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

by Yelena Kopylova

  mountain lowered and threatened ruin every day. The

  Maltese Minister's house hard by had been struck by

  lightning. Like lurid Nature, Emma too was roused

  to fury, though, a microcosm of it also, she smiled

  between the outbursts. What could she do but

  wait ?

  Twelve days more; the order comes "Oblige Sir

  William/' Her passion blazes up, indignant:

  ". . . Nothing can express my rage. Greville, to advise me! you that used to envy my smiles! Now

  with cool indifference to advise me! ... Oh! that is

  the worst of all. But I will not, no, I will not rage.

  If I was with you I wou'd murder you and myself

  boath. I will leave of [f] and try to get more strength, for I am now very ill with a cold. ... I won't look

  back to what I wrote . . . Nothing shall ever do for

  me but going home to you. If that is not to be, I will

  except of nothing. I will go to London, their go into

  every excess of vice till I dye, a miserable, broken-

  hearted wretch, and leave my fate as a warning to

  young whomen never to be two good; for now you

  have made me love you, you made me good, you

  have abbandoned me ; and some violent end shall finish

  our connexion, if it is to finish. But oh! Greville, you cannot, you must not give me up. You have not

  the heart to do it. You love me I am sure; and I am

  willing to do everything in my power, and what will

  you have more? And I only say this is the last time

  I will either beg or pray, do as you like." " I always knew, I had a foreboding since first I began to love

  you, that I was not destined to be happy; for their is

  not a King or Prince on hearth that cou'd make me

  76 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  happy without you." " Little Lord Brooke is dead.

  Poor little boy, how I envy him his happiness."

  She had been degraded in her own eyes, and by the

  lover whom she had heroised. Was this, then, the re-

  ward of modesty regained; of love returned, of strenu-

  ous effort, of hopes for her child, and a home purified?

  Her idol lay prone, dashed from its pedestal, with feet

  of clay. And yet this did not harden her. Though

  she could not trust, she still believed in him as in some higher power who chastens those he loves. Her

  paroxysms passed to return again: ". . . It is

  enough, I have paper that Greville wrote on. He

  [h]as folded it up. He wet the wafer. How I envy

  thee the place of Emma's lips, that would give worlds,

  had she them, to kiss those lips! ... I onely wish

  that a wafer was my onely rival. But I submit to

  what God and Greville pleases." Even now she held

  him to his word. " I have such a headache with my

  cold, I don't know what to do. ... I can't lett a

  week go without telling you how happy I am at hear-

  ing from you. Pray, write as often as you can. //

  you come, we shall all go home together. . . . Pray

  write to me, and don't write in the stile of a freind,

  but a lover. For I won't hear a word of freind. Sir

  William is ever freind. But we are lovers. I am

  glad you have sent me a blue hat and gloves. . . ."

  For many years she cherished Greville's friendship.

  She wrote to him perpetually after the autumn of this

  year saw Sir William win her heart as well as will by

  his tenderness, and by her thought of advancing the

  ingrate nephew himself. Never did she lose sight of

  Greville's interests during those fourteen future years

  at Naples. She lived to thank Greville for having

  made Sir William known to her, to be proud of her

  achievements as his eleve.

  But at the same time in these few months a larger

  EMMA, LADY HAMILTON 77

  horizon was already opening. She had looked on a

  bigger world, and ambition was awakening within

  her. She had seen royalty and statesmen, and she

  began to feel that she might play a larger part. Under

  Greville's yoke she had been ready to pinch and slave ;

  with Sir William she would rule. " Pray write," she concludes one of her Greville letters, " for nothing will make me so angry, and it is not to your intrest

  to disoblidge me, for you don't know," she adds with point, " the power I have hear. ... If you affront

  me, / will make him marry me. God bless you for

  ever." *

  And amid all her tumult of disillusionment, of un-

  certainty, of bewilderment in the new influence she

  was visibly wielding over new surroundings, she re-

  mained the more mindful of those oldest friends who

  had believed her good, and enabled her to feel good

  herself. Sir William, wishful to retain for her the

  outside comforts of virtue, hastened to gratify her by

  inviting Romney and Hayley to Naples. The disap-

  pointment caused by Romney's inability to comply with

  a request dear to him - threw her back on herself and

  made her feel lonelier than ever; her mother was her

  great consolation.

  And what was Greville's attitude? These Emma-

  letters would have been tumbled into his waste-paper

  basket with the fourteen others that remain, had he

  not returned them to Hamilton with the subjoined and

  private comment: " L'onbli de I'lnclus est volant,

  ftxez-le: si on admet le ton de la vertu sans la verite, 1 Morrison MS. 153, August i, 1786. Some of the sentences are quoted in the order of feeling and not of sequence. Emma seldom wrote long letters in a single day.

  2 Romney had been very ill. In his answer (August, 1786) he hopes "in a weke or to, to be upon my pins (I cannot well call them legs), as you know at best they are very poor ones." Cf.

