Memoirs of Emma, lady Hamilton, the friend of Lord Nelson and the court of Naples; (44 page)

CHAPTER XII

EXIT " NESTOR "

January, 1802— May, 1803

THE winding high-road on the right of Wimbledon towards Epsom leads to what once was the Merton that Nelson and Emma loved. A sordid modern street is now its main approach, but there are still traces of the quaint old inns and houses that jutted in and out of lanes and hedgerows. The house that many a pilgrim thinks a piece of the old structure may well be the remains of Mr. Halfhide's or Mr. Newton's. Through a side road is found the sole relic of Merton Place that has braved the ravages of time and steam. Opposite a small railway station, and near a timber-yard, stands the ruin of an ivied and castellated gate, through which the stream meanders on which Emma would row her hero, around which the small Horatia played, in which Charlotte and Horatio fished; while on its banks Nelson planted a mulberry-tree that Emma fondly vaunted would rival Shakespeare's. Goldsmid's Georgian house still stands; but Merton Place has vanished into the vista of crumbled yet unforgotten things. The ancient church, however, though enlarged and well restored, is much the same. Its churchyard still shows familiar names—Thomas Bowen, and the Smiths who were to be poor Emma's last befrienders. In the south aisle is a picture attributed to Luca Giordano whose name

must have recalled Naples to Hamilton. The very bench on which they sat is still kept in the vestry. The hatchment with Nelson's bearings, which Emma presented after Trafalgar, still hangs in the nave. The fine old house—" Church House "—which they must have passed so often, still fronts the church porch. Even when they were there, the famous Priory where the great Becket was educated, and round which Mer-ton's feudal memories clustered, had been replaced by calico factories. How eagerly must Nelson have awaited a glimpse even of these, when he drove up along the Portsmouth road for his last brief sojourn in the home of his heart; how wistfully must he have passed them, when the door clicked to, and off he rattled to eternity!

The two snakes in the grass of " Paradise " Merton were lavishness and, as it would seem, its contrast, Greville.

Nelson's liberality was as unbounded as abused; even his skin-flint brother William begged him to refrain in his own favour. Applications rained from all quarters. A Yorkshireman wrote and said he would be pleased to receive £300. " Are these people mad ? " sighed the hero, " or do they take me quite for a fool?" He was always bestowing handsome presents, while for his many regular benefactions, he had sometimes to draw on Davison. And Emma's open-handedness was not far behindhand. She scattered broadcast to her relations, to the poor, deserving or the reverse. The Connors soon began to prey on her anticipated means. Money burned a hole in her pocket, and she never stopped to think of the future. Before the year closed she left a note from Coutts for her husband on her toilet-table to the effect that her ladyship's balance was now twelve shil-

lings. Greville must have shuddered when his uncle forwarded it to him. " Sensibility " was always overdrawing its banking account, and " Nature " continually forestalling expectations. Added to largesse was some extravagance, but not to the degree that has often been put forward: it was by no means enormous, and in these days might be considered normal for her husband's position. Emma was in a holiday mood. Hamilton would not brace himself to the real retrenchment of giving up the London house, nor would Emma forego superfluities. Merton, though with intervals of quiet, became open house. Nelson's sisters, with their families—the Boltons with six, the Matchams with eight, his brother, still hunting for preferment, with his " precious " Charlotte, and little Horatio, the heir; old naval friends, including "poor little fatherless Fady," whom, it will be remembered, Emma tended in 1798. Emma's kindred, Italian singers, the theatrical and musical Mrs. Lind, Mrs. Billing-ton, and Mrs. Denis; " Old Q." from Richmond, Wol-cot the satirist, Hayley from Felpham, Dr. Fisher from Doctors' Commons; Admiralty big-wigs, disgusted officials, noisy journalists, foreign bearers of Nelson's decorations, the Abbe Campbell, Prince Castelcicala the Neapolitan ambassador, the Marquis Schinato, Maria Carolina's own son, Prince Leopold—all were indiscriminately welcomed. It was a menagerie. The Tysons, too, were now at Woolwich, and to them, as Nelson's attached adherents, Emma was all attention. She chaperoned their young people to balls. She healed their conjugal differences: Mrs. Tyson was never so happy as at Merton, when her dear husband was restored to her, and she could at last " take the sacrament with a composed mind" and " bless dear Lady Hamilton." Benevolence, hospitality, and racket each mingled in the miscellany, and all of them

