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

by Yelena Kopylova

  condolence : " You have no idea how shocked I was.

  . . . Yet when I consider the long period of her in-

  disposition and the weakness of her frame, I ought

  to have been prepared to hear it. I am glad that her

  last illness was not attended with extraordinary suffer-

  ing, and I know you so well that I am sure you will

  think with affection and regret, as often as the blank

  which must be felt after 25 years society shall call her to your memory, and it will not be a small consolation

  that to the last you shew'd that kindness and attention

  to her which she deserved. / have often quoted you

  for that conduct which few have goodness of heart or

  principle to imitate." He had hoped to hasten to his dearest Hamilton's side in the crisis of affliction, but his brother's affairs, the troubles of trusteeships, and the bequest by Lord Sea forth of a rare cameo, alas ! intervened, and therefore he could not come. So Mount

  Vesuvius-Hamilton hurried to Mahomet-Greville, and

  doubtless, after a little virtu and more business, re-

  turned for the autumn season at Naples and his winter

  sport at Caserta.

  But meanwhile Greville grew ruffled and out-at-

  elbows. He was once more member for his family

  borough. He needed larger emolument, yet the coali-

  tion was on the wane. For a brief interval it returned,

  and Greville breathed again, pocketing a small promo-

  tion in the general scramble for office. In 1783, how-

  50 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  ever, the great Pitt entered on his long reign, and Greville's heart sank once more. His post, however, was

  confirmed, despite his conscientious disapproval of re-

  forms for England and for Ireland, and new India bills

  in the interval. Still, his tastes were so various that

  even now he pondered if, after all, an heiress of ton

  (none of your parvenues} were not the only way out;

  and, pending decision, he went on collecting crystals,

  exchanging pictures of saints, and lecturing Emma on

  the convenances perhaps the least extravagant and

  most edifying pastime of all. Every August he toured

  in Warwickshire after his own, and to Milford and

  Pembrokeshire after his uncle's affairs (for Milford

  was being " developed ") ; nor was he the man to begrudge his eleve a few weeks' change in the dull season

  during his absence. In 1784 she was to require it

  more than usual, for sea-baths had been ordered, while

  her first thought was then to be for her " little Emma,"

  now being tended at Hawarden.

  In the early summer of this very year Sir William

  Hamilton had reappeared as widower, and crossed the

  threshold of Edgware Row to the flurry, doubtless, of

  the little handmaidens, whose successors, " Molly

  Dring " and " Nelly Gray," were so regularly paid their scanty wages, as registered in the surviving accounts.

  The courtly connoisseur was enraptured. Never

  had he beheld anything more Greek, any one more

  naturally accomplished, more uncommon. What an

  old slyboots had this young nephew been these last

  two years, to have concealed this hidden treasure while

  he detailed everything else in his letters ! The demure

  rogue, then, was a suburban amateur with a vengeance !

  The antiquarian-Apollo, carrying with him a new work

  on Etruscan vases, and a new tract on volcanic

  phenomena, flattered himself that here were volcanoes

  EMMA, LADY HAMILTON 51

  and vases indeed. Here were Melpomene and Thalia,

  and Terpsichore and Euterpe and Venus, all combined

  and breathing. Did he not boast the secret of per-

  petual youth? After all, he was only fifty- four, and

  he looked ten years younger than his age. He would

  at least make the solemn youngster jealous. Not that

  he was covetous; his interest was that of a father, a

  collector, an uncle. The mere lack of a ring debarred

  him from being her uncle in reality. " My uncle,"

  she should call him.

  Greville's amusement was not quite unclouded; he

  laughed, but laughed uneasily. To begin with, he be-

  lieved himself his uncle's heir, but as yet 'twas " not so nominated in the bond." Sir William might well

  remarry. There was Lord Middleton's second daugh-

  ter in Portman Square, a twenty thousand pounder,

  weighing on the scales, a fish claimed by Greville's own rod. But with others, the Court of Naples, an alliance with a widower kinsman of the Hamiltons, the

  Athols, the Abercorns, and the Grahams, enriched too

  by recent death, were solidities that might well out-

  weigh his paltry pittance of six hundred a year. And

  if the widower re-married? As for Emma, it was of

  course absurd to consider her. She adored her

  Greville, and should uncle William choose to play

  light father in this little farce, he could raise no ob-

  jection.

  Emma herself felt flattered that one so celebrated

  and learned should deign to be just a nice new friend.

  He was so amiable and attentive; so discerning of her

  gifts; so witty too, and full of anecdote. This was no

  musty scholar, but a good-natured man of the very

  wide world, far wider than her pent-in corner of it.

  Indeed, he was a " dear." And then he laughed so heartily when she mimicked Greville's buckram

  brother, or that rich young coxcomb Willoughby, who

  52 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  had wooed her in vain already; no giddy youths for

  her. Was not her own matchless Greville a man of

  accomplishments, a bachelor of arts and sciences, a

  master of sentences? The uncle was worthy of the

  nephew, and so she was " his oblidged humble servant, or affectionate " niece " Emma," whichever he " liked the best."

