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Napoleon hardly reckoned on Austria taking up arms against him without a formal declaration of war, and was rather put to it to find men to oppose the Allies, whose forces were reckoned at 250,000 men; whilst France, though with 275,000 men at her disposal, had 180,000 of them locked up in the so-called ‘Army of England.’ We can imagine his chagrin in having to forego his cherished plan of invasion, and being compelled to withdraw his troops from the French shores.
The ‘Times’ (how different a paper it was in those days to what it is now!) is jubilant thereupon.9 ‘The Scene that now opens upon the soldiers of France, by being obliged to leave the coast and march eastwards, is sadly different from that Land of Promise, which, for two years, has been held out to them, in all sorts of gay delusions. After all the efforts of the Imperial Boat-Builder, instead of sailing over the Channel, they will have to cross the Rhine. The bleak forests of Suabia will make but a sorry exchange for the promised spoils of our Docks and Warehouses. They will not find any equivalent for the plunder of the Bank in another bloody passage through “the Valley of Hell”; but they seem to have forgotten the magnificent promise of the Milliard.’
The French papers affected to make light of this death-blow to their hopes; one of them, quoted in the ‘Times’ of September 13, says: ‘Whilst the German Papers, with much noise, make more troops march than all the Powers together possess, France, which needs not to augment her forces in order to display them in an imposing manner, detaches a few thousand troops from the Army of England to cover her frontiers, which are menaced by the imprudent conduct of Austria.’
The caricaturist, of course, made capital out of it, and Rowlandson (October 1, 1805) designed ‘The departure from the Coast or the End of the Farce of Invasion.’ Napoleon, seated on a sorry ass, is sadly returning, inland, homeward, to the intense delight of some French monkeys. His Iron Crown is tottering off his head, and his steed is loaded with the Boulogne Encampment, the Army of England, and Excuses for non-performance. The British Lion on the English cliffs lifts his leg and gives Boney a parting salute. The latter exclaims, ‘Bless me, what a shower! I shall be wet through before I reach the Rhine.’
The action of the Allies is shown by the caricature, ‘Tom Thumb at Bay, or the Sovereigns of the Forest roused at last,’ by Ansell (October 1805), which shows the Lilliputian Emperor, who has thrown away his crown and sceptre, being fiercely pursued by a double-headed eagle, a bear, and a boar, and is rushing into the open jaws of a ferocious lion. ‘Which way shall I escape? If I fly from the Bear and the Eagle, I fall into the jaws of the Lion!!’ Holland, Spain, and Italy, all have yokes round their necks – but, seeing Bonaparte’s condition, Holland takes his off and lays it on the ground. The Spaniard, surprised, exclaims, ‘Why! Mynheer, you have got your yoke off!’ And the Italian, who is preparing to remove his, says, ‘I think Mynheer’s right, and now’s the time, Don, to get ours off.’ An army of rats is labelled, ‘Co-Estates ready to assist.’
CHAPTER XLII
SURRENDER OF ULM – BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR – PROPOSALS FOR PEACE – DANIEL LAMBERT
Meantime the Austrians were in a very awkward position. General Mack was, from October 13, closely invested in Ulm, and Napoleon had almost need to restrain his troops, who were flushed with victory and eager for the assault. The carnage on both sides would, in such a case, have been awful; but Napoleon clearly pointed out to Mack his position: how that, in eight days, he would be forced to capitulate for want of food: that the Russians were yet far off, having scarcely reached Bohemia; that no other aid was nigh: – and on October 20, the gates of Ulm were opened, and 36,000 Austrian troops slowly defiled therefrom. Sixteen generals surrendered with Mack, and Napoleon treated them generously. All the officers were allowed to go home, their parole, not to fight against France until there had been a general exchange of prisoners, only being required; and Napoleon sent 50,000 prisoners into France, distributing them throughout the agricultural districts.
