Full text of Memoirs of Emma, lady Hamilton, the friend of Lord Nelson and the court of Naples;

by Yelena Kopylova

  more from fashion than amusement. She had doubt-

  less contrasted him with Sir Harry's stupid and com-

  monplace acquaintances. Greville always took real in-

  terest in people who interested him at all, and at least he never acted below his professions. He was nobly

  bred, considerate, and composed; he was good-look-

  ing, prudent, and ever liberal in advice. No wonder

  that his condescension seemed ideal to this girl of six-

  teen, who had lost yet coveted self-respect; who had

  already suffered from degrading experience, and yet

  had ever " felt something of virtue " in her " mind."

  He had afterwards (as his letter will show) be-

  friended and scolded her headstrong sallies, though

  his warnings must have passed unheeded. On her

  retirement in disgrace and despair to her loving grand-

  mother at Hawarden, he doubtless gave her the franked

  and addressed papers enabling her to communicate

  with him should need compel her. Just as evidently,

  she had written and been touched with the kind tone of

  his answer. It seems obvious also from Greville's

  coming reply that, as was her way, she would neither

  cajole Sir Harry into renewed favour nor be de-

  32 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  pendent on anything but sincere kindness. But at last

  she was trembling on a precipice from the brink of

  which she besought him to rescue her.

  To him and to Fetherstonehaugh she was known as

  Emily Hart; nor, in spite of Greville's advice, would

  she, or did she, change that name till her wedding.

  Whence it was assumed is unknown. In the Harvey

  family there lingered a tradition that " Emma Hart "

  was born at Southwell, near Biggleswade, and with her

  mother had served at Ickwell Bury, where she was

  first seen and painted by Romney. But this is wholly

  unfounded, though Romney appears to have painted

  portraits in that house, and it is curious that, about

  forty years ago, one Robert Hart still living was a

  butler in their service and professed to be in some

  way related to Lady Hamilton. A guess might

  be hazarded that " Hart " was derived from the musician of that name who visited Hamilton's

  house at Naples in 1786 as her old acquaintance. Not

  one of the parish registers offers any solution through

  the names of her kindred. The " Emily " became Emma through the artists and the poets, through Romney and Hayley.

  It is " Emly Hart's " pleading and pathetic note, then, that Charles Greville still holds in his fastidious hands on this winter morning. With a glance at his

  statues, specimens, and the repaired Venus, and pos-

  sibly with a pang at the thought of the plight to which

  this " modern piece of virtu " was reduced, he sits down most deliberately to compose his answer. How

  deliberately, is shown by the fact that of this letter

  he kept a " pressed copy " done in the ink just invented by James Watt ; it was a minute of semi-official

  importance. The letter is long, and extracts will suf-

  fice; it will be gathered that he was more prig than

  33

  profligate, and he had evidently formed the delightful

  design of being her mentor :

  " My dear Emily, I do not make apologies for Sir

  H.'s behaviour to you, and altho' I advised you to

  deserve his esteem by your good conduct, I own I never

  expected better from him. It was your duty to de-

  serve good treatment, and it gave me great concern

  to see you imprudent the first time you came to G.,

  from the country, as the same conduct was repeated

  when you was last in town, I began to despair of your

  happiness. To prove to you that I do not accuse you

  falsely, I only mention five guineas and half a guinea

  for coach. But, my dear Emily, as you seem quite

  miserable now, I do not mean to give you uneasiness,

  but comfort, and tell you that I will forget your faults and bad conduct to Sir H. and myself, and will not

  repent my good humor if I find that you have learned

  by experience to value yourself, and endeavor to pre-

  serve your friends by good conduct and affection. I

  will now answer your last letter. You tell me you

  think your friends look cooly on you, it is therefore

  time to leave them: but it is necessary for you to de-

  cide some points before you come to town. You are

  sensible that for the next three months your situation

  will not admit of a giddy life, if you wished it. ...

  After you have told me that Sir H. gave you barely

  money to get to your friends, and has never answered

  one letter since, and neither provides for you nor takes any notice of you, it might appear laughing at you to

  advise you to make Sir H. more kind and attentive. I

  do not think a great deal of time should be lost, for I

  have never seen a woman clever enough to keep a man

  who was tired of her. But it is a great deal more for

  me to advise you never to see him again, and to write

  only to inform him of your determination. You must,

  however, do either the one or the other. . . . You may

  34 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  easily see, my dearest Emily, why it is absolutely necessary for this point to be completely settled before I can move one step. If you love Sir H. you should not give

  him up. ... But besides this, my Emily, I would not

  be troubled with your connexions (excepting your

  mother) and with Sir H. ('s) friends for the universe.

  My advice then is to take a steady resolution. ... I

  shall then be free to dry up the tears of my lovely

  Emily and to give her comfort. If you do not forfeit

  my esteem perhaps my Emily may be happy. You

  know I have been so by avoiding the vexation which

  frequently arises from ingratitude and caprice.

