BioText home
Etext home

Buonapartephobia (1815; 1820)

Title Page [from 1820 octavo]:


"I have conferred on him a glorious Immortality!"
* * * *
"With his name the mothers still their babes!"
K. Henry VI.

[Napoleon image]


See Page 6, Note.

Ninth Edition.






In my Dedication of the 'Political House that Jack Built,' to DOCTOR SLOP and his sapient admirers, I have stated, that he is indebted to me for his name. This is true. The little piece, in which I conferred upon him that enviable and lasting distinction, is entitled "Buonaparte-phobia, or Cursing made Easy to the meanest Capacity." I wrote and published it, on an open sheet, in the summer of 1815, to expose the impious and profane curses he then lavished, in The Times' Journal, upon Buonaparte, on his return from Elba. The exposure was so effectual, that the Doctor was, in a few days, dismissed from that paper. To cover his disgrace, he openly and unblushingly lied, and attempted to nefariously delude, and otherwise practise gross impostures upon the Public. In answer to his fabrications, and, as a caution to the unwary, the chief Proprietor of The Times was compelled to state the grounds upon which he was discharged. "He knows full well," says The Times, in February, 1817, "that his articles were rejected from our columns, on account of the virulence and indiscretion with which they were written; and that, for more than the twelve months preceding, whatever articles attracted notice by their merit, were exclusively the productions of other gentlemen. --There are, in the Office, sacks full of his rejected writings; which, if they were

published, would exhibit an accurate criterion of his puffed off abilities: the sale of our Journal increased the more, the less he wrote; and, since he has ceased from writing altogether, has extended with a rapidity, of which we have known no example, since we have had the management of it." The Times concludes its observations upon the reputation the Doctor assumed to himself, from having been allowed to rave in its columns, with this remark:--"The braying of the Ass wil sometimes make the forest ring as loudly as the roaring of the Lion. When the person of whom we are speaking, wrote in this Journal, he brayed in the Lion's skin; since he has written out of it, he will find that he has been braying in his own." Shortly after this castigation, the Doctor's public prostitution was notorious. He is now taken into high-keeping by an old lady at the Treasury.

Perhaps this brief Notice may be satisfactory to the reader, perparatory to his curiosity being gratified with the Jeu d'Esprit already mentioned, as 'the Origin of Doctor Slop's name.'

It is my intention to reprint it in this lasting shape, from time to time, and so long as the Doctor daily empties his night-slush from his Slop-pail. By virtue of my public authority, I hereby ratify and confirm his right and title to the name of "SLOP;" and, it is my parodical will and pleasure, that he continue to bear it during his natural life.

45, Ludgate Hill,
27th Nov. 1820.








A Dialogue between the [late] Editor of "The Times," Dr. SLOP, My Uncle Toby, and My Father; embracing the Doctor's VOCABULARY of Easy EPITHETS, and choice CURSES, against BUONAPARTE - after his leaving Elba; shewing HOW TO NICKNAME AND CURSE NAPOLEON, to the best advantage, upon all occasions; being the approved terms regularly served up for some time past, in many respectable Families, with the Breakfast apparatus; designed for the use of men, women, and children, of all Ranks and Conditions, throughout the Dominions of England and Wales, and the Town of Berwick upon Tweed.

Scene-a Room at Doctor Slop's in Doctors Commons.

Present-Doctor Slop, My Father, and My Uncle Toby.

A single loud tap of a knuckle against the outside of the lower panel of the parlour door, gave not an humble earnest applicant for admission:-'Come

in,' said Doctor Slop, in a tone of elevated condescension.--

      The door opened, and a Printer's Devil entered.--

     With an air of eagerness, bespeaking also a consciousness of his being a messenger of importance, the Devil walked up to Doctor Slop, and placing his body in an angle of fifty-five degrees, and his hand in his bosom at the same time, he drew forth, from between his waistcoat and shirt, and delivered to Doctor Slop, a small white paper parcel, directed and folded letterwise, and closed with paste instead of a wafer.--

     'The proof of my leading article for to-morrow's Times,' said Doctor Slop, with complacency, bowing towards my Father and my Uncle Toby in an apologizing posture for breaking the envelope.--

     My Father and my Uncle Toby bowed in return.