tended to outrun the constable. The cellar was stocked with wine, and perhaps included some of those large gifts from foreign potentates to which a reference is made in the Life of the Reverend Dr. Scott. However that may be, when Emma's affairs were liquidated seven years later, the valuation of the cellar amounted to no less than two thousand pounds.

Nelson, who had protested against large gatherings, affected to enjoy Liberty Hall; all that his Emma commanded was exemplary. And, indeed, as appears from the accounts preserved in the Morrison autographs, the profusion was far greater in London, allowing for the expenditure of both houses. The joint weekly expenses at Merton were often no higher than some £30. Hamilton, however, whose own extravagance contributed, though he justified it by hopes from Adding-ton, soon began to murmur. Greville, the monitor, was at his elbow. The heir's prospects were being imperilled by that very Emma whose thrift he had first inculcated and extolled; it was too bad; he must protect his old uncle, who protested to him that only fear of an " explosion " which might destroy his best friend's comfort stopped his rebellion against the " nonsense " that invaded his quiet. Before the year was out he even meditated an amicable separation. He did not complain; he still loved her. But he could not but perceive that her whole time and attention were bestowed on Nelson and " his interest." Therefore (and here Greville's voice appears to recur), after his hard fag at Naples, at his waning age, and under the circumstances, a wise and well-concerted separation might be preferable to " nonsense " and silly altercations. He had not long to live, and " every moment was precious " to him. He only wanted to be left alone at Staines, or Christie's, the Tuesday Club, the Literary Society, and the British Museum. " Nestor "

continued a philosopher. They might still get on well enough apart, or together, if Emma would but consult the comfort of a worn-out diplomatist and virtuoso: " I am arrived at the age when some repose is really necessary, and I promised myself a quiet home, and although I was sensible, and I said so when I married, that I should be superannuated when my wife would be in her full beauty and vigour of youth; that time is arrived, and we must make the best of it for the comfort of both parties." He " well knew " the " purity of Lord Nelson's friendship" for them both. Nelson was their best friend, and it would pain him deeply to disturb his life or hurt his feelings. " There is no time for nonsense or trifling. I know and admire your talents and many excellent qualities, but I am not blind to your defects, and confess having many myself; therefore, let us bear and forbear, for God's sake."

The voice of this last appeal is that of the kindly old epicurean, and not of the calculating cynic. Emma, erring Emma, responded to it, and peace was restored for the few months remaining. So far, our entire sympathy must be with the worried and injured Hamilton. But ere this his necessities, and the cunning use to which his nephew seems to have put them, had prompted a plan which must lower him in our estimation.

As a rule, when Greville was asked (and he often was) to Merton, he politely excused himself. So anxious was Sir William for his presence that he actually assured him of Nelson's " love," whereas Nelson, as we know, misliked the cold-blooded caster-off of his paragon. Greville, however, perpetually sent his warmest messages to the whole party, including his old acquaintance Mrs. Cadogan. With Greville, by hook or crook, a strange scheme was now to be concocted.

Failing the princely aid of the previous spring, i bargain after his own heart was being revived.

