CHAPTER LVII.

NAPOLEON’S ESCAPE FROM ELBA--UNIVERSAL CONSTERNATION--FLIGHT OF THE BRITISH FROM FRANCE--CARICATURES ON HIS RETURN.

A somewhat elaborate caricature is by George Cruikshank (January 1815), and is entitled ‘Twelfth Night, or What you Will! now performing at the Theatre Royal Europe, with new Scenery, decorations, &c., &c., &c.’ It represents a theatre, on the stage of which sit Wellington, Austria, Russia, and Prussia. The former has been dividing an enormous Twelfth Cake, with the help of a huge knife and Britannia’s trident. Austria simply takes the whole of Germany, and remarks, ‘I shall get my piece cut as large as I can. I don’t think it is large enough.’ Russia, who is not content with his huge piece of Russia in Europe, puts his hand on Poland, and, turning to a Pole, who is drawing his sword, says: ‘Here brother, take possession of this piece, I think I can manage them both; besides, this has more plumbs on it, which will mix with mine.’ Prussia, besides his own country, lays hands on Saxony, exclaiming: ‘If I add this Saxon piece to my Prussian one, and put the figure of an Emperor on it, I think my share will look respectable.’ Wellington, however, reflects, ‘I have been assisting to divide the Cake, but I don’t much like my office, the Gentlemen seem so dissatisfied.’ Bernadotte comforts himself with ‘Now I have got Norway, I can get a wind to blow which way I please.’ Louis the Eighteenth and a Dutchman are in a private box; and in one of the stage-boxes is John Bull and his dog, the former of whom shakes hands with and welcomes an American Indian, saying, ‘I hope you won’t disturb the peace.’ In the opposite box are two Turks and a Hungarian; whilst in the box above is Spain, his crown stuck all over with gallows, and attended by a fearful-looking Jesuit, reading from a ‘list of Prisoners to be hung for supporting a free Constitution.’ The other Powers are on their knees on the stage, abjectly begging, ‘Pray, Gentlemen, spare us a few of the small pieces, for we are almost starving.’

Napoleon was still at Elba, and Europe was enjoying a fool’s paradise, as cannot be better shown than by a quotation from Rogers’s ‘Recollections’ (if reliable): ‘When Buonaparte left Elba for France, I (the Duke of Wellington) was at Vienna, and received the news from Lord Burghersh, our Minister at Florence. The instant it came, I communicated it to every member of the Congress, and all laughed; the Emperor of Russia most of all.’

Doubtless they thought themselves secure, for they left Elba unguarded in the most singular manner. As Napoleon told O’Meara: ‘I do not believe that Castlereagh thought I should have ventured to leave Elba, as otherwise some frigates would have been stationed about the island. If they had kept a frigate in the harbour, and another outside, it would have been impossible for me to have gone to France, except alone, which I would never have attempted. Even if the King of France had ordered a frigate, with a picked crew, to cruise off the island, it would have prevented me.’

Napoleon did not leave Elba till February 26, nor did he land at Cannes till March 1, when the news of his landing spread like wildfire. The ‘Times’ of March 11 says: ‘Early yesterday morning we received by express from Dover, the important, but lamentable intelligence, of a civil war having been again kindled in France, by that wretch Buonaparte, whose life was so impoliticly spared by the Allied Sovereigns. It now appears that the hypocritical villain, who, at the time of his cowardly abdication, affected an aversion to the shedding of blood in a civil warfare, has been employed during the whole time of his residence at Elba, in carrying on secret and treasonable intrigues with the tools of his former crimes in France,’ &c.

The caricaturists soon fastened on this event, which fell upon Europe like a thunderbolt, and some time in March was published ‘The Devil to pay, or Boney’s return from Hell Bay/Elba, 25 Feb. 1815,’ by I. L. Marks. Napoleon is crossing the sea in a boat filled with soldiers, rowed by the Devil, and steered by Death. He sees the dove of peace, and immediately kills it with his pistol, saying, ‘Away from my sight, Peace, Thou art hateful to me.’ The Devil opines, ‘We shall wade through seas of Blood after this;’ and Death, waving a tricoloured flag on his dart, says, ‘A more expert hand at my Trade does not exist.’ The populace are running to the shore to meet their returned Emperor with effusion, whilst poor gouty Louis is being carried away on pickaback, lamenting, ‘Oh Heartwell,[51] I sigh for thy peacefull Shades.’

