Memoirs of Emma, lady Hamilton, the friend of Lord Nelson and the court of Naples; (46 page)

A month after his decease the will was read in Piccadilly before the assembled relations—the Grevilles, the Cathcarts, the Meyricks, the Abercorns, and the rest. Nelson forwarded the announcement to Davison by Oliver. He had suggested the advisability of reading Sir William's deed of gift of the furniture to Emma before a full conclave, as it might otherwise " be supposed that Mr. C. Greville gives Lady H. the furniture," which her money had bought for Sir William. The will itself proved Nelson's suspicion of Greville's influence not altogether unfounded, and the fact " vexed" him sorely. Though Hamilton had forestalled income, his means were ample; even Elliot was astonished at the inadequate provision for his widow. 1 To his " dear wife Emma " he bequeathed a sum of £300, and an annuity of £800, to include provision for her mother. In a codicil he recites that as he had promised to pay her debts, amounting to £700, but of this sum had only paid £250, Greville was to pay her in advance the current annuity of £800, for herself and Mrs. Cadogan, while the unpaid remainder of her debts she was to recover as a charge upon the arrears of pension owed him by the Government. The last arrangement was nugatory on the face of it. The Government that had disregarded Sir William was unlikely to re-

1 Minto Life and Letters, vol. ii. p. 283. "Worse off than I imagined." He adds: " She talked very freely of her situation with Nelson, and of the construction the world may have put upon it, but protested that her attachment was perfectly pure which I can believe, though I declare it is of no consequence whether it is so or not." Maria Carolina also deplored her "indifferent provision."

gard his widow. It is but just towards Greville, who had been always at his uncle's elbow, to relate that within a week of Sir William's demise he urged his dying wishes on the then Foreign Secretary in the strongest terms, while at the same time he repeated his (Hamilton's) previous strictures on the Government's past treatment. " I know," he concluded, " that the records of your office confirm the testimony of their Sicilian Majesties by letter as well as by their Ministers of circumstances peculiarly distinguished and honourable to her, and at the same time of high importance to the public service." But Emma was thus left with no capital except the furniture, of uncertain value, and with an income diminished by a debt which her husband had promised to discharge, but of which only one-quarter had been settled. Greville and his brother, the Colonel, were declared executors, the first being residuary legatee. To Nelson he gave an enamel of Emma " as a very small token of the great regard I have for his lordship, the most virtuous, loyal, and truly brave character I ever met with. God bless him, and shame fall on all those who do not say Amen."

This avowal does Hamilton honour. Poor Nestor! —however reluctant his submission, whatever his misgivings, he steeled himself against them to the last. I do not think that Hamilton was wholly befooled, but how could the Nelson that he loved reconcile to his conscience such tributes of trust from one whom he had long cherished with more than esteem? He and Emma must both have felt a pang of shame and remorse. They had skated on thin ice together. Though their duplicity, uncongenial to the frankness of both, had been imposed on them by their united care for each other's interest, and Horatia's, it had also imposed upon others. Bearing in mind every extenuation, one would fain forget this unlovely spectacle; apart from extenu-

ation it is hideous. Their falsity towards Hamilton cannot be condoned. Their sin had impaired Emma's sense, and Nelson's principle, of truth.

Neither of them lost time in besetting the authorities for a grant both of pension and of compensation which might clear her of debt. To Addington she wrote herself. She was " forced to petition." She was " most sadly bereaved." She was now " in circumstances far below those in which the goodness "of her " dear Sir William " allowed her " to move for so many years." She pleaded for his thirty-six years' efforts for England at Naples. " And may I mention," she added, in words to be carefully scanned as the first expression of her claims, "what is well known to the then administration at home—how I too strove to do all I could towards the service of our King and Country. The fleet itself, I can truly say, could not have got into Sicily but for what I was happily able to do with the Queen of Naples (and through her secret instructions so obtained), on which depended the refitting of the fleet in Sicily, and with that, all which followed so gloriously at the Nile. These few words, though seemingly much at large, may not be extravagant at all. iThey are, indeed, true. I wish them to be heard only as they can be proved; and being proved, may I hope for what I have now desired." Addington professed to Lord Melville, who spoke to him on the matter, that he would give the whole circumstances a favourable consideration. But Nelson from the first counted little on his assistance, though of Pitt, for the moment, he seemed rather more sanguine.