It will be recollected that Beckford, wearied of solitary magnificence, had offered Sir William a large annuity if he could induce royalty to grant a peerage to Hamilton with a reversion to himself. The Marquis of Douglas, heir of the ninth Duke of Hamilton and head of the clan, had shown symptoms of attachment to Euphemia, Beckford's daughter, whom in the end he married. If this attachment could be played upon for the purpose by the wary diplomatist, Beckford's object and Hamilton's might be secured. For such a plum Beckford now proposed a life annuity of £2000 that his kinsman might maintain the dignity of the peerage, and after his death one of £500 to Emma; while, as a bribe to ministers, Beckford's " two sure seats " were to be at their disposal.

Hamilton opened his mind the more freely to his " dear Marquis " on this " delicate " business since there existed a " very remarkable sympathy between them." Beckford had actually sent his West India agent to Merton for the management of this affair. Sir William ridiculed the mere notion of himself coveting such empty honours. He might, however, be useful to his friends, and no eclat need attend the transaction. Beckford had " strong claims on Government." An idea had struck Hamilton that the Marquis might one day be intimately connected with the Fonthill family. He did not demand definite answers; he was " sensible of its being a delicate point," yet he could not help flattering himself that " the good Duke of H. and myself would readily undertake anything for Emma's and my advantage, provided it could be done sans vous compromettre trop." The Marquis promptly answered his kinsman's " very kind and confidential letter from Merton " by a gentle refusal. He found town very

empty, but a select few, his books, papers, and pictures, contented him. As to the matter in hand, it was, he feared, quite impracticable. With regard to his own inclinations, "any symptoms of any sort.'which might have ' appeared in any part of his family " were unknown to and unencouraged by him. Hamilton must convey every kind expression to Lord Nelson and Lady Hamilton; to himself he need not name his regard, and he was and ever should be his affectionate friend.

Poor " Nestor "! To this pass have art and ambassadorship brought him. And, alas, poor Emma, that she, too, should enlist her Nelson in such a service!

This disappointment happened in the summer, but in the spring an event occurred which cast real gloom over the Merton household. In April died, at his favourite Bath, the well-loved father, that kindly, upright English clergyman, whom his great son fondly cherished, and whom he had actually wished to be a permanent inmate of the household. Nelson's health immediately grew worse. His first care, however, was for others, for his brother and sisters and his father's old manservant. Condolences poured in upon him; nor was Emma the least grief-stricken, for this truly Christian soul had treated her with chivalrous charity, had wholly refrained from cruel speculations, and had rather sought to raise the thoughts of this strange incomer into Horatio's life. While the brother flattered for gain, while every application for Nelson's favour came through her, she had known and felt that Nelson's father, who refused to realise the truth, was wholly good as well as godly. She was in London at the time, and what she wrote has not survived. Sir William's letter has. It is characteristic of his " philosophy "—that of " the best of all possible worlds ": —

PICCADILLY, April 28, 1802.

". . . Emma says I must write a letter to you of condolence for the heavy loss your lordship has suffered. When persons in the prime of life are carried off by accident or sickness—or what is, I believe, oftener the case, by the ignorance and mistakes of the physicians—then, indeed, there is reason to lament. But, as in the case of your good father, the lamp was suffered to burn out fairly, and that his sufferings were not great; and that by his son's glorious and unparalleled successes, he saw his family ennobled, and with the probability in time of its being amply rewarded, as it ought to have been long ago—his mind could not be troubled, in his latter moments, on account of the family he left behind him. And as to his own peace of mind at the moment of his dissolution, there can be no doubt, among those who ever had the honour of his acquaintance. . . ."

Before the blow, however, had fallen that saddened Merton, a dinner and musical party was given at which Braham, who was afterwards to sing, amid furore, the " Death of Nelson," performed.

Nelson had much offended a society that longed to lionise him by sequestering himself from it altogether. Except at the assemblies of the Hamiltons' friends, he seldom figured at all, and the outraged Lady Nelson's advocates added this to their weightier reproaches against the " horrid" woman at Merton. He preferred even Bohemian routs to the solemnities of Downing Street or the frivolities of Mayfair, though he disliked all gatherings but those of intimate friends.