Sir William (36 page)

“It is such a pretty child,” said Nelson, utterly confounded.

It was in truth a healthy, tugging, fat-rolled, simpering brat, a little solemn and given to crying, But then, we always enjoy the sound of children crying, so long as they don’t keep it up long enough to annoy; their grief, though genuine, is transient and therefore meaningless. We like to hear that grief is so.

Mrs. Gibson picked it up fondly. It was worth three guineas a week to her.

*

It was worth a good deal more than that to him.

And
as
Emma
Hamilton,
the
wife
of
the
right
Honor
able
Sir
William
Hamilton,
K.B.
has
been
the
great
cause
of
my
performing
those
services
which
have
gained
me
honours
and
rewards,
I
give
unto
her
in
case
of
the
failure
of
male
heirs,
as
directed
by
my
will,
the
entire
rental
of
the
Bronte
estate
for
her
particular
use
and
benefit,
and
in
case
of
her
death
before
she
may
come
into
the
possession
of
the
estate
of
Bronte
she
is
to
have
the
full
power
of
naming
any
child
she
may
have
in
or
out
of
wedlock
or
any
child
male
or
female
which
she,
the
said
Emma
Hamilton
…
may
choose
to
adopt
and
call
her
child
…
diamonds
…
snuffbox
…
sword
to
be
delivered
on
her
coming
to
the
estate
…
and
as
Emma
Hamilton
is
the
only
person
who
knows
the
parents
of
this
female
child
…
and
to
this
female
child
I
give
and
bequeath
all
the
money
I
shall
be
worth
above
the
sum
of
twenty
thousand
pounds,
the
interest
of
it
to
be
received
by
Lady
Hamilton
for
the
main
tenance
and
education
of
this
female
child
…

“I shall now begin and save a fortune for the little one …”

*

Love letters, even from our lovers, do not make agreeable reading. The emotion imbalances the understanding, so that we cannot describe, we can merely show, our symptoms. Such letters may be scanned to make a prognosis, that is all. Whereas, in his better moods, he was not only capable of an amusing turn of phrase, but also made sound sense. Only think, all that just for a child.

“Josiah is to have another ship and go abroad if the
Thalia
cannot soon be got ready.” “Lady Nelson is to be allowed £2,000 a year subject to the income tax, which I will pay.” “Lord Nelson gives Lady Nelson the principal of the £4,000 mentioned above to be at her disposal by will [it was her dowry].” When the followers of Mahomet put off a wife for barrenness, the dowry is returned.

“We must manage till we can quit this country or your uncle dies.” “Now, my own dear wife, for such you are in my eyes and in the face of Heaven, I can give full scope to my feelings. We are one heart in three bodies.”

*

“I suppose they share it around,” said Captain Hardy, an honorable man, but a partisan of Lady Nelson and so an indefatigable reader of blotting paper, “when they feel the need of one. I wonder who has it now?”

On March 4th, Nelson wrote his letter of dismissal to his wife. “My only wish is to be left to myself, and wishing you every happiness, believe I am your affectionate, Nelson and Bronte.” A draft was sent to Emma.

She had won.

*

“Well, William?” asked Mrs. William Nelson, having shown him the following note:

Brother William, slipping into the better of his two public roles, gave a clerical cough.

“Well, which way does the cat jump?” demanded Mrs. William, who, as a future Countess, deferred in everything to her husband, the future Earl.

William gazed at the ceiling for guidance, but saw only the lath distinctly showing through the plaster, like ribs.

“I do not propose to go mousing for the pleasure of it,” said Mrs. William. “Where is duty?”

Abandoning the Cloth as inappropriate, William descended to his other role, that of doting brother.

“I think, considering the circumstances—and I have considered them—that I must enjoin you to comply with my dear brother’s wishes. He has always been a kind
and generous friend, within his limited comprehension of those terms, and although, even indeed because, his conduct is beyond human understanding, we must ever strive to be humane. Though not quite a lady, she is none the less bereft. It is our Christian duty to console.” And with a bland, forgiving, understanding smile (Nelson had warned him not to see the Hamiltons too often himself, as they found him a bore), all glow and no heat, he added: “At least she is not an uppity woman. Lady Nelson
was.
If we cannot condone irregularity, it is our duty to overlook it. All the same we must not lend it color, so I shall leave my clerical collar at home.”

Indeed not: they had no color to spare. But it had been a moral struggle, which is always a physical strain, so William looked extremely pale.

*

On the 12th of March, Nelson sailed for Denmark under the command of Sir Hyde Parker, to blockade Copenhagen.

“It is your sex that makes us go forth; and seems to tell us—‘None but the brave deserve the fair’! And, if we fall, we still live in the hearts of those females who are dear to us. It is your sex that rewards us; it is your sex who cherish our memories.”

Which was only true. There was not a woman in England who would not wave her husband good-bye, to see her nation defended, though when it came to sons, the matter was more serious. After that, war was a simple matter of waiting to Applaud the Hero and Hail the Conquering Brave. We are not amazons, but parades are exciting. A woman likes things uniform.