  And in her heart of hearts already lurked a little

  scheme. Her child, the child to whom Greville had

  been so suddenly, so gently kind, and after which she

  yearned, was with her grandmother. After she had

  taken the tiny companion to Parkgate, and bathed it

  there, why should not her divinity permit the mother

  to bring it home for good to Edgware Row? It

  would form a new and touching tie between them.

  The plan must not be broached till she could report on

  " little Emma's " progress, but surely then he would not have the heart to deny her.

  Some evidence allows the guess that she had

  confided her desire to Sir William, and that

  he had favoured and forwarded her suit with Grev-

  ille.

  And so she left the smoke and turmoil, hopeful and

  trustful. Mother and child would at length be re-

  united under purer skies and by the wide expanse of

  sea. All the mother within her stirred and called

  aloud ; her heart was ready to " break " at the summons. Fatherly Sir William saw her off as proxy for

  her absent Greville, whom he was to join, the happy

  man. " Tell Sir William everything you can," she wrote immediately, " and tell him I am sorry our

  situation prevented me from giving him a kiss, . . .

  but I will give him one, and entreat it if he will accept it. Ask him how I looked, and let him say something

  kind to me when you write." " Pray, m
y dear

  Greville, do lett me come home as soon as you can;

  EMMA, LADY HAMILTON 53

  . . . indeed I have no pleasure or happiness. I wish

  I could not think on you; but if I was the greatest lady in the world, I should not be happy from you; so

  don't lett me stay long."

  Her first Parkgate letters, in the form of diaries,

  speak for themselves. After she had fetched away

  little Emma " Hart " from her grandmother's at Hawarden, she stopped at Chester. She had fixed on

  Abergele, but it proved too distant, fashionable, and

  dear. "High Lake" (Hoylake) was too uncom-

  fortable; it had " only 3 houses," and not one of them

  " fit for a Christian." With her " poor Emma " she had bidden farewell to all her friends; she had taken

  her from " a good home "; she hoped she would prove worthy of his " goodness to her, and to her mother."

  Her recipe-book had been forgotten ; " parting with you made me so unhappy." " My dear Greville, don't be angry, but I gave my granmother 5 guineas, for she

  had laid some [money] out on her, and I would not

  take her awhay shabbily. But Emma shall pay you.

  . . . My dear Greville, I wish I was with you. God

  bless you ! "

  By mid- June she was installed " in the house of a

  Laidy, whose husband is at sea. She and her gran-

  mother live together, and we board with her at present.

  . . . The price is high, but they don't lodge anybody

  without boarding; and as it is comfortable, decent,

  and quiet, I thought it wou'd not ruin us, till I could

  have your oppionon, which I hope to have freely and

  without restraint, as, believe me, you will give it to

  one who will allways be happy to follow it, lett it be

  what it will; as I am sure you wou'd not lead me

  wrong. And though my little temper may have been

  sometimes high, believe me, I have allways thought

  you right in the end when I have come to reason. I

  bathe, and find the water very soult. Here is a good

  54 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  many laidys batheing, but I have no society with them,

  as it is best not. So pray, my dearest Greville, write

  soon, and tell me what to do, as I will do just what

  you think proper ; an d tell me what to do with the child.

  For she is a great romp, and I can hardly master her.

  . . . She is tall, [has] good eys and brows, and as to

  lashes, she will be passible; but she has overgrown all

  her cloaths. I am makeing and mending all as I can

  for her. . . . Pray, my dear Greville, do lett me come

  home, as soon as you can; for I am all most broken-

  hearted being from you. . . . You don't know how

  much I love you, and your behaiver to me, when we

  parted, was so kind, Greville, I don't know what to

  do. ..." And her next epistle seems to echo under

  circumstances far removed the voice of the first Lady

  Hamilton : " How teadous does the time pass awhay

  till I hear from you. Endead I should be miserable if

  I did not recollect on what happy terms we parted

  parted, yess, but to meet again with tenfould happiness.

  . . . Would you think it, Greville ? Emma the wild,

  unthinking Emma, is a grave, thoughtful phylosopher.

  'Tis true, Greville, and I will convince you I am, when

  I see you. But how I am runing on. I say nothing

  abbout this guidy, wild girl of mine. What shall we

  do with her, Greville ? . . . Wou'd you believe, on Sat-

  tarday we had a little quarel, . . . and I did slap her

  on her hands, and when she came to kiss me and make

  it up, I took her on my lap and cried. Pray, do you

  blame me or not? Pray tell me. Oh, Greville, you

  don't know how I love her. Endead I do. When

  she comes and looks in my face and calls me ' mother'

  cndead I then truly am a mother, for all the mother's

  feelings rise at once, and tels me I am or ought to

  be a mother, for she lias a ivright to my protection;

  and she shall have it as long as I can, and I will do all in my power to prevent her falling into the error her

  EMMA, LADY HAMILTON 55

  poor miserable mother fell into. But why do I say

  miserable? Am not I happy abbove any of my sex,

  at least in my situation ? Does not Greville love me,

  or at least like me? Does not he protect me? Does

  not he provide for me ? Is not he a father to my child ?