But already, amid all these agitations, the supreme one of renewed severance from Nelson threatened. He had always prophesied that the truce of Amiens would not endure. In May Napoleon divined the safe moment for breaking it. Russia was then friendly, and

Austria hesitating. It was not till the following year, when his murder of the Due d'Enghien scandalised Europe, that Russia contrived the third coalition, which Prussia and Austria joined. Napoleon now prepared to invade Naples: his troops were soon to occupy Hanover. Our Ambassador, Lord Whitworth, was recalled from Paris. Maria Carolina assured Emma of her delight at the prospect of Nelson's renewed Mediterranean command, and Acton, who had by now assumed the superintendence of Bronte, looked forward to seeing his old associate once more.

Death, doubt, and despair confronted Emma together, but she did not quail. Her faults were many, but cowardice was never one of them. Her hero would win fresh victories and once more save his country. She little recked how long that absence was to last. For the first time he had been with her for eighteen months, unparted.

A wedding and a christening signalised the month of his departure, and showed Nelson and Emma together in public.

In May, at the Clarges Street house, to which Emma had then been forced to remove, Captain Sir William Bolton married his cousin, the daughter of Nelson's sister and Emma's friend, Mrs. Thomas Bolton. Emma was afterwards to be godmother to their firstborn, " Emma Horatia." Sir William, for whose promotion Nelson always exerted himself, proved somewhat of a booby, to Nelson's amused chagrin.

And three days before he said farewell, Horatia was baptized in the same Marylebone church which had witnessed her mother's marriage. The nurse had already brought the two years old child from time to time to see them at Merton. Nelson and Emma stood by the font as god-parents of their own child, and two clergymen officiated at the christening of " Horatia Nelson

Thomson." Now, at least, she might soon find her home at Merton. Nelson gave her a silver cup, a cup by which hangs a sad tale, and which, years afterwards, had to be sacrificed to poverty.

Greville hardly behaved well. He harshly denied her a moment longer than the end of April in the Piccadilly house. She applied to him, in the third person, to ascertain the precise limit of her stay, as she must " look out for lodgings " and " reduce her expenses." Nelson, however, now resolved to allow her £100 a month for the upkeep of Merton, but unfortunately, though mainly residing at her " farm," she could not refrain from still renting a smaller town house in Clarges Street.

An altercation ensued, it is said, between Nelson and Greville. At any rate, Greville's continued hardness towards Emma, soon to be accentuated by his deduction of the income-tax from her annuity, evoked the following from Nelson more than two years afterwards :—

" Mr. Greville is a shabby fellow. It never could have been the intention of Sir William but that you should have had seven hundred pounds a year neat money. ... It may be law, but it is not just, nor in equity would, I believe, be considered as the will and intention of Sir William. Never mind! Thank God, you do not want any of his kindness; nor will he give you justice."

At four o'clock on the morning of May 18, the post-chaise drew up before Merton Place: only one trunk was in it. Before any one was astir. Nelson had bidden his passionate adieu, and had driven off with the dawn. From Kingston, on his road, he despatched the familiar line of consolation:—

"Cheer up, my dearest Emma, and be assured that I ever have been 2 and am and ever will be, your most

faithful and affectionate." He had hardly reached his destination when he resumed: " Either my ideas are altered, or Portsmouth. ... It is a place, the picture of desolation and misery, but perhaps it is the contrast to what I have been used to. ... When you see my ettve, which you will when you receive this letter, give her a kiss from me,, and tell her that I never shall forget either her or her dear good mother." Two days later he again gave comfort from the Victory :— " You will believe that although I am glad to leave that horrid place Portsmouth, yet the being afloat makes me now feel that we do not tread the same element. I feel from my soul that God is good, and in. His due wisdom will unite us. Only, when you look upon our dear child, call to your remembrance all that you think I would say, was I present. And be assured that I am thinking of you every moment. My heart is full to bursting. May God Almighty bless you is the fervent prayer of, my dear beloved Emma, your most faithful, affectionate Nelson."