Gillray drew (November 6, 1805) ‘The Surrender of Ulm, or Buonaparte and Genl Mack coming to a right understanding – Intended as a Specimen of French Victories —i. e. Conquering without Bloodshed!!!’ It shows a little Napoleon, seated on a drum, whilst Mack and some other generals are grovelling on all fours, delivering up their swords, banners, and the keys of Ulm, to the conqueror. Napoleon, pointing to three large sacks of money, borne by as many soldiers, exclaims: ‘There’s your Price! There’s Ten Millions – Twenty!! It is not in my Army alone that my resources of Conquering consists!! I hate victory obtain’d by effusion of blood.’ ‘And so do I,’ says the crawling Mack; ‘What signifies Fighting when we can settle it in a safer way.’ On the ground is a scroll of ‘Articles to be deliver’d up. 1 Field Marshal. 8 Generals in Chief. 7 Lieutenant Generals. 36 Thousand Soldiers. 80 pieces of Cannon. 50 Stand of Colours. 100,000 Pounds of Powder. 4,00 °Cannon Balls.’
This subject also attracted the pencil of I. Cruikshank (November 19, 1805): ‘Boney beating Mack – and Nelson giving him a Whack!! or the British Tars giving Boney his Hearts desire, Ships, Colonies and Commerce.’ Mack is kneeling in a suppliant manner before Bonaparte, who stamps upon his captive’s sword, addressing him: ‘I want not your Forts, your Cities, nor your territories! Sir, I only want Ships, Colonies and Commerce’ – a very slight variation from the real text of his address to the vanquished Austrian officers: ‘I desire nothing further upon the Continent. I want ships, colonies, and commerce; and it is as much your interest, as mine, that I should have them.’ During this peroration military messengers are arriving. One calls out, ‘May it please your King’s Majesty’s Emperor. That Dam Nelson take all your ships. Twenty at a time. Begar, if you no come back directly they vill not leave you vone boat to go over in.’ Another runs along crying, ‘Run, ma foi, anoder Dam Nelson take ever so many more ships.’ This is an allusion to the battle of Trafalgar (October 21, 1805),10 where Nelson paid for his victory with his life. This is further illustrated in another portion of the engraving, by Nelson, who is towing the captured vessels, kneeling at Britannia’s feet, saying: ‘At thy feet, O Goddess of the seas, I resign my life in the service of my country.’ Britannia replies: ‘My Son, thy Name shall be recorded in the page of History on tablets of the brightest Gold.’
Rowlandson (November 13, 1805) further alludes to the surrender of Ulm and the battle of Trafalgar: ‘Nap Buonaparte in a fever on receiving the Extraordinary Gazette of Nelson’s Victory over the combined Fleets.’ Boney is very sick and miserable, the combined effects of the news which he has read in the paper which falls from his trembling hands – the ‘Extraordinary Gazette. 19 Sail of the line taken by Lord Nelson.’ He appeals to four doctors, who are in consultation on his case: ‘My dear Doctors! those Sacré Anglois have play’d the Devil vid my Constitution. Pray tell me what is the matter with me. I felt the first symptoms when I told Genl Mack I wanted Ships, Colonies and Commerce. Oh dear! oh dear! I shall want more ships now – this is a cursed sensation – Oh I am very qualmish.’ One doctor opines it is ‘a desperate case,’ another that he is ‘Irrecoverable.’ One recommends bleeding; but one has thoroughly investigated the case, and found out the cause: ‘Begar, me have found it out, your heart be in your breeches!’
Now with such fury they push’d on,
Memmengen the French Army won,
And by the treachery of Mack,
Ulm surrendered in a crack —
Soon after the capitulation,
The Austrians with consternation
Laid down their arms, and to their shame,
Napoleon’s prisoners became —
There were no caricatures of the battle of Trafalgar – the victory was purchased at too great a cost; but Gillray executed a serious etching in memory of Nelson, published on December 29, 1805, the funeral of the hero taking place on the subsequent 9th of January.