“I feel sorry for Sir Hyde,” said Lady Malmesbury, “but no wise man would ever have gone with Nelson, or over him, as he was sure to be in the background in every case.”

“Sir Hyde Parker had run his pen through all that could do me credit or give me support; but never mind, Nelson will be first if he lives, and you shall partake of all his glory. I hate your pen-and-ink men: a fleet
of British ships of war are the best negotiators in Europe,” wrote Nelson to Emma.

*

Greville, whose life had been ho-hum and chagrin, had quite by chance stumbled upon ah-ha and laughter, for he had bought for a penny Gillray’s new cartoon of “Dido in Despair.” On a window seat lay open
Academic
Attitudes
and a dirty stocking. On the floor lay a ribbon and a book of antiquities. On the dressing table, a pincushion and a bottle of Geneva. In the middle sat an Emma with elephantiasis, roaring pudgy with despair, and through the window the British Fleet could be seen retreating.

“And left me with the old Antique to lay me down and Cry,” he read, memorized it—which was not difficult—and then, being an unselfish man, decided to share his pleasure in the work of so eminent an English draftsman by the common device of mailing Emma a copy of it, in a wrapper, plain.

*

“Whether Emma will be able to write to you today or not is a question, as she has got one of her terrible sick headaches,” wrote Sir William.

But Greville was in a whistling mood, for if you cannot pay the piper just yet, you can at least hum the tune.

*

Not all the family followed Brother William over to the winning side at once. “I hope in God one day I shall have the pleasure of seeing you together as happy as ever. He certainly, as far as I hear, is not a happy man,” wrote Sister Bolton to Lady Nelson. And the Reverend Edmund asked if he could contribute anything to the further increase of her comfort.

On April 2nd, Nelson won the battle of Copenhagen, as usual, by disobeying orders, since battles are as often won that way as lost. News of the victory reached England on the 15th.

*

“It will mean advancement to a viscountcy at the least, I expect,” said Brother William, rejoicing—with his usual universal sympathy—in the welfare of another. “We must monogram the sheets.”

This was done, and very handsome they would look when eventually it proved possible to bring them out for an airing.

In London, the news went down less well and there was unusual emphasis upon the casualty lists. Public illuminations were forbidden, the money for them given to the bereaved, for preventive war prevents nothing and obliterates more than it saves. To fight Napoleon was one thing—for everyone dreams of being Napoleon, and yet has no desire to be one of his dreams—but to fight the Danes to help bottle up Napoleon was not popular.

However, 23 Piccadilly burned with lights. Old Q was there, Brother William danced the tarantella with Emma, a simple innocent dance in which a satyr chases a nymph rather than a title. But Sir William, at seventy-one, had been obliged to drop out.

“Your brother was more extraordinary than ever,” wrote Sir William to Nelson. “I have lived too long to have ecstasies, but with calm reflection I felt for my friend having got to the very summit of glory. God bless you and send you soon home to your friends.” He meant what he said, for women and what they do need not impinge upon what we are among ourselves; and if one has retired from the competition, one cannot very well feel defeated by a mere movement backstairs.

Emma, having exhausted William, the Duke of Noia, her own maid and finally Quasheebaw, was forced to dance alone.

“It would be difficult to convey any adequate idea of this dance, but it is certainly not of a nature to be performed, except before a select company,” said Wraxall,
the historian, who had looked in and then as promptly popped out again. “The screams, attitudes, starts and embraces with which it is intermingled give it a peculiar character.”

*

In July, Nelson came home.

“I have sometimes a hope of receiving you once more surrounded not with public honors alone, but what must add pleasure to every other gratification, a return to domestic joys, the most durable and solid of all others. Be it so O God,” wrote the Reverend Edmund.

“You will at a proper time, and before my arrival in England, signify to Lady Nelson that I expect—and for which I have made such a very liberal allowance to her—to be left to myself, and without any inquiries from her; for sooner than live the unhappy life I did when I last came to England, I would stay abroad forever,” wrote Nelson to his man of business; since he was in the wrong, he intended to act with firmness from now on.

On the 27th, as Earl Nelson, he landed at Great Yarmouth, and he and the Hamiltons went to Staines, to fish.

*

“Would that he had the command over himself which he exerts over others,” said Lord Spencer. “And if Lady Nelson were half the woman Lady Hamilton is …”

“Lady Nelson is not a woman, but a reputation, though it is marvelous how she keeps up. She wishes to save her good name much more than she wishes to save him,” said Lady Spencer impatiently. “And since to her that name is Herbert of Nevis, not Nelson, there is nothing to be done either for or with her. She must go be glum at some provincial watering place, as she prefers.” Happy the woman who has at last found her grievance.

“But it is irregular, and the crowd loves him all the same,” said Spencer.

“If he were sent to sea again, the irregularities would be less and the public would love him the more,” said Lady Spencer, who had given the same advice before,
for she was dependable. “You have only to move him about a bit.”

So that was settled; all that was needed was a new emergency.

Unfortunately the crowd loves an irregular liaison, given it may read about it in the papers rather than be scandalized by it next door. For what are the great for, if not to do the same as we, if we but dared?