The old trio had been dissolved, and a new trio reigned in its stead. Horatia now sanctified his existence, her portrait already adorned his cabin. Emma becomes Calypso no more, but Penelope—a Penelope, moreover, with repulsed suitors. On Greville's life— even on Hamilton's—she had been but an iridescence, but to Nelson she is light, air, and heat in one; and what she was to him, that Nelson remains to her in perpetuity.

CHAPTER XIII

PENELOPE AND ULYSSES

June, 1803— January, 1806

IT is a far cry from Merton to the Mediterranean, but for Nelson the one was nearly as important as the other: the heart of Ulysses was with his Penelope.

Estranged Greville straightway took up his uncle's mantle, exchanging learned disquisitions with Banks about " mud volcanoes in Trinidad." Davison was trying to curb Emma's extravagant schemes for Merton improvements, though he himself was now in election scrapes, and a few years later was, unfortunately, to rival St. George himself as a fraudulent contractor. Penelope (fretted and ailing), whether at Merton, Southend, Clarges Street, or Canterbury, by turns with the Matchams, Boltons, or Nelsons, sent daily reports to her wandering Ulysses. She tattled alike of her conflicting emotions, of the dukes and princes, her suitors, and of her exertions to secure berths for countless applicants. All Nelson's nephews and nieces constantly found themselves a happy family under her roof, and Merton was now Merton Academy for Charlotte. Strange as it seems, Emma's relations and Nelson's were on affectionate and equal terms, her cousin, Sarah Connor, being now governess to the Bol-ton children, while Mrs. Matcham, Nelson's pet sister, actually wished to find a new house near Merton. " Our good Mrs. Cadogan," too, was beloved by his

family and his friends, whom she provided from the dairy. She was the Merton economist, kept all too busy checking the accounts of the rapacious Cribb. 1 Such was Penelope's chronicle.

Nelson had only three thoughts—Emma, Horatia, and the French fleet. During the next three years, whether at Gibraltar or Naples, Toulon or, afterwards, La Rosas, and eventually off Boulogne, he mused on these, and these alone, by day; he dreamed of them at night; they possessed him in fierce concentration. He was an inspired monomaniac, and the flame of his fanaticism both burnt and fired him to achievement. Different kinds of self-forgetful ardour animate every prophet. Adoration of his country, a woman, and a child, animated Nelson. In this he contrasts with all his colleagues and predecessors, who did their duty like stolid Spartans, unwarmed and unenticed by any dangerous glow. To the sober-minded, Emma is his will-of-the-wisp; to him, she was his beacon. He calls her his "Alpha and Omega"; he beseeches her-not to fret. Her and the French fleet—" to these two objects tend all his thoughts, plans, and toils," and he will " embrace them so close " when he " can lay hold of either the one or the other, that the devil himself should not separate " them. He longed " to see both " in their " proper places "—the one at sea, the other " at dear Merton, which, in every sense of the word," he expects " to find a paradise." He still deemed none worthy " to wipe her shoes." He vowed not to quit his ship till they could meet again. " From Ambas-satrice to the duties of domestic life " he has never seen her equal; her " elegance, . . . accomplishments, and, above all, goodness of heart," are " unparalleled,"

1 He was a sort of steward at Merton, but he also supplied the green-groceries. He encouraged the extravagant expense of the Merton improvements.

and he is devoted to her " for ever and beyond ft." Eagerly he treasured the slenderest tidings of her from officers returning to or from England.

Each night, as Scott, his chaplain—Scott, with his lightning-struck head—relates to Emma, he toasted their Guardian Angel, with a tender look towards her portrait, and a side glance, doubtless, at the smiling face of the child below it. To Horatia he addressed the first whole letter that he had written to her. He bought her a gold watch through Falconet of Naples, and forwarded it as a reminder of her liking to listen to his own; he sent her a pretty picture-book of " Spanish dresses," bidding her be always good and obedient to her " Guardian Angel, Lady Hamilton." When, for the second time, he ensured such a settlement for Horatia's future as no imprudence could undo, he commended " the dear little innocent " to Emma, as certain to train her in the paths of religion and virtue. Emma's every concern interested him. In her letters he finds the " knack " of hitting off and picturing topics to a marvel. Over her cousin, Charles Connor, now a midshipman under his charge, he watched like a father. As he passed Capri, recollection " almost overpowers " his feelings. He enclosed for her the new entreaties of her old friends the King and Queen of Naples, while she transmitted to him Maria Carolina's letter to her, protesting the usual sympathy and gratitude. Amid his many engrossments he followed the projected improvements at Merton as if he were there —the new rooms and porch, the new road, the dike to fill up a part of the " Nile," the surrender of a strip to " Mr. Bennett, which will save £50 a year," the acquirement of another field, the " strong netting" to surround the rivulet for little Horatia's safety. Davi-son had remonstrated over the expense; Nelson directed him to proceed. He expressly enjoined her—a fact