  Ward and Roberts's Romney, vol. i. p. 67.

  78 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  on est la dupe, et je place naturellemcnt tout sur Ic

  pied vrai, comme j'ai toujours fait, et je constate I'etat actuel sans me reporter a vous." One must not be

  duped by the tone without the truth of virtue! The

  " self-respect," then, instilled by him, was never designed to raise her straying soul; it was a makeshift

  contrived to steady her erring steps a mere bridge

  between goodness and its opposite, which he would not

  let her cross; though neither would he let her throw

  herself over it into the troubled and muddy depths

  below : it was a bridge built for his own retreat. Grev-

  ille recked of no " truth " but hard " facts," which he looked unblushingly in the face, nor did his essence, harbour one flash or spark of idealism. And still he

  purposed her welfare, as he understood it; he had

  sought to kill three birds with one stone. Hamilton,

  for all his faults, was never a sophist of such com-

  promise. For Emma he purposed a state of life above

  its semblance, and a strength beyond its frail supports ; already he desired that she would consent to be, in all

  but name, his wife. Greville, certain of her good na-

  ture, had dreaded permanence; Hamilton, if all went

  smoothly, meant it. Yet Greville exacted friendship

  without affection. His French postscript was designed

  to escape Emma's comprehension, though a month or

  so later it could not have succeeded in doing so. But

  the letter itself contai
ned some paragraphs which he

  probably intended her to study:

  "... I shall hope to manage to all our satisfac-

  tion, for I so long foresaw that a moment of separa-

  tion must arrive, that I never kept the connexion, but

  on the footing of perfect liberty to her. Its com-

  mencement was not of my seeking, and hitherto it has

  contributed to her happiness. She knows and reflects

  often on the circumstances which she cannot forget,

  and in her heart she cannot reproach me of having acted

  EMMA, LADY HAMILTON 79

  otherwise than a kind and attentive friend. But you

  have now rendered it possible for her to be respected

  and comfortable, and if she has not talked herself out

  of the true view of her situation she will retain the protection and affection of us both. For after all, con-

  sider what a charming creature she would have been

  if she had been blessed with the advantages of an

  early education, and had not been spoilt by the in-

  dulgence of every caprice. I never was irritated by

  her momentary passions, for it is a good heart which

  will not part with a friend in anger ; and yet it is true that when her pride is hurt by neglect or anxiety for

  the future, the frequent repition of her passion bal-

  lances the beauty of the smiles. If a person knew her

  and could live for life with her, by an economy of at-

  tention, that is by constantly renewing very little attentions, she would be happy and good temper'd, for she

  has not a grain of avarice or self-interest. ... Know-

  ing all this, infinite have been my pains to make her respect herself, and act fairly, and I had always proposed to continue her friend, altho' the connexion ceased. I

  had proposed to make her accept and manage your kind

  provision, 1 and she would easily have adopted that

  plan; it was acting the part of good woman, and to

  offer to put her regard to any test, and to show that

  she contributed to MY happiness, by accepting the

  provision ... it would not have hurt her pride, and

  would have been a line of heroicks more natural, be-

  cause it arose out of the real situation, than any which by conversation she might persuade herself suited her

  to act. Do not understand the word " act " other than I mean it. We all [act] well when we suit our

  actions to the real situation, and conduct them by truth and good intention. We act capriciously and incon-1 Sir William offered to settle 100 annually, and Greville a like sum, on her. Romney was to have been a trustee.

  8o EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  veniently to others when our actions are founded on

  an imaginary plan which does not place the persons in-

  volved in the scene in their real situations. ... If

  Mrs. Wells had quarrell'd with Admiral Keppell, she

  would nevef have been respected as she now is. ... If

  she will put me on the footing of a friend . . . she

  will write to me fairly on her plans, she will tell me

  her thoughts, and her future shall be my serious con-

  cern. . . . She has conduct and discernment, and I

  have always said that such a woman, if she controul

  her passions, might rule the roost, and chuse her sta-

  tion."

  Thus yneas-Greville, of Dido-Emma, to his trusty

  Achates. Surely a self-revealing document of sense

  and blindness, of truth and falsehood, one, moreover,

  did space allow, well worth longer excerpts. He ex-

  cused his action in his own eyes even more elaborately,

  over and over again. He would conscientiously fulfil

  his duty to her and hers, if only she would accept his

  view of her own duty towards him : his tone admitted

  of few obligations beyond mutual interest. He never

  reproached either her or himself: he thought himself

  firm, not cruel ; he remained her good friend and well-

  wisher, her former rescuer, a father to her child.

  " Heroicks " were out of place and out of taste. He again held up to her proud imitation the prime pattern'

  of " Mrs. Wells." He was even willing that she should return home, if so she chose; but his terms

  were irrevocably fixed, and it was useless for her to

  hystericise against adamant.

  But he did not reckon with the latent possibilities of

  her being. The sequel was to prove not " what

  Greville," but what " God pleases."