     The Devil watched Doctor Slop with a subdued curiosity, bordering upon alarm, as the Doctor unfolded and glanced upon the wet slips.  A paragraph, that stood immediately above Slop's leader, announced the appearance in London of David's Portrait of NAPOLEON, as he now appears.[1]

     'D-n the infernal Scoundrel to everlast perdition,' loudly exclaimed Doctor Slop--

     The Devil instantly left the room.

     Doctor Slop vociferated:- 'No sooner is a piece

of successful villainy achieved by this Monster, than our print-shops exhibit the iron countenance of NAPOLEON THE GREAT!- the portrait of that execrable Villain! that hypocritical Villain! that bare-faced Villain! that daring Villain! that perjured Villain!-that Disgrace of the Human Species!- the Corsican! the low-minded Corsican! the wily Corsican! the vile Corsican! the once-insolent Corsican! the beaten, disgraced, and perjured Corsican! the faithless, perjured, craft-loving Corsican! a Fugitive!-an Adventurer!-a blustering Charlatan!-such a Fellow!-a Scoundrel, with a degraded character!-an Impostor! a despicable Impostor! a notorious Impostor! an hypocritical Impostor!-a Wretch! a desperate Wretch! such a Wretch!-a Robber!-a mere Brigand! an atrocious Brigand!-a savage Adversary!-a Remorseless Ruffian!-a Criminal! such a Criminal! so infamous a Criminal!-that Traitor! that Corsican Traitor! that audacious Traitor! that cowardly and perfidious Traitor! that perjured Traitor! that Arch Traitor!-a Rebel! and audacious Rebel! a vile Corsican Rebel! an usurping Rebel! a proscribed Rebel! an infamous Rebel! the Arch Rebel! the Rebel who defies All Europe!-the Usurper! the Corsican Usurper! the military Usurper! the bloody and perjured Usurper of the French throne!-the Rebel Chief!-the Rebel Tyrant! the degraded Tyrant!-the consummate Despot;-l'Empereur de la Canaille!-the common Enemy of Europe!-this new Catiline!-the prodigal son from the husks and draff of the Isle of Elba!-this Robber is called in by his Brother Thieves!-his crew! his perjured crew! he issues bloody orders to Rebels like

himself, and calls them laws!-he!-the Ring-leader of the conspiracy! of the perjured bloody set!-In THE NEW CONSTITUTION we have lost the first consul and his two colleagues, stuck like gizzard and liver-under his wings!-He is the most perfidious Wretch that ever existed on the face of the earth! a Wretch stained with every crime!-the bloodiest and most perfidious Tyrant that ever disgraced history! the impure Sink of all the Vices!-He instigated an attempt to carry off from Schoenbrunn the child whom he impudently terms King of Rome--the child born of the adulterous connection between himself and the Archduchess Maria Louisa!-When at Elba, his Sister Paulina served him for a Mistress!!!-An Outlaw from the common pale of civilized society!-a stigmatized Traitor and Rebel in the eyes of all France!--England should take the lead in

"Sounding the horn to kings who chase the Beast."

   'This Monster in human shape, on his blood-stained throne! this abhorred Monster! this accursed Monster!-this Viper! this Viper of Corsica! this Assassin of Ajaccio! this notorious Hypocrite and Liar, with the heart of a Demon, permits no English newspaper but the MORNING CHRONICLE to find its way into Paris!!!

   'He is a Felon and an Outlaw!-an Oath-breaker!-a Perjurer!-an arch Incendiary!-What security can this Wretch offer us that he will keep the peace!-he! a man as infamous as if his ears had been nailed to the pillory!-an Outlaw!-a Murderer! a midnight Murderer!-an Assassin!-a living Moloch!-He has the audacity to proclaim