afterwards important—not to pay for them out of her income. He little guessed what a millstone she was hanging round her neck; she was right to have her way; all was right always that she did, wrote, or thought. He commended her to Davison's tenderest care. He chose her presents of shawls and chains from Naples. He recovered some of her lost furniture both at Malta and Palermo. He enclosed £100— for herself and the poor at Merton, together with gifts to Miss Connor, Mrs. Cadogan, and Charlotte, " a trifling remembrance from me, whose whole soul is at Merton"; and her "good mother" is always sure of his " sincerest regard."

Emma's heart, too, was across the sea. She watched every wind, chance, and disappointment. When at Sonthend, where she met her old friend Jane Powell, the actress, she thought of little but Nelson and Horatia. She was in ill health; but she was still " patroness of the navy," forwarding each officer's requests to, and his interest with, her Nelson. If she diverted herself with concerts, or teased her ogling suitors, at the same time she begged Davison to introduce her to Nepean, for her hero's sake. She kept the " glorious first of August " with her friends, and only regretted that the Abbe Campbell must be absent. She looked anxiously for letters,—" despatches and sea breezes will restore you," wrote Mrs. Bolton. She bought and sent off his very boots—a size, it would seem, too small. He has warned her never to spend her money " to please a pack of fools," nor to let her native generosity empty her purse even for his sisters, as she so often did; not to hunt for a legacy from " Old Q."—Nelson (repeating her own phrase) " would not give sixpence to call the King my uncle." He regretted Addington's hard-heartedness in begrudging her an annuity, but Addington's tether was fast

coming to an end. He got the Queen to address the Government on Emma's behalf, though he placed little reliance on the letter's efficacy or her friendship. When, nearly eighteen months later, he was baulked, as he usually was, of his prize-money, Emma characteristically wrote to Davison:—" The Polyphemus should have been Nelson's, but he is rich in great and noble deeds, which t'other, poor devil, is not. So let dirty wretches get pelf to comfort them: victory belongs to Nelson. Not but what I think money necessary for comforts; and I hope our, yours, and my Nelson will get a little, for all Master O." x How well does this accord with Nelson's own avowal to her of " honourable poverty " ! "I have often said, and with honest pride, what I have is my own; it never cost the widow a tear or the nation a farthing. I got what I have with my pure blood from the enemies of my country. Our house, my own Emma, is built upon a solid foundation."

In September, so wretched was she away from him, that she implored him to let her come out and see him. " Good sense," he replied, " is obliged to give way to what is right, and I verily believe that I am more likely to be happy with you at Merton than any other place, and that our meeting at Merton is more probable to happen sooner than any wild chase in the Mediterranean." " It would kill you," he repeated, " and myself to see you. Much less possible, to have Charlotte, Horatia, etc., on board ship." And as for living in Italy, " that is entirely out of the question. Nobody cares for us there ": it would cost him a fortune to go to Bronte, and be " tormented " out of his life. Indeed at this very moment he had serious thoughts of relinquishing Bronte altogether.

Nelson was never self-indulgent; he was unselfish, 1 Sir John Orde. This letter is of January, 1805.

if not selfless, in devotion, even where he went most astray. Under dispiritments innumerable, and mortifications doubly galling to one of his temperament, through a catalogue of hardships which rival the apostle's, in weary wakefulness, in headache, eye-ache, toothache, and heartache, constantly sea-sick in the newly painted cabins which he abhorred, with a body, as he said, unequal to his spirit, he was always thinking of and caring for others; and it is this that endears him to us even more than his glory. At this very time he bade Emma do her utmost for General Dumouriez, the brave enemy turned into a friend— their friend; not a sailor in the service but was proud of one of his

"... nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love,"

and his considerate maintenance of their health was his perpetual boast.