  CHAPTER IV

  APPRENTICESHIP AND MARRIAGE

  1787-1791

  WHAT was the new prospect on which Emma's

  eyes first rested in March, 1786? Goethe

  has described it. A fruitful land, a free,

  blue sea, the scented islands, and the smoking moun-

  tain. A population of vegetarian craftsmen busy to

  enjoy with hand-to-mouth labour. A people holding

  their teeming soil under a lease on sufferance from

  earthquake and volcano. An inflammable mob, whose

  king lost six thousand subjects annually by assassina-

  tion, and whose brawls and battles of vendetta would

  last three hours at a time. An upper class of feudal

  barons proud and ignorant. A lower class of half-

  beggars, at once lazy, brave, and insolent, who, if

  they misliked the face of a foreign inquirer, would

  stare in silence and turn away. A middle class of

  literati despising those above and below them. A

  race of tillers and of fishermen alternating between

  pious superstition and reckless revel, midway, as it

  were, between God and Satan. The bakers celebrat-

  ing their patron, Saint Joseph; the priests their child-

  like "saint-humorous," San Filippo Neri; high and low alike, their civic patrons, Saints Anthony and Januarius, whose liquefying blood each January propitiated

  Vesuvius. Preaching Friars, dreaming Friars; sing-

  ing, sceptical, enjoying Abbes. A country luxuriant

  Si

  82 EMMA, LADY HAMILTON

  not only with southern growths, but garlanded

  even in February by "banks of wild violets and tan-

  gles of wild heliotrope and sweet-peas. A spirit of

  Nature, turning dread to beauty, and beauty into

  dread.

  She sits, her head leaned against her hand, and

  gazes through the open casement on a scene bathed in

  southern sun and crystal air the pure air, the large

  glow, the light soil that made Neapolis the pride of

  Magna Grsecia. Her room it is Goethe himself

  who describes it " furnished in the English taste,"

  is " most delightful " ; the " outlook from its corner window, unique." Below, the bay; in full view,

  Capri; on the right, Posilippo; nearer the highroad,

  Villa Reale, the royal palace; on the left an ancient

  Jesuit cloister, which the queen had dedicated to learn-

  ing; hard by on either side, the twin strongholds of

  Uovo and Nuovo, and the busy, noisy Molo, overhung

  by the fortress of San Elmo on the frowning crag;

  further on, the curving coast from Sorrento to Cape

  Minerva. And all this varied vista, from the centre of

  a densely thronged and clattering city.

  The whirlwind of passion sank, and gradually

  yielded to calm, as Greville had predicted. " Every woman," commented this astute observer, resenting

  the mention of his name at Napl
es, " either feels or acts a part " ; and change of dramatis personcc was necessary, he added, " to make Emma happy " and himself " free." But his careful prescription of the immaculate " Mrs. Wells " only partially succeeded.

  True, the elderly friend was soon to become the at-

  tached lover, and the prudential lover a forgiven friend ; but he ceased henceforward to be " guide " or " philosopher," and gradually faded into a minor actor in the drama, though never into a supernumerary. She

  felt, as she told Sir .William, forlorn; her trust had

  EMMA, LADY HAMILTON 83

  been betrayed and rudely shaken. What she longed

  for was a friend, and she could never simulate what

  she did not feel. 1 His gentle respect, his chivalry, contrasting with Greville's cynical taskmastership, his persuasive endearments, eventually won the day; and by

  the close of the year 'Emma's heart assented to his suit.

  Her eyes had been opened. To him she " owed every-

  thing." He was to her " every kind name in one."

  " I believe," she told him early in 1787, " it is right I shou'd be seperated from you sometimes, to make

  me know myself, for I don't know till you are absent,

  how dear you are to me " ; she implores one little line just that she " may kiss " his " name." Sir William at fifty-six retained that art of pleasing which he never lost; and she was always pleased to be petted and

  shielded. Already by the opening of 1788 she had

  come to master the language and the society of Naples.

  Disobedient to his nephew, and his niece Mrs. Dickin-

  son, who remonstrated naturally but in vain, Sir Will-

  iam insisted on her doing the honours, which she aston-

  ished him by managing, as he thought, to perfection.

  Every moment spared from visits abroad or her hos-

  pitalities in the Palazzo Sessa was filled by strenuous

  study at home, or in the adjoining Convent of Santa

  Romita. Her captivating charm, her quick tact, her

  impulsive friendliness, her entertaining humour, her

  natural taste for art, which, together with her " kindness and intelligence," had already been acknowledged by Romney as a source of inspiration ; her unique " Attitudes," her voice which, under Galluci's tuition, she was now beginning " to command," even her free and easy manners when contrasted with those of the

  J Cf. her very striking letter to Hamilton, Morrison MS. 163:

  "... Do you call me your dear friend ? . . . Oh, if I cou'd express myself! If I had words to thank you, that I may not thus be choked with meanings, for which I can find no utterance ! "