise alarms him.

14.

With trembling haste he seeks to join His daughter _Gallia_, lovely rover! But she, transform’d to _Columbine_, Her father scorns, and seeks her lover.

15.

The _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.

16.

But 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.

17.

They 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_.

18.

Each foreign land he dances through, In some new garb behold the Hero, Pagan and Christian, Turk and Jew, Cromwell, Caligula and Nero.

19.

A 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.

20.

Next by the crafty genius taught, Sportive he tries Sangrado’s trick, Presents a bowl, with poison fraught, And kills his own unconscious sick.

21.

Hey 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.

22.

In close embrace with Columbine, Pass, gaily pass, the flying hours; While prostrate at their blood stained Shrine, Low bow the European powers.

23.

Touch’d by his sword, the morals fly, The virtues, into vices dwindling, Courage is turn’d to cruelty, And public faith, to private swindling.

24.

With Atheist Bishops, Jockey Peers, His hurly burly Court is graced; Contractors, Brewers, Charioteers, Mad Lords, and _Duchesses disgraced_.

25.

And now th’ Invasion scene comes on; The patch’d and pyeball’d renegado, Hurls at Britannia’s lofty throne Full many an Insolent bravado.

26.

The trembling Clown dissuades in vain And finds too late, there’s no retreating, Whatever Harlequin may gain, The Clown is sure to have a beating.

27.

They tempt the main, the canvas raise, A storm destroys his valiant legions; And lo! our closing scene displays A grand view of th’ infernal regions.

28.

Thus 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’S

EPISTLE TO

BONYPART.

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.

his Bob + Rousem. mark

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 TEARS

OR

BONAPARTE’S LAMENTATION

A NEW SONG.

_Tune ‘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.