Punch: Punch (39.1860)

54

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

[August 11, 1860.

Brown {excited). “Hi, Jones!—Net! Net! Net!—Make Haste, or I shall lose him!”

Jones {who is rather giddy and nervous'). “Eh!— Ah !— Right !— To be sure!—Yes !—I—I—I—I’m coming—as east—as—Oh!

DEAR—AS POSSIBLE ! ”

THE IMPERIAL BILLET-DOUX AND THE ANSWER.

The Emperor to John Bull {care of Count Persignt).

Mr dear Mr. Bull,—Let me first beg to say,

That my letter is solely intended for you :

But as crowned heads must act in a round-about way,

I transmit through Count Persigny this billet-doux.

I’ve been pained to the heart at your lending your ear

To “Old Parties” who charge me with all sorts of crimes :

But my genuine feelings I hope to set clear
In this letter which realty is meant for the Times.

Don’t think in your eyes that I mean to throw dust.

But pray give full credit to all I aver:

There’s Palmerston knows I am worthy of trust.

And to him I am kindly allowed to refer.

Ton my honour—a thing, which you know I hold dear,—

Since I signed at Yillefrauche—with my back to the wall—

I have wished but for peace and for friendship sincere
With my excellent neighbours, and you above all.

Bless you, I never meant to take Nice and Savoy,

Till to lengths so alarming Sardinia would go.

Annexation I really was driven to employ—

(After all, they’re essentially French slopes, you know).

With my soldiers and ships, you say, Europe I frighten;

Europe ought to know better, and you too. mon cher ;

Cherbourg’s nothing, in fact, but a sort of French Brighton :

As for soldiers—1 haven’t one man I can spare.

Of invasion by Louis Philippe did you dream ?

Yet Napoleon of peace as he was—just, like me—

He’d more ships under sail than I have under steam—

And of troops, when ail’s weighed, I have no more than he.

Indeed to speak plain, as a plain Emp’ror suits,

I’ve not nearly the force—land or sea—that I want;

What with China, Algiers, R.ome, Gendarmes, sick, recruits,
Of bayonets I find myself frightfully scant.

Besides, you can’t blame me for wishing to make
The best of the handful of men that I’ve got:

Less flatt’ring than yours is the view I must take.

You see what our troops are, I see what they ’re not.

Then as to the East—’Pon my honour again—

The only instruction I gave Thouvenel

Was, “ Don’t put the sick gentleman out of his pain—”

He’s free to stay sick—so he doesn’t get well.

In Syria again—where such sad things, alas, occur;—

Yo’u blame me for the mischief I seek to repair :

Mr. Bull, I’ve a heart, and it burned at the massacre
Of my dear Christian brethren, now suff’ring there—

Till I wasn’t exactly myself, and my feelings
Perhaps may have hurried me rat her too far.

Did I say “ twenty thousand? ” But Christian appealings
Are things I could never resist—so they are.

’Twas humanity urged the proposed expedition:

What profit from Syria could I expect ?

Mv troops would have gone on their peace-makkig mission,

If you hadn’t stept in, and the enterprise checked.

No—I say the same thing I said eight years ago,—

(’Twas very soon after the second December)—

“ L’Empire c'est la paix ” was my text at Bordeaux,

And how I’ve lived up to that text just remember.