The following caricature shows the quality of news supplied to our forefathers: —
‘John Bull exchanging News with the Continent’ is by Woodward, December 11, 1805, and represents Napoleon and a French newsboy on a rock called Falsehood, disseminating news the reverse of true. The ‘Journal de l’Empire’ says that Archduke Charles is dead with fatigue; the ‘Journal de Spectacle’ that England is invaded. The ‘Gazette de France’ informs us that the English fleet is dispersed, and the ‘Publicité’ follows it with the news that the combined fleets are sent in pursuit. False bulletins are being scattered broadcast. These, however, have but little effect on John Bull, who, attired as a newsboy, stands on the rock of Truth, flourishing a paper, ‘Trafalgar London Gazette extraordinary,’ and bellowing through his horn, ‘Total defeat of the Combin’d Fleets of France and Spain,’ which is vividly depicted in the background.
‘Tiddy doll, the great French Gingerbread Baker, drawing out a new Batch of Kings – his man Hopping Talley mixing up the Dough,’ is a somewhat elaborate etching by Gillray (January 23, 1806). The celebrated gingerbread maker has, on a ‘peel,’ three kings, duly gilt – Bavaria, Wurtemberg, and Baden – which he is just introducing into the ‘New French Oven for Imperial Gingerbread.’ On a chest of three drawers, relatively labelled Kings and Queens, Crowns and Sceptres, and Suns and Moons, are a quantity of ‘Little Dough Viceroys, intended for the next batch.’ Under the oven is an ‘Ash hole for broken Gingerbread,’ and a broom – ‘the Corsican Besom of Destruction’ – has swept therein La République Française, Italy, Austria, Spain, Netherlands, Switzerland, Holland, and Venice. On the ground is a fool’s cap and bells, which acts as a cornucopia (labelled ‘Hot Spiced Gingerbread, all hot; Come, who dips in my lucky bag’), which disgorges stars and orders, principalities, dukedoms, crowns, sceptres, cardinals’ hats, and bishops’ mitres; and a baker’s basket is full of ‘True Corsican Kinglings for Home Consumption and Exportation.’
Talleyrand – with a mitre on his head, and beads and cross round his waist, to show his ecclesiastical status; with a pen in his mouth, and ink-pot slung to his side, to denote his diplomatic functions – is hard at work at the ‘Political Kneading Trough,’ mixing up Hungary, Poland, Turkey, &c., whilst an eagle (Prussia) is pecking at a piece of dough (Hanover).
To thoroughly understand this caricature, we must first of all know something about Tiddy Doll. He was a seller of gingerbread, and was as famous in his time as was Colly Molly Puff in the time of Steele and Addison. He had a refrain, all his own, like a man well known to dwellers in Brighton and the West End of London – ‘Brandy balls.’ Hone11 gives the best account of him that I know. Discoursing on May fair, he says: ‘Here, too, was Tiddy-doll; this celebrated vendor of gingerbread, from his eccentricity of character and extensive dealings in his way, was always hailed as the king of itinerant tradesmen.12 In his person he was tall, well made, and his features handsome. He affected to dress like a person of rank: white, gold-laced, suit of clothes, laced ruffled shirt, laced hat and feather, white silk stockings, with the addition of a fine white apron. Among his harangues to gain customers, take this as a specimen: “Mary, Mary, where are you now, Mary? I live, when at home, at the second house in little Ball Street, two steps under ground, with a wiscum, riscum, and a why not. Walk in ladies and gentlemen; my shop is on the second floor backwards, with a brass knocker at the door. Here is your nice gingerbread, your spice gingerbread; it will melt in your mouth like a redhot brickbat, and rumble in your inside like Punch and his wheelbarrow.” He always finished his address by singing this fag end of some popular ballad.
Ti – tid – dy, ti – ti ti – tid – dy, ti – ti ti – tid-dy, ti – ti
tid-dy did-dy dol – lol, ti – tiddy, ti – diddy ti – ti, tid-dy, tiddy, dol.’