an amnesty!—he!—a Felon with a rope round his neck!—The Criminal must either abdicate again, or be destroyed!—He can't last lone—he'll die without killing—he is so fat that he is obliged to be lifted on horseback by four Grenadiers, and four Grenadiers are obliged to lift him off again!—and—as my friend of the Morning Post says, "the dangerous complaints with which he is afflicted (a double rupture and a fistula), has[2] put a stop to his riding," and he refuses to be cured!—It is horrible to contemplate his life, but his death, what human being but must rejoice at it!—to destroy his power and person would be on the part of the people of England most necessary and just!—now is the time when "his giant's robe hangs loose about him, as about a Dwarfish Thief!" —There is not a street in London, in which at least ten individuals would not joyfuly pay their hundred pounds each to see this Monster Hanged!—The COMMON HALL would wash the blackamoor white!—for this we have to expect the gratitude of the Felon!—France, we are told, has made pacific overtures.— She!—Now who is this modest virtuous dame? Why truly her name is LEGION![3] She is a set of the greatest miscreants on the face of the earth!If the DUKE OF BRUNSWICK'S MANIFESTO had been firmly acted upon by the Allies 22 years earlier, MOST HAPPY WOULD SUCH AN EVENT HAVE BEEN![4]

——Let us wait, it is said, till we are attacked; but would any man act thus, if he saw a mad dog or a wild beast sprawling as Buonaparte now is before him!—this Tiger! — this Hyena! — this Fiend! — this Bloody Dog!—'

   My uncle Toby and my Father had hitherto sat silent, at first looking in astonishment at Doctor Slop, then at each other, and then at Doctor Slop again; when, supposing that Doctor Slop had concluded—a false conclusion, by the bye, for Doctor Slop had merely taken advantage of a triumphantly toned climax, and temporary want of breath, to make the least possible pasue until he could proceed anew—my Uncle Toby said, 'Doctor Slop, when you are sufficiently cool——

   'Cool!' cried Doctor Slop—'Have I ever been cooler in my life, when I have read or heard of the Ruffian?'

   'I thought,' answered my Uncle Toby, 'that there was a time when you, Dr. S——, used very different language concerning revolutionary principles and revolutionary men? ——'[5]

   'I? — I? I? —When? Where? Pho!—Pish!—Psha!'—cried Doctor Slop, 'What if I did!What if I did!—What then? But no matter for that, — No matter for that, Sir, I say! — No matter, Sir!—What is that to the readers of "The Times?" What is it to any body? Buonaparte's a Wretch! a

Villain! a Fool! an imperial Robber! an infamous, bloody, execrable, audacious, atrocious, ferocious—'

    'Let me entreat you to be cool,' said my Uncle Toby, interrupting Dr. S—— 'I beg your pardon for hinting at your former opinions--Don't be so ruffled! pray be cool!——'

    'Cool!' cried Doctor Slop—'I am as cool as I have been these two months! I have not spoken a word which you will not find in 'The Times,'[6] since the tiger broke his chain, and escaped from his den.  He is neigher to be thought nor written of with patience—he is——'

    'But pray,' interrupted my Uncle Toby—'Have you authority to justify the use——

    'Heaven grant me patience,' cried Doctor Slop— Read "The Times —read "The Times"—pray read "The Times:" there you will find authority for every thing, and every thing for authority—for legitimate authority—but as for the people, as they are called—the pretended sovereignty——'

    'Surely,' interrupted my Uncle Toby—'there are other papers, Doctor Slop, besides "The Times" that ——'

    'None! None!' exclaimed Doctor Slop— 'not one, except "The Courier."  St——t[7] is a capital hand at a leader, strong! strong! like myself—sometimes; but cannot do a column and a half, or two columns, every day, strong all the way through!  Look at the Times' readers—how I hit 'em between wind and water.  A Cit calls—"Waiter! give me

a paper—anything but "the Times," for I always see it at breakfast.  The Times is devilish good this morning, Sir—strong as usual—good and strong —d—d strong, Sir—Boney's done himself up, Sir— What a d—d fool he must be—I wonder what the Allies will do with him—They'll certainly hang him, Sir — What a scoundrel!"  The Courier keeps up the ball in the evening tolerably well.  St——t and I fit to a hair.  No jostling now—no more SECOND EDITIONS, Times Office, THREE o'clock—never clash in our epithets about the Wretch — never use the same phrases.  As soon as the Rebel landed, I and St——t settled a Vocabulary of terms, and divided it between us.[8]  Each has not only his own part by heart, but what the other is to use also—we know our cue.  St——t hits the Tyrant at night for the simple out-of-town people, and the Country reading-rooms; and I come—bang—upon the Villain, in the morning, fresh for the Roysters of the City—the fat flats with lean pates, and the counting-house cuckoos!—Then look at our sales! —How can the Traitor escape? —The Courier is a little more courtly, and therefore occasionally more tame.  It is the official sink-hole, through which the Treasury gentlemen let their little, moderate, half-concealed secrets, dribble out upon the public.  St——t, I say, dilutes sometimes; but when he does 'go it,' he does it in style.  Hear what the Courier says for the last six weeks—about Moloch of course.