  Why do I call myself miserable? No, it was a mis-

  take, and I will be happy, chearful and kind, and do

  all my poor abbility will lett me, to return the fatherly goodness and protection he has shewn. Again, my

  dear Greville, the recollection of past scenes brings

  tears in my eyes. But the[y] are tears of happiness.

  To think of your goodness is too much. But once for

  all, Greville, I will be grateful. Adue. It is near

  bathing time, and I must lay down my pen, and I won't

  finish till I see when the post comes, whether there is a letter. He comes in abbout one o'clock. I hope to

  have a letter to-day. ... I am in hopes I shall be

  very well. . . . But, Greville, I am oblidged to give a

  shilling a day for the bathing horse and whoman, and

  twopence a day for the dress. It is a great expense,

  and it fretts me when I think of it. ... At any rate

  it is better than paying the docter. But wright your

  oppinion truly, and tell me what to do. Emma is cry-

  ing because I won't come and bathe. So Greville, adue

  till after I have dipt. May God bless you, my dear-

  est Greville, and believe me, faithfully, affectionately, and truly yours only." " And no letter from my dear Greville. Why, my dearest G., what is the reason you

  don't wright? You promised to wright before I left

  Hawarden. . . . Give my dear kind love and compli-

  ments to Pliney, 1 and tell him I put you under his care, and he must be answereble for you to me, wen I see

  him. . . . Say everything you can to him for me, and

  tell him I shall always think on him with gratitude,

  and remember him with pleasure, and shall allways

  1 Sir W. Hamilton.

  56 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  regret loesing [h]is good comppany. Tell him I wish

  him every happiness this world can afford him, and

  that I will pray for him and bless him as long as I live.

  . . . Pray, my dear Greville, lett me come home soon.

  I have been 3 weeks, and if I stay a fortnight longer,

  that will be 5 weeks, you know; and then the expense

  is above 2 guineas a week with washing . . . and

  everything. . . ." " With what impatience do I sett down to wright till I see the postman. But sure I shall

  have a letter to-day. Can you, Greville no, you can't

  have forgot your poor Emma allready ? Tho' I am

  but a few weeks absent from you, my heart will not

  one moment leave you. I am allways thinking of you,

  and cou'd allmost fancy I hear you, see you; . . .

  don't you remember how you promised? Don't you

  recollect what you said at parting? how you shou'd be

  happy to see me again?"

  A belated answer arrived at last; Emma was very

  grateful. But this was not the letter for which she

  looked. What she wanted was om
niscience's per-

  mission for " little Emma " to share their home, to let her be a mother indeed. After a week two " scold-ing " notes were his reply. " Little Emma " in Edgware Row was not on Greville's books at all. He

  would charge himself with her nurture elsewhere, but

  the child must be surrendered; he certainly knew how

  to " play " his " trout." Emma meekly kissed her master's rod. Greville being Providence, resignation

  was wisdom as well as duty. She was not allowed

  to remain a mother :

  " I was very happy, my dearest Greville, to hear

  from you as your other letter vex'd me; you scolded

  me so. But it is over, and I forgive you. . . . You

  don't know, my dearest Greville, what a pleasure I

  have to think that my poor Emma will be comfortable

  and happy . . . and if she does but turn out well,

  EMMA, LADY HAMILTON $7

  what a happyness it will be. And I hope she will for

  your sake. I will teach her to pray for you as long

  as she lives; and if she is not grateful and good it

  won't be my fault. But what you say is very true : a

  bad disposition may be made good by good example,

  and Greville wou'd not put her anywheer to have a bad

  one. I come into your whay athinking ; hollidays spoils

  children. It takes there attention of[f] from there

  scool, it gives them a bad habbit. When they have

  been a month and goes back this does not pleas them,

  and that is not wright, and the[y] do nothing but

  think when the[y] shall go back again. Now Emma

  will never expect what she never had. But I won't

  think. All my happiness now is Greville, and to

  think that he loves me. ... I have said all I have to

  say about Emma, yet only she gives her duty. ... I

  have no society with anybody but the mistress of the

  house, and her mother and sister. The latter is a

  very genteel yong lady, good-nattured, and does every-

  thing to pleas me. But still I wou'd rather be at

  home, if you was there. I follow the old saying, home

  is home though 'tis ever so homely. . . . PS. . . .

  I bathe Emma, and she is very well and grows. Her

  hair will grow very well on her forehead, and I don't

  think her nose will be very snub. Her eys is blue and

  pretty. But she don't speak through her nose, but she

  speaks countryfied, but she will forget it. We squable

  sometimes; still she is fond of me, and endead I love