Pitt died on January 23, 1806, and Fox succeeded him. It is probable that Napoleon reckoned somewhat on Fox’s friendship, and hence the following caricature: —
‘Boney and the Great Secretary’ (Argus, February 1806) gives a good portrait of Fox. Napoleon wishes to be friendly: ‘How do you do, Master Charley, why you are so fine, I scarcely knew ye – don’t you remember me, why I am little Boney the Corsican – him that you came to see at Paris, and very civil I was to you, I’m sure. If you come my way I shall be glad to see you, so will my wife and family. They are a little changed in their dress, as well as you. We shall be very happy to take a little peace soup with you, whenever you are inclined, Master Charley.’ But Fox shakes his fist at him: ‘Why, you little Corsican Reptile! how dare you come so near the person of the Right Honble C – J – F – one of his M – principal Secretaries of State, Member of the P.C. &c., &c., &c., &c., &c., &c., &c., &c. – go to see You!!! Arrogant little Man, Mr. Boney – if you do not instantly vanish from my sight – I’le break every bone in your body – learn to behave yourself in a peaceable manner, nor dare to set your foot on this happy land without My leave.’
Of ‘Pacific Overtures, or a Flight from St. Cloud, “over the Water to Charley,” a new Dramatic Peace now rehearsing’ (Gillray, April 5, 1806), only a portion is given in the accompanying illustration, but quite sufficient to explain the negotiations for peace then in progress.
This caricature is far too elaborate to reproduce the whole, and the allusions therein are extremely intricate and, nowadays, uninteresting. A theatrical stage is represented, with Napoleon descending in clouds, pointing to Terms of Peace, which are being displayed by Talleyrand, and saying, ‘There’s my terms.’ These are as follow: ‘Acknowledge me as Emperor; dismantle your fleet; reduce your army; abandon Malta and Gibraltar; renounce all Continental connexion; your Colonies I will take at a valuation; engage to pay to the Great Nation, for seven years annually, £1,000,000; and place in my hands as hostages, the Princess Charlotte of Wales, with ten of the late administration, whom I shall name.’
King George has stepped from his box on to the stage, and is surveying this vision through his glass, exclaiming: ‘Very amusing terms indeed, and might do vastly well with some of the new made little gingerbread kings13; but we are not in the habit of giving up either “ships, or commerce, or colonies” merely because little Boney is in a pet to have them!!!’
Ansell (April 1806) drew ‘Roast Beef and French Soup. The English Lamb * * * and the French Tiger,’ and it seems merely designed for the purpose of introducing Daniel Lambert, who was then on exhibition – ‘Daniel Lambert who at the age of 36 weighed above 50 Stone, 14 Pounds to the Stone, measured 3 yards 4 inches round the Body, and 1 yard 1 inch round the leg. 5 feet 11 inches high.’ It shows the redoubtable fat man seated on a couch, carving a round of beef, which is accompanied by a large mustard-pot, a huge loaf, and a foaming pot of stout. Napoleon, seated on a similar couch, on the opposite side of the table, is taking soup – then an unaccustomed article of food with Englishmen – and looks with horror at the other’s size and manner of feeding.
Daniel Lambert was like Mr. Dick in ‘David Copperfield,’ who would persist in putting King Charles the First’s head into his Memorial; he could hardly be kept out of the caricatures. Ansell produced one (May 1806) – ‘Two Wonders of the World, or a Specimen of a new troop of Leicestershire Light Horse. – Mr. Daniel Lambert, who at the age of 36 weighed above 50 Stone, 14 Pounds to the Stone, measured 3 yards 4 inches round the body and 1 yard 1 inch round the leg, 5 feet 11 inches high. The famous horse Monarch, the largest in the World is upwards of 21 hands high, (above 7 foot)14 and only 6 Years old.’ Lambert is mounted on this extraordinary quadruped, and, sword in hand, is riding at poor little Boney, who exclaims in horror, ‘Parbleu! if dis be de specimen of de English light Horse, vat vill de Heavy Horse be? Oh, by Gar, I vill put off de Invasion for anoder time.’