  Nothing but your letter and your distress could incline

  me to alter my system, but remember I never will give

  up my peace, or continue my connexion one moment

  after my confidence is betray'd. If you should come

  to town and take my advice . . . You should part

  with your maid and take another name. By degrees

  I would get you a new set of acquaintances, and by

  keeping your own secret, and no one about you having

  it in their power to betray you, I may expect to see you respected and admired. Thus far as relates to yourself. As to the child ... its mother shall obtain it

  kindness from me, and it shall never want. I inclose

  you some money; do not throw it away. You may

  send some presents when you arrive in town, but do

  not be on the road without some money to spare in

  case you should be fatigued and wish to take your time.

  I will send Sophy anything she wishes for. . . . God

  bless you, my dearest lovely girl ; take your determina-

  tion and let me hear from you once more. Adieu, my

  dear Emily." *

  And with this salutation Greville folds his paper

  with precision and addresses it, in the complacent be-

  lief that it is irresistible. Truly an impeccable shep-

  1 Morrison MS. 114, January 10, 1782.

  EMMA, LADY HAMILTON 35

  herd of lost sheep, a prodig
ious preacher to runagates

  continuing in scarceness; a Mr. Barlow-Rochester with

  a vengeance! And yet real goodwill underlies the

  guardedness of his disrespectable sermon. As, how-

  ever, he sinks back in his chair, and plumes himself

  on the communique, it never strikes him for an instant

  that this wild and unfortunate girl is quite capable of

  distancing her tutor and of swaying larger destinies

  than his. His main and constant object was never to

  appear ridiculous. So absurd a forecast would have

  irretrievably grotesqued him in his own eyes and in

  those of his friends. His attitude towards women ap-

  pears best from his reflections nearly five years later, which read like a page of La Rochefoucauld tied up

  with red tape :

  ". . . With women, I observe they have only re-

  source in Art, and there is to them no interval between

  plain ground and the precipice; and the springs of ac-

  tion are so much in the extreme of sublime and low,

  that no absolute dependence can be given by men. It

  is for this reason I always have anticipated cases to

  prepare their mind to reasonable conduct, and it will

  always have its impression, altho' they will fly at the

  mere mention of truth if it either hurts their pride

  or their intrest, and the latter has much more rarely

  weight with a young woman than the former; and

  therefore it is like playing a trout to keep up pride to make them despise meaness, and not to retain the bom-bast which would render the man who gave way to

  'it the air of a dupe and a fool. It requires much con-

  duct to steer properly, but it is to be done when a

  person is handsome, and has a good heart; but to do

  it without hurting their feelings requires constant at-

  tention; it is not in the moment of irritation or passion that advice has effect; it is in the moment of reason and good nature. It reduces itself to simple subjects; and

  Memoirs Vol. 142

  36 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  when a woman can see more than one alternative of

  comfort or despair, of attention and desertion, they can take a line." *

  Thus Greville the prudent psychologist of woman-

  kind and the nice moralist of the immoral. His meta-

  phor of the " trout " must have appealed to that keen fisherman, his " dear Hamilton." Greville angled for

  " disinterested " hearts with a supple rod. His " system " was to attach friendship rather than to rivet affection; to " play " a woman's heart in the quick stream of credulous emotion past the perilous eddies of head-long impulse with the bait of self-esteem, till it could be safely landed in a basket, to be afterwards transferred for the fish's own benefit to a friend. If the

  trout refused thus to be landed, it must be dropped

  into the depths of its own f reward will; but the sportsman could at least console himself by the thought that,

  as sportsman, he had done his duty and observed the

  rules of his game. Greville was already contemplat-

  ing a less expensive shrine for his minerals and old

  masters. He was anxious to be quit of Portman

  Square, and a light purse proverbially makes a heavy

  heart.

  He must be left calculating his chances, while his

  Dulcinea books places in the Chester coach, weeps for

  joy, and kisses her Don Quixote's billet with impetuous

  gratitude.

  *Morrisorv MS. 156, November (?) 1786.

  CHAPTER II

  " THE FAIR TEA-MAKER OF EDGWARE ROW "

  March 1782 August 1784

  AjrIRLISH voice, fresh as the spring morning on

  Paddington Green outside, with its rim of tall

  elms, and clear as the warbling of their birds,

  rings out through the open window with its bright

  burden of " Banish sorrow until to-morrow." The music-master has just passed through the little garden-wicket, the benefactor will soon return from town,

  and fond Emma will please him by her progress. Na-

  ture smiles without and within ; " Mrs. Cadogan "

  bustles over the spring-cleaning below, and to-morrow

  the radiant housewife will take her shilling's-worth of

  hackney coach as far as Romney's studio in Cavendish

  Square. She is very happy; it is almost as if she were

  a young bride ; perchance, who knows, one day she may

  be Greville's wife. In her heart she is so now; and

  yet at times that hateful past will haunt her. It shall

  be buried with the winter; " I will have it so," as she was to write of another matter. And is it not

  " Spring-time, the only pretty ring time,

  When birds do sing hey ding a-ding a-ding"?