    '"That disgusting Fellow! — that Hypocrite! that Man of Perfidy! — the Invader! — the Master-ja-

cobin! — the savage Beast! — a Coward, unworthy to live, and unfit to die! — the Rebel, the Felon returned from transportation! — the abdicating Usurper! entered a gloomy metopolis by stealth and by night—the other parts of the regime will be restored, committees of public safety, revolutionary tribunals, and the guillotine! — The Mutes and Dummies meet on the 26th of May!—At the solemn season[9] that the Jewish people rejected our Saviour! and chose the murderer Barabbas! the French reject Louis XVIII.!, and chose Barabbas Buonaparte!—Let him be called the Emperor Barabbas!—the Pacha of Paris!—the Emperor of Rag Fair!—the Tiger Tyrant!—He tells the blood-hounds they shall no longer be muzzled; they shall be let loose forthwith, to gorge and gratify to the utmost their thirst for blood!—The European Powers cannot suffer them to crawl and cringe, and lick the dust off the hoof of the Tyrant in quiet—the cruellest Tyrant that ever stained the page of history!—The Resolutions of THE COMMON HALL (the Lord Mayor, Aldermen, and Livery of THE CITY OF LONDON)—are about as much the sense of the City of London, as the resolutions of A CLUB OF POT-HOUSE POLITICIANS would be the sense of the people of England!—It would be to disgrace and damn the Country to make peace with the Usurper!—a Wretch out of the protection of the law of nations! who is, was, and ever will be,

——A Murderer! and a Villain!
A Slave that is not twentieth part the tithe
Of their precedent Lord:—a Vice of Kings!
A Cut-purse of the Empire, and the Rule,
That from a shelf the precious diadem stole,
And put it in his pocket!

    'I thought,' said my Uncle Toby, 'that the Crown jewels, and the diamond belonging to the hilt of Buonaparte's sword, were carried off by ———'

    'Bah! bah!' cried Doctor Slop, interrupting my Uncle Toby.

    Doctor Slop continued———' "He is the most faithless and perjured of mankind—a Robber!—a Murderer!—a faithless, perjured, bloody Tyrant! at the head of a military banditti, panting for conflagration and pillage!—This demon of the storms!—this genius of fire, famine, and slaughter!—this scourge of the human race! this fiend of the human race!—this compound of every thing that is tyrannical, and cruel, and hypocritical, and false, and remorseless

Remember him, the Villain! righteous Heaven;
In thy great day of vengeance Blast the Traitor!"[10]

    'Small curses, Doctor Slop, upon great occasions,' quoth my Father, 'are but so much waste of our strength and soul's health to 'no manner of purpose.'[11]

    'I own it,' replied Doctor Slop.

    'They are like sparrow-shot,' quoth my Uncle Toby, 'fired against a bastion.'

    'They serve,' continued my Father, 'to stir the humours—but carry off none of their acrimony:—for my own part I seldom swear or curse at all—I hold it bad—but if I fall into it by surprise, I generally retain so much presence of mind as to make it answer my purpose—that is—I swear on till I find myself easy.'

    'I declare,'—quoth my Uncle Toby—'my heart would not let me curse the devil himself with so much bitterness.  And indeed——

    'He is the father of curses'—replied Doctor Slop.

    'So am not I'—replied my Uncle.

    'But he is cursed and damned already to all Eternity'—replied Doctor Slop.

    'I am sorry for it,'—quoth my Uncle Toby.

    'When a gentleman is diposed to swear, it is not for any standers-by to curtail his curses'—observed Doctor Slop.