I. L. Marks drew ‘1 Mar. 1815. The European Pantomime. Princeaple Caracters Harliquin Mr. Boney. Pantaloon Louis XVIII. Columbine Maria Louiza. Clowns &c. by Congress.’ Here Napoleon is making a terrific leap from Elba to the French coast, where the poor pantaloon, all gouty, shakes his crutch in impotent rage. The Empress and her little son welcome him, and Congress is represented by the different sovereigns of Europe, who are in a tent; Russia pointing to a globe in the midst of them.

Here is a somewhat homely, but contemporary, account of how the news of Napoleon’s escape was received in London:--

Twang went the horn! ‘confound that noise!’ I cried, in pet--‘these plaguy boys Are at some tricks to sell their papers, Their _blasts_ have given me the _vapours_!’ But all my senses soon were stranded, At hearing ‘Buonaparte’s landed!’ ‘Landed in France!’ so ran the strain, And ‘with eleven hundred men.’ ‘Ho, post!’ ‘Who calls?’ ‘This way.’ ‘I’m coming!’ ‘The public surely he is humming,’ Said I. ‘A paper--what’s the price?’ ‘A shilling.’ ‘Why, that’s payment twice!’ ‘As _cheap as dirt_, your honour, quite; They’ve sold for half a crown to-night.’ ‘But is the News authentic, friend?’ ‘_Ofishul_, sir, you may depend.-- The _Currier_, third edition.’ ‘So! Well, take your money, boy, and go.’ Now for the news--by what strange blunder Has he escaped his bounds, I wonder.

The flight of the British who were in France, upon hearing the news of Napoleon’s landing, is amusingly shown in ‘Hell broke loose or the John Bulls made Jack Asses,’ which is the euphonious title of a caricature by G. Cruikshank, published March 20, 1815. In it we see depicted the flight of Louis the Eighteenth and all the English then resident in Paris. They are departing in fearful haste, and by all kinds of conveyances. One reflects, ‘How they will laugh at us at home for being so fond of spending our Money in Foreign Countries.’ Another complains, ‘Oh dear, Oh! dear, I have left all my valuables in Paris. I wish I had never brought my prosperity into France.’ One man, gouty, is being dragged along in a go-cart. Three men are mounted on a cow, whilst another holds on by its tail; whilst those on horseback, or in carriages, are having their quadrupeds and vehicles requisitioned, ‘Me vant de horse to meet my old master Boney.’ ‘We want de coach to join de grand Emperor; we teach you now to recover our lost honour and fight like devils.’ Napoleon, at the head of his army, says, ‘Aye, Aye, I shall catch some of the John Bulls, and I’ll make them spend their money, and their time, too, in France.’

‘Boney’s Return from Elba, or the Devil among the Tailors (G. H. inv^t etched by G. Cruikshank, 21 March, 1815)’ is indeed a scare. Before describing the picture, it would be as well to read the following lines which are at its foot:--

Hush’d was the din of Arms and fierce debate, Janus once more had clos’d his Temple gate; Assembled Congress fix’d the flattering Plan, For Europe’s safety, and the Peace of Man.

When, like a Tiger, stealing from his den, And gorg’d with blood, yet seeking blood again; From Elba’s Isle the Corsican came forth, Making his sword the measure of his worth.

Hence plunder, force, & cunning blast his fame, And sink the Hero in the Robber’s name; Hence guiltless Louis from the throne is hurl’d, And discord reigns triumphant o’er the world.

Swift as the vivid lightning’s shock, The Exile darts from Elba’s Rock! And like the Thunderbolt of fate Dethrones a King! transforms a State!