Yet once more are these two brought into juxtaposition, in an engraving by Knight (April 15, 1806), ‘Bone and Flesh, or John Bull in moderate Condition.’ Napoleon is looking at this prodigy, and saying, ‘I contemplate this Wonder of the World, and regret that all my Conquered Domains cannot match this Man. Pray, Sir, are you not a descendant from the great Joss of China?’ Lambert replies, ‘No Sir, I am a true born Englishman, from the County of Leicester. A quiet mind, and good Constitution, nourished by the free Air of Great Britain, makes every Englishman thrive.’
Another of Gillray’s caricatures into which Napoleon is introduced, but in which he plays a secondary part, is called ‘Comforts of a Bed of Roses; vide Charley’s elucidation of Lord C – stl – r – gh’s speech! Nightly Scene near Cleveland row.’ This is founded on a speech of Lord Castlereagh’s, in which he congratulated the Ministry as having ‘a bed of roses.’ But Fox, in reply, recounted his difficulties and miseries, and said: ‘Really, it is insulting to tell me I am on a bed of roses, when I feel myself torn, and stung, by brambles, and nettles, whichever way I turn.’
Fox and Mrs. Fox are shown as sleeping on a bed of roses, some of which peep out from underneath the rose-coloured counterpane, but which display far more of thorns than of roses. There is the India rose, the Emancipation rose, the French rose, the Coalition rose, and the Volunteer rose. Fox’s slumbers are terribly disturbed; his bonnet rouge, which he wears as night-cap, has tumbled off; his night-shirt is seized at the neck, on one side by the ghost of Pitt, who exclaims: ‘Awake, arise, or be for ever fall’n!’ The other side is fiercely clutched by Napoleon, who, drawn sword in hand, has just stepped on to the bed from a cannon labelled ‘Pour subjuguer le monde.’ Amidst a background of smoke appear spears, and a banner entitled ‘Horrors of Invasion.’ The Prussian eagle is preparing to swoop down upon him, and, from under the bed, crawls out a skeleton holding an hour-glass, whilst round its fleshless arm is entwined a serpent ‘Intemperance, Dropsy, Dissolution.’ John Bull, as a bull-dog, is trying to seize Napoleon.
‘John Bull threatened by Insects from all Quarters’ is by an unknown artist (April 1806). John Bull is on ‘The tight little Island,’ and seated on a cask of grog. With one hand he flourishes a cutlass, and the other grasps a pistol, of which weapon two more lie on the ground. With these he defies the insects, which come in swarms. There are Westphalian mites, American hornets, Dutch bluebottles, Italian butterflies, Turkish wasps, Danish gnats, and, worst of all, a French dragon-fly, in the shape of Napoleon. John Bull is saying: ‘Come on my Lads – give me but good sea room, and I don’t care for any of you – Why all your attacks is no more than a gnat stinging an Elephant, or a flea devouring Mr. Lambert of Leicester.’
A very clever caricature is by Knight (June 26, 1806) of ‘Jupiter Bouney granting unto the Dutch Frogs a King. The Frogs sent their deputies to petition Jupiter again for a King. He sent them a Stork, who eat them up, vide Æsop’s fables.’ The discontented Dutch spurn their King Log, and pray, ‘We present ourselves before the throne of your Majesty. We pray that you will grant us, as the supreme Chief of our Republic, Prince Louis.’ Napoleon, as Jupiter, seated on an eagle (which is made to look as much like a devil as possible), says: ‘I agree to the request. I proclaim Prince Louis, King of Holland. You Prince! reign over this People.’ And the stork is duly despatched on its mission. Talleyrand, as Ganymede, supplies Jupiter with a cup of comfort for the discontented.
