Punch: Punch (22.1852)

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

29

FRENCH COCKS AND FRENCH EAGLES.

rince Louis Napoleon has
added to his glories: he has
knocked the French Cock
off his perch, and reinstated
the French Eagle. The Cock
that was heard at Antwerp,
Isly, and, rejoicing the re-
ligious heart of Pio Nono,
crowed an historic cock-a-
doodle-doo in the Roman
Capitol—vice Roman Geese,
deceased—is now so much
vulgar poultry. In France,
the Cock has had his walk:
there is to be no more dung-
hill scratch and strut; but
henceforth, soaring and solar
gazing. No more barley,
but world-splitting thunder-
--bolts !

Poor, cashiered Cock!
The Consiitutionnel squirts
cowardly ink at him, de-
graded bird, plucked and
draggled. Tells us that this
same Cock, in 1848, had
his head cut off—was, in
representative brass— " de-
capitated on a great num-
ber of shakoes." Whereas,
"the French Eagle may
have been conquered, but
was never humiliated."
Never ? No; not even when
landed sea-sick at Boulogne,
and—taken captive—sentenced to feed on garbage at Boulogne slaughter-house. Louis
Napoleon at Ham, and his half-plucked familiar at the Abattoir.

And now, Louis Napoleon, moulting for imperial feathers, disgraces the vulgar household
thing, to promote the bird of the empire. Cooks cease to crow, and totally disappear. The
French army that went to sleep, roosting upon one leg, wake at beat of drum so many
eagles! They are no longer to stretch the neck for bloodless corn; are not to follow Ceres,
the farmer's wife; but are to look about them for lambs and hares, and joyfully acknowledge
the shriek of Bellona.

It is manifest that Louis Napoleon knows the human heart as it is wont to rub-a-dub
under the blue serge of the French soldier. The Imperial President knows the gratitude
that must flow upon him from the changed condition of every hero. Not a drummer but is
elevated; yesterday he was a mere bantam cock; to-day, he is an eaglet of the sun. He
scratched upon a dunghill; and now, from his eyry, he looks abroad upon a Land of Promise
—that is, a Land of Pillage.

But, alter all, can the Emperor-President—or President-Emperor—award to France a living
eagle ? Is it the true thing ? Can it, upon its own vitality, soar and bear the thunder! We
are justified in the suspicion conveyed in the query. For once unon a time, there was a
subtle machinist—by name Regiomontanus—who made a Wooden Eagle; and this bird, the
Chroniclers tell us, was so like unto the living thing, that it flew forth, making a certain
circuit, and at the happy moment, dropped a crown upon the head of Maximilian, then
passing through the City gates, in holiday triumph.

Now, we more than suspect that this very Eagle of the President—seemingly, in full
feather, and gazing upon the sun of France with the very brightest of glass eyes—is no other
than the old wooden bird, curiously preserved, to assert the sometime luck of human
accidents. It is wonderful how old things re-appear when they are wanted. A few
nights since, Louis Napoleon went to the Opera, the performances further patronised by
the bayonets of the line. Eagles there awaited him: eagles, preserved—we are assured
of the elevating truth—from the days of Buonaparte. Had Louis Napoleon required the
bees of Clovis, can there be any doubt of a supply of the living insect, in a direct line
buzzing down to 1852 ?

Therefore, we can only accept the Eagle given by the present ruler of France to his
grateful country, as a ligneous bird—a thing of wires and wheels ; a bit of capital mechanism,
that may serve its turn or two ; but with no sustaining life ; nothing to keep it up. A dead
Eagle, even though in the clouds, and coming at last dumpishly down to earth, like
the property Eagle of the play-house, when the man in Der Freischiitz fires the enchanted
bullet.

After all, the Cock is a more rational, a more pleasing emblem for a nation, than the
aquiline bird of slaughter. The Cock is the trumpet of the morn ; the herald of the
life-creating, world-delighting sun. The Cock is generous; for, until made selfish by old
age, he will, on the discovery of worm or grain, call his wives about him, show the prize,
and strutting forth, magnanimously forego it; a fine lesson this for self-denying rulers.
Besides, to the French nation, the Cock should have the most cheering of attributes. Is
there not a Lion—a perfidious lion—on the British shore opposite ? And is it not an old,
old truth—enshrined in many stories—that when the Cock crows, the Lion trembles ?

We submit the question to the cabinet (when found) of Louis Napoleon. Is not a
crowing cock better than a wooden eagle ? A living thing of the farm-yard of more account
than an imperial dummy P

BROTHER JONATHAN ON OUR
NATIONAL DEFENCES.

{From the Buffalo Slockdologer.)

That beef-eating old coon, John Bull, is like
to be in a fix. He had better look out for squalls.
He has had fair warning. Shakespeare says
there's a divinity that shapes our ends. That's
how Nature made the tail of the rattlesnake.
He lets you know he's a-coming your way, the
rattlesnake does. He gives you notice to clear
off. If he bites you after that, it's your own
fault. Just so with John Bull. If he's cotched
napping, he '11 have nobody to blame but his own
self. Nature is uniformc She hoists danger
signals wherever there's danger. You may read
'em if you've a mind to attend to 'em, which
you had best have. Here's the French flag a-
flying at this moment with the Bonaparte Eagle
upon it, larger than life. That's a danger signal
to John Bull. It means the Empire over
again. It's a sign that Lewis Napoleon
intends to play old Scratch da capo. Well,
what will John Bull do if he is wise ? In the
first place, he will be civil; anyhow, you can fix
it, he will lose money by quarrelling. What next ?
—always supposing he's wise. Well, everybody
best knows his own concerns. If he's a goney,
what he'll do is as plain as a speck of white on
a nigger. He '11 continue to arm his troops with
muskets that shoot any way but point blank.
He will persevere in mounting his dragoons
upon old cab-horses. He will persist in building
ships that won't sail, and steamers that won't
act; in victualling them with meat in a state of
decomposition; in underpaying his sailors, and
doing everything that lies in his power to drive
all the best hands out of his navy. And he '11
take particular care to leave his coasts unde-
fended in every spot likely to give an opening
to Lewis Napoleon, in case that possum should
ever feel inclined to try a coup de France on the
British nation. He will believe such an outrage
impossible. He will let his self be talked over
by his easy friends, who persuade him not to
think of such a thing. Oh yes ! he 'll trust that
a loafer who only upset the constitution of his
own country, will stick at violating the law of
nations. He'll rely on Lewis Napoleon's
honour, and his own good luck; he '11 shut his
eyes and stop his ears against every warning;
he '11 act like one of his own partridges, that puts
its head in a hole, and there stands, thinking
itself in safety, because it sees no peril, till pre-
sently down comes a poacher, and quietly puts a
pinch of salt on its tail.

To a Rich Young Widow.

I will not ask if thou canst touch

The tuneful ivory key ?
Those silent notes of thine are such

As quite suffice for me.

I '11 make no question if thy skill
The pencil comprehends,

Enough for me, love, if thou still
Canst draw thy dividends !

The Trees of Liberty.

The French trees of liberty are all to be cut
down, and the wood given to the poor for fuel.
Thus Frenchmen have liberty to—warm them-
selves. _

The Best Wards of a Latch-key.—Home-
Wards ! _

an impudent bird fancier.

Strange that Louis Napoleon should have
such a predilection for the Eagle. The Kite, by
all accounts, is the bird which he has been most
used to flying.