    'If the admirers of Doctor Slop,' quoth my Uncle Toby, 'are pleased with the daily language of "The Times," and wondering at it with all their wits, men of understanding and liberal feeling may be allowed to smile—from views somewhat different it is true—and to wonder less.  And surely'—said my Uncle Toby, earnestly addressing Doctor Slop, 'you must allow, Sir, that it is not a common affair—in fact it is very uncommon—to hear a Doctor of Civil Law, with the advantages of an early gentlemanly education, by able tutors——

    Doctor Slop, interrupted my Uncle Toby, exclaiming—

'"They taught me language; and my profit on't
Is,——I know how to Curse!                 (Caliban)

"Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent as bitter-searching terms,
As curst, as harsh, as horrible to hear,
With full as many signs of deadly hate,
As lean-fac'd envy in her loathsome cave.
My tongue should stumble in mine earnest words:
Mine eyes should sparkle like the beaten flint;
My hair be fixt an end, as one distract:
Aye, every joint should seem to curse and ban;

And even now my burden'd heart would break,
Should I not curse them!——

Well could I curse away a winter's night,
Though standing naked on a mountain top,

Where biting cold would never let grass grow,
And think it but a minute spent in sport!

But curses kill not: could I kill with cursing,
By heavens I know not thirty heads in France
Should not be blasted! Senators should rot,
Like dogs on dunghills!
O, for a curse to kill with!"'

    My Father and my Uncle Toby bowed ceremoniously to Dr. Slop, and withdrew, under cover of Doctor Slop's exclamations.

Doctor S——— solus

'"Why what an Ass am I?—this is most brave;
That I——
Must like a w———e unpack my heart with words,
And fall a cursing like a very Drab,
A Scullion!
Fie upon't——Foh!——                               [Exit.


The End.

   Printed by W. Hone,
45, Ludgate-Hill, London.


1. [page 6] The Portrait on the title-page of this Edition was printed on the former open-sheet Editions immediately under the above words. It is engraved from a painting of Napoleon, by the celebrated David, and is a striking Likeness of him as he appeared just after his return from Elba. The Print was corrected from the original Portrait when it was brought over to this country, for a short time, just after the battle of Waterloo. [return]

2. [page 9] Morning Post, Wednesday, 3d May, 1815. [return]

3. [page 9] Signifying "many devils." Luke, c. iii. v. 30. [return]

4. [page 9] The Duke of Brunswick's Manifesto threatened no quarter, and to carry fire and sword through France, if it resisted the attempts of the combined armies to re-establish Louis XVI. France rose as one man, and defeated that 'Holy Alliance.' [return]

5. [page 10] My uncle Toby was right—hence the Doctor's testy evasiveness. Some years ago Dr. S—— was of the Vindicæ Gallicæ School—as he calls it; and seemed to respect public virtue, and have a decent horror of court favour: now he abuses Sir James Mackintosh, and, whilst drinking deep of the Comte de Lille's Nectar d'Or, discovers "the true odour of sanctity" in the Lys, and--wonders how he could ever have done otherwise. [return]

6. [page 11] If the reader will take the trouble to examine "The Times" and "The Courier," after Buonaparte left Elba, he will there find, amongst others, every epithet and curse used by Dr. S—— in this Dialogue with my Uncle Toby and my Father. The dates of their appearance are not inserted; for most Readers would have been fatigued by the frequent references. [return]

7. [page 11, Editor's note] Hone is most likely referring to T. G. Street. Street was an editor of The Courier newspaper, which, as the context makes clear, was politically aligned with The Times. (Daniel Stuart was also associated with The Courier, but as proprietor rather than lead-writer.) [return]

8. [page 12] This Coalition is notorious, though the specific article is kept private. It may be entitled, however, "The Times and Courier Secret Treaty for the partition of Curses." [return]

9. [page 13] Mr. St——t wrote this at Greenwich Fair season, over a large glass of particularly strong and hot Bourdeaux Brandy, with some water to it—its smooth surface reflecting upon the Editor's eye the Lys--at his button-hole! [return]

10. [page 14] Slop was so thoroughly blinded to his own guilt, that in the very height of his ravings against Napoleon he wrote thus: —'It is amusing to see the native vulgarity of Buonaparte's mind and manners breaking forth in his language!' They are the Doctor's own words in the Times of the 6th of May, 1815.

' O wad some pow'r the giftie gie us
' To see oursels, as others see us!' —Burns. [return]

11. [page 14] See Sterne's Tristram Shandy, chap. 54. [return]