Bonaparte, suddenly leaping from Elba, enters at an open window, knocking off the board, on which he had been sitting, the unlucky Louis the Eighteenth, who lies prone on the floor, crying, ‘Help, help! Oh! I am knocked off my Perch.’ John Bull goes to his assistance, comforting him with, ‘Never fear old boy, I’ll help you up again; as for that rascal Boney, I’ll sew him up presently.’ Boney, meanwhile, is calmly seated on the tailor’s bench, saying, ‘Dont disturb yourselves, shopmates, I have only popped myself here as a cutter out. Where is my wife and son, Father Francis?’ Trembling Austria, goose in one hand, scissors in the other, says, ‘I will send an answer shortly.’ Terrified Holland exclaims, ‘Donder and Blizen dat is de Devil!’ Russia, pointing to a knout, says, ‘I’ll take a few Cossack _measures_ to him.’ Old Blücher, with a huge pair of shears, advances to Napoleon, exclaiming, ‘Cutter out indeed!!! Yes, Yes, I’ll cut you out, Master Boney.’ Prussia, still seated, sewing, thinks, ‘You have cut out a little work for us to be sure, but d---- me if you shall be foreman here.’ Bernadotte opines that ‘This looks like another subsidy.’ Talleyrand is hiding himself under the bench; and the poor Pope, sprawling on the floor, forgets all Christian charity and language, and cries out, ‘Oh! curse the fellow, I wish I had the power of a _Bull_, I’d kick him to _Hell_. D--n me if it isn’t enough to make a saint swear.’

‘A Review of the New Grand Army’ (artist unnamed, March 1815) shows, in the background, a host of very tattered troops. In front is Napoleon, _the aghast Emperor_, and _his two friends and Pillars of the State_, Death and the Devil. On one side of him is a _Captain of Starved Banditti from the Alps_, whose aim and object is plunder, and he acts as aide-de-camp; whilst a ferocious _Butcher from Elba_, reeking knife, and halter, in either hand, guards his other side, and acts as generalissimo. In a flood of light over Napoleon’s head appears the _Dæmon of War presiding over the Tyrant_, bearing in one hand a flag, inscribed ‘We come to redress Grievances,’ and with the other pointing to ‘_Boundless Ambition_.’

G. Cruikshank etched (April 4, 1815) ‘The Genius of France expounding her Laws to the Sublime People.’ An enormous monkey, his tail ornamented with tricoloured bows, unfolds a tricoloured scroll, which a lot of much smaller monkeys are reading. It is ‘The French Code of Laws.--Ye shall be vain, fickle, and foolish--Ye shall kill your King one day, and crown his relative the next.--You shall get tired of Him in a few weeks--and recal a TYRANT, who has made suffering humanity bleed at every pore--because it will be truly _Nouvelle_--Lastly, ye shall abolish and destroy all virtuous Society and worship the DEVIL.--As for Europe, or that little dirty Nation, the English, let them be d--d. FRANCE, the GREAT NATION, against the whole WORLD.’

‘The Congress dissolved before the _Cake_ was cut’ is the title of an etching by G. Cruikshank (dated April 6, 1815), in which the sovereigns are seated round an enormous cake of Europe, which they were going to cut up and divide, but are startled by the sudden apparition of Napoleon, who, with drawn sword, strides into the room, trampling on the _decrees of the Congress, An account of the Deliverance of Europe_, and _a plan for the security of Europe_. The Dutchman falls off his stool, and spills his bottle of Hollands: ‘Oh! Donder and Blizen, my Hollands is all gone,’ is his consolatory reflection. Russia starts up with ‘Who the Devil expected you here,--this is _mal à propos_.’ Prussia ‘Thought England had promised to guard him.’ Austria, in terror, yells out for somebody to ‘hold him, seize him.’ The Pope pathetically laments, ‘Oh dear, oh dear, what will become of me?’ Bernadotte shouts, ‘Seize him, Kill him’; but Poland, with folded arms, calmly asks, ‘Who’ll begin? there’s the Rub!!!’ The only one of the whole of them who has any presence of mind is Wellington, who jumps alertly to his feet and draws his sword.

‘The flight of Bonaparte from Hell-Bay’ is by Rowlandson (April 7, 1815). It represents the arch-fiend, seated in his own peculiar dominions, engaged in blowing bubbles, on one of which he has mounted Napoleon, and sent him once more aloft, to the intense delight of admiring devils.

Rowlandson etched ‘Hell Hounds rallying round the Idol of France’ (April 8, 1815), which certainly is not a pleasant picture. A colossal bust of Napoleon, with a halter round his neck, is mounted on a pyramid of human heads, and around him, to testify their delight at his return, are dancing Savary, Fouché, Caulaincourt, Vandamme, Davoust, Ney, and Lefèbre. Devils, who say ‘He deserves a crown of pitch,’ are bringing one already alight. The foreground is strewn with corpses.