  Edgware Row a hundred and twenty-three years

  ago was the reverse of what it looks to-day. Its site,

  now a network of slums, was then a country prospect.

  It fronted the green sward of a common, abutting

  on the inclosure of a quaint old church, in a vault of

  37

  38 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  which, when the crowning blow fell, Lady Hamilton

  was to lay the remains of her devoted mother. That

  church had for many years been associated with artists,

  singers, and musicians, British and foreign. Here in

  March, 1733, the apprentice Hogarth had wedded Jane

  Thornhill, his master's daughter. Here lay buried

  Matthew Dubourg, the court violinist; and Emma

  could still read his epitaph :

  " Tho' sweet as Orpheus them couldst bring

  Soft pleadings from the trembling string,

  Unmoved the King of Terror stands

  Nor owns the magic of thy hands."

  Here, too, lay buried George Barret, " an eminent

  painter and worthy man." Here later were to lie Lolli, the violinist ; the artists Schiavonetti and Sandby ; Nol-lekens and Banks the sculptors; Alexander Geddes the

  scholar; Merlin the mechanic; Caleb Whiteford the

  wine-merchant wit; and his great patron, John Henry

  Petty, Marquis of Lansdowne, who descends to his-

  tory as the Earl of Shelburne. Here once resided the

  charitable Denis Chirac, jeweller to Queen Anne.

  Here, too, were voluntary schools and the lying-in hos-

  pital. The canal, meandering as far as Bolingbroke's

  Hayes in one direction, and Lady Sarah Child's Nor-

  wood in the other, was not finished till 1801, when

  Lady Hamilton may have witnessed its opening cere-

  mony.

  Greville, still saddled with his town abode, at once

  economised. The Edgware Row establishment was

  modest in both senses of the word. He brought repu-

  table friends to the house, and a few neighbouringladies seem to have called. The household expenses did not

  exceed some 150 a year. Emma's own yearly allow-

  ance was only about 50, and she lived well within it.

  Her mother was a clever manager, whose services the

  thrifty prodigal appreciated. The existing household

  EMMA, LADY HAMILTON 39

  accounts in Emma's handwriting only start in 1784,

  but from them some idea may be formed of what they

  were in the two years preceding. They belong to thei

  Hamilton papers inherited by Greville in 1803, and

  they were evidently deemed worthy of preservation

  both by nephew and uncle.

  It is clear from these accounts that all was now

&nbs
p; " retrenchment and reform " ; that all was not plenty, is equally apparent. But Emma was more than satisfied with her lot. Had not her knight-errant (or

  erring) dropped from heaven? From the first she re-

  garded him as a superior being, and by 1784 she came

  to love him with intense tenderness; indeed she ideal-

  ised him as much as others were afterwards to idealise

  her.

  All was not yet, however, wholly peace. Her char-

  acter was far from being ideal, quite apart from the

  circumstances which, by comparison, she viewed as

  almost conjugal. Her petulant temper remained un-

  quelled long after her tamer undertook to " break it in," and there were already occasional " scenes "

  against her own interest. Yet how soon and warm-

  heartedly she repented may be gathered from her let-

  ters two years onwards, when she was sea-bathing at

  Parkgate : " So, my dearest Greville," pleads one of them, " don't think on my past follies, think on my good, little as it has been." And, before, " Oh !

  Greville, when I think on your goodness, your tender

  kindness, my heart is so full of gratitude that I want

  words to express it. But I have one happiness in

  view, which I am determined to practice, and that is

  eveness of temper and steadin[e]ss of mind. For

  endead I have thought so much of your amable good-

  ness when you have been tried to the utmost, that I

  will, endead I will manege myself, and try to be like

  Greville. Endead I can never be like him. But I

  40 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  will do all I can towards it, and I am sure you will not desire more. I think if the time would come over

  again, I would be differant. But it does not matter.

  There is nothing like bying expearance. I may be

  happyer for it hereafter, and I will think of the time

  coming and not of the past, except to make compar-

  rasons, to shew you what alterations there is for the

  best. . . . O Greville ! think on me with kindness !

  Think on how many happy days weeks and years I

  hope we may yett pass. . . . And endead, did you

  but know how much I love you, you wou'd freely for-

  give me any passed quarrels. For I now suffer from

  them, and one line from you wou'd make me happy.

  . . . But how am I to make you amends? ... I will

  try, I will do my utmost; and I can only regrett that

  fortune will not put it in my power to make a return