There was, moreover, something daemonic about this wonderful man. At a glance he sweeps the horizon, intuitively discerning the danger and its preventives. At Naples once more he renewed the royal gratitude, incited Acton, now rapidly falling into disfavour, and forecast the French designs at a time when Ferdinand wrote to him, " the hand of Providence again weighs heavy on us," when the Sicilians themselves, and even the Queen, were on the verge of turning towards Napoleon's risen sun, and our old acquaintance Ruffo, now ambassador, was off on the wonted wild-goose chase to Vienna. As in public, so in private, Nelson seems always to hear voices prompting him. He believes in a star that will guide him to victory and home. " My sight is getting very bad," he wrote, " but I must not be sick till after the French fleet is taken," at the very moment when it seemed further off than ever. Small wonder that, with such a leader, Davison ejaculated his

certainty that sooner or later Buonaparte's Boulogne flotilla would " go to old Nick."

Nelson this autumn retailed all the Neapolitan gossip for Emma. Napoleon had dictated to Maria Carolina the dismissal of her ex-favourite, Acton. She herself, surrounded by French minions, had relapsed into the peccadillos of a date prior to Emma's arrival, of which Acton used to tell them such amazing stories. The King had thrown the last shred of love for her to the winds. It would not be long before Napoleon pounced on and annexed Naples; before the royalties were once more exiles in Sicily. The Princess Bel-monte was mischief-making in London, and Emma must be careful of encountering her. All Sir William's old dependants were cared for; one of his servitors, Gaetano, was already in Nelson's service, and preferred it to home. Hugh Elliot was now ambassador, friendly to Emma's claims. One of the Ham-iltons' old abodes had become an hotel. Their ancient friend, Lord Bristol, was dead at Rome. He had once promised them the bequest of a table, but now, " There will be no Lord Bristol's table. He tore his last will a few hours before his death."

These are trifles, but before reverting to Emma, let us rapidly glance at Nelson's doings during this year of 1804, during his tedious task of guarding the Mediterranean and watching Toulon ("blockading" he would never term it: he hated blockades). He was endeavouring to decoy the French to sea—to " put salt on their tails," but save for a brief spurt in May, endeavouring in vain. As. the French fleet was " in and out," so he was up and down—at Malta, Palermo, and when Spain rejoined the fray, at Barcelona, where the Quaker merchant " Friend Gaynor " became a fresh intermediary with Emma. His " time," as he said, " and movements depended on Buonaparte." Impa-

tient by nature, he could play the waiting game to perfection. Though his cough and swelled side continually troubled him, he was as indefatigable out of action as in it, and he disdained the mean advantage offered by any subordinate's breach of strict neutrality. He still hoped to force those unconscionable ships out of port. Treville was now the Toulon Admiral, and Nelson " owed him one " for landing the Grenadiers at Naples in 1792. Amid the discouragements of long delays and the customary official threat to supplant him, he could look forward to eating " his Christmas dinner at Merton." Although, when his birthday came round, he was farther off from consummation than ever, and reminded Emma of his " forty-six years of toil and trouble," he refused to appear downcast. The accession of Pitt to power in the spring of 1804 cheered him, both on England's account and hers. He still regularly drank her health and " darling " Horatia's. Her letters still brought before him the tranquillity of their days; he rejoiced in her many acts of kindness, not only to his friends and relations, but to grateful strangers. He welcomed a tress of her beautiful hair, and treated it as a pilgrim does a relic. Even while he sat signing orders, he wrote to her, " My life, my soul, God in heaven bless you." He remembered the birthday of the " dear beloved woman " with emphasis. He instructed her to buy pieces of plate for their new and joint god-children. Even in his wrath at the capture of a vessel bringing her portrait and letters, he made merry over the admiration of them by the French Consul at Barcelona.

While Emma was occupied with Horatia and her young charges from Norfolk, all had suddenly to be dismissed. Nelson's second daughter, " Emma," was born may be at the close of February. The reader will

recall Nelson's torrent of passionate love and anxiety in the ebullition cited x as applicable to his feelings at the time of Horatia's birth. At this very moment Horatia was unwell also, and her illness added to his " raging fever" of emotion as he awaited Emma's news. Before July, the second infant of his hopes was dead. Thorns there were besides roses at Merton.