‘Vive le Roi! vive l’Empereur! vive le Diable! French Constancy, French Integrity’ (date uncertain, but some time in April 1815) is credited to Rowlandson. A French soldier, musket in one hand, snuff-box in the other, has three different knots of ribbon in his hat--a red one, ‘Vive le Diable!’ a white one, ‘Vive le Roi!’ and a tricoloured one, Vive l’Empereur!’ A windmill typifies French stability, and a monkey and cat, embracing and fondling, show ‘French union between the National Guard and troops of the Line.’

On April 12, 1815, was published an etching, not signed, but accredited to Rowlandson, ‘Scene in a New Pantomime to be performed at the Theatre Royal, Paris. With entire new Music, Dances, Dresses, Scenery, Machinery, &c. The principal Characters to be supported by most of the great Potentates of Europe. Harlequin by M^r Napoleon. Clown by King Wirtemberg. Pantaloon, Emperor of Austria. To conclude with a comic song to be sung by the Pope, and a Grand Chorus by the crown’d heads.’

In this caricature we see Napoleon, habited as harlequin, a dagger in each hand, leaping into the unknown, through a ‘practicable’ portrait of ‘Louis le bien aimé.’ He is pursued by all the European Powers. Clown fires two pistols at him, but overthrows Spain, who has just drawn his sword. Russia pricks him in the rear with a lance. Holland and Prussia are firing at him; whilst some one is taking down from the wall the portrait of the Empress as Columbine.

In horrible taste is Rowlandson’s picture of ‘The Corsican and his Bloodhounds at the Window of the Thuilleries, looking over Paris’ (April 16, 1815). The scene is a balcony, in which are Napoleon and some of his marshals. The balcony is inscribed ‘More horrors, Death and Destruction.’ The Devil is hugging Ney and Napoleon, and Death is pointing to the streets of Paris, where is a surging mob, with heads on pikes, &c.

‘The Corsican’s last trip under the guidance of his Good Angel’ (April 16, 1815) has no artist’s name attached. It represents Bonaparte, and the Devil, taking a prodigious leap from Elba, to the throne, and sovereign power.

‘The Phenix of Elba resuscitated by Treason’ is by G. Cruikshank (May 1, 1815), and is a very elaborate plate. A witch, whose hands drop gore, presides over the resuscitation, saying, ‘Rise, Spirit, that can never rest, sweet Bloodthirsty Soul! Offspring of Treason! come forth.’ Obedient to her exorcisms, the Phœnix (Napoleon) rises from a caldron, exclaiming, ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici!’ Around the caldron gleefully dance the marshals of the Empire, singing, ‘Ah! ha! by gar, now we shall begin our Bloody work again;’ and in the heavens is shown a genius, having a crown and sceptre in one hand, and a guillotine in the other, who says, ‘Rise, rise, thou favor’d son of Fate! Death or a Diadem shall reward thy labours.’

In one part of the picture is shown the Prince Regent indolently reclining on a divan, a huge decanter by his side, the prime minister presenting him with the news of the _Return of Boney to Paris_ and the _Decision of Congress_: saying at the same time, ‘May it please my Prince, but these are events we never calculated upon. I had no objection to the sacrifice of Saxony to the ambition of Prussia: I had no objection to the views of Alexander upon Poland: I had no objection to the transfer of Norway to Sweden: I had no objection to the union of Belgium with Holland: I had no objection to all these things; but I could not foresee that the people would be dissatisfied and wish for the return of Buonaparte--to which I have every objection.’ The Regent, his eyes starting out of his head, exclaims, ‘How? shall I lose Hanover? shall I lose all we have been fighting for?’

In another part is Solomon’s Temple, in which sit the Congress, wrangling over the division of a huge cake. Gouty Louis the Eighteenth, mounted on a donkey, is off, hard gallop, to Vienna, calling out, ‘Gee up, Neddy--adieu to the Lily in the Violet season! adieu to my good City of Paris!’ whilst Wellington, on horseback, is going full speed to Belgium.