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NAPOLEON DESPOILS ITALY OF HER WORKS OF ART—THE SIEGE OF MANTUA—WÜRMSER’S SURRENDER—EARLIEST ENGLISH CARICATURE OF NAPOLEON—INVASION OF ENGLAND—LANDING IN PEMBROKESHIRE—NELSON’S RECEIPT TO MAKE AN OLLA PODRIDA—‘THE ARMY OF ENGLAND.’

Such a subject as the spoliation of Italian works of art was not likely to go a-begging among caricaturists, so George Cruikshank illustrated the poet Combe.

SEIZING THE ITALIAN WORKS OF ART.

As Nap (for his extortions fam’d),

Of livres twenty millions claim’d;

Which sum, we also understand,

Pope Pius paid upon demand;

And sixteen million more, they say,

Was bound in two months’ time to pay

With these exactions not content,

To further lengths our hero went;

A hundred paintings, and the best,

Were, we are told, his next request.

At his desire, the precious heaps came,

(It was indeed a very deep scheme),

Loretta’s statues so pleased Boney,

They instantly packed up Madona: These relics then, without delay, To Paris Boney sent away; And there they formed an exhibition As proof of Papal superstition.

At the siege of Mantua, Würmser sent his aide-de-camp Klenau to Napoleon to treat for terms of peace. G. Cruikshank depicts the scene. Klenau is brought in blindfolded, and Bonaparte, surrounded by his guard, strikes a melodramatic attitude, worthy of a pirate captain at a transpontine theatre.

NAPOLEON AND HIS GUARD.

The real facts are thus described by Horn. ‘Mantua was now without hope of relief. The hospitals were crowded, the provisions exhausted; but Würmser still held out. Napoleon informed him of the rout and dispersion of the Austrian army, and summoned him to surrender. The old soldier proudly replied that “he had provisions for a year;” but a few days afterwards he sent his aide-de-camp, Klenau, to the head-quarters of Serrurier to treat for a surrender.

‘At the conference, a French officer sat apart from the two others, wrapped in his cloak, but within hearing of what passed. After the discussion was finished, this officer came forward and wrote marginal answers to the conditions proposed by Würmser; granting terms far more favourable than those which might have been exacted in the extremity to which the veteran was reduced. “These,” said the unknown officer, giving back the paper, “are the terms that I grant, if he opens his gates to-morrow; and if he delays a fortnight, a month, or two months, he shall have the same terms. He may hold out to his last morsel of bread; to-morrow I pass the Po and march upon Rome.” Klenau, recognising Napoleon, and struck with the generosity of the conditions he had granted, owned that only three days’ provisions remained in Mantua.’

The earliest English caricature of Napoleon that I have met with, was published on April 14, 1797, all those hitherto given, being of later date. It is not worth reproducing, as the artist had evidently no knowledge of what manner of man Napoleon was. It is called the ‘French Bugabo34 frightening the Royal Commanders.’ Bonaparte (a perfectly fanciful, and horrible sketch) is seated on the back of some impossible Saurian—meant, probably, for the devil—who is vomiting armies and cannon. He calls out, ‘Egad, they run well. Courez donc Messieurs les Princes!!!’ Of the two royal commanders running away, Frederick Duke of York is calling out to his companion, ‘I wish I was at York. Come on, Charles, follow me.’ Fox, who acts the part of ‘the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,’ says, ‘Run, Frederick, run Charles, Mack, Wurmsell, Kell; well done D’Alvinzi, now Davidovich.’ The poor Pope is being trodden under the beast, and cries out, ‘Oh Lord! this rebel son of mine pays me no homage whatever.’

Of all the attempts of the French to invade England, perhaps the most ludicrous was that which took place in February 1797. On the 22nd of that month, a French corvette, and a lugger, made for the coast of Pembrokeshire, and there landed some 1,200 men. Two days after, they surrendered to Lord Cawdor, and were sent to Haverfordwest: but, before the arrival of the military, the peasants attacked them with rough weapons, such as pikes and scythes. The ships, which brought this invading army over, were captured on their return to Brest. The following is an official letter to the Lord Mayor, respecting the event:—

My Lord—I have the honour to acquaint your lordship that intelligence has been received that two French Frigates, a Corvette, and a lugger, appeared off the East of Pembrokeshire, on the 22nd instant, and, on the evening of that day, disembarked some troops (reported by deserters to be about 1,200 men, but without any field pieces). Every exertion had been made by the Lord Lieutenant, and gentlemen of that county, and its neighbourhood, for taking the proper steps on this occasion; and the greatest zeal and loyalty has been shewn by all ranks of people. Immediately, on an account having been received at Plymouth, of this force having appeared in the Bristol Channel, frigates were despatched from Plymouth in quest of them.

I have the honour to be, &c.

Portland.

In the ‘Times’ of March 13, 1797, is the following:—

Commodore Nelson’s Receipt to make an Olla-Podrida.

Take a Spanish first-rate, and an 80 gun ship and after well battering and basting them for an hour, keep throwing in your force balls, and be sure to let them be well seasoned. Your fire must never slacken for a single moment, but must be kept up as brisk as possible during the whole time. So soon as you perceive your Spaniards to be well stewed and blended together you must then throw your own ship on board of the two-decker. Lash your sprit-sail-yard to her mizen-mast: then jump into her quarter gallery, sword in hand, and let the rest of your boarders follow as they can. The moment you appear on the 80 gun ship’s quarter deck, the Spaniards will all throw down their arms and fly: you will then have only to take a hop, step and a jump, from your stepping stone, and you will find yourself in the middle of the first-rate’s quarter-deck with all the Spaniards at your feet. Your Olla Podrida may now be considered as completely dished and fit to be set before his Majesty.—Nelson’s New Art of Cookery.

Negotiations for peace with France had been going on during the year, and Lord Malmesbury went over to Lisle to conduct them on the part of the English, but they came to nothing. The French, however, in order to keep us in anxiety, massed large quantities of troops on their coast, which the Directory ordered should be called the ‘Army of England,’ and they gave Bonaparte the command of it. It was destined to come to nothing. Napoleon had made peace with the Austrians, and was then given the above command.

Among themselves35 they had indeed, On Nap’s departure all agreed; For, one of his prodigious sway, ’Twas policy to send away. So Barras, who had such a wise head, Albion’s immediate fall advised. And to send Boney, he thought best, To head the army in the West, Which had a pompous appellation, As ’twas to rouse the English nation; The ‘Army of England’ it was named, Though never for an action famed; They had, indeed, for the occasion, (We mean of the resolv’d invasion), Rafts and Balloons, and ships for diving, And other matters were contriving. The business settled, Barras wrote To his dear Bonaparte a note. ‘Your loving friend now reinstates you, Another victory awaits you— To Albion’s shores conduct your army, There’s nothing there that can alarm ye; I will each necessary thing lend, That you may sack the Bank of England; On London’s Tower let them see The Standard of French Liberty.’ Some of the Ministers it seems Thought this the maddest of all schemes; Tho’ Barras with fine words embellish’d it— Not even Mr. Boney relish’d it; And very soon, it must be own’d The project wisely was postpon’d.

Thus stood things at the end of 1797, a year which left the public pulse—the Three per Cent. Consols—at 49 (they had, in September, dropped to 47–⅞), and the quartern loaf about eightpence all the year through.