His health was beginning to feel the enormous strain that had been
imposed upon him for many months. This, together with his longing to
be in the congenial society of Lady Hamilton, caused him to ask to be
relieved of his command, and he was delighted to receive a letter from
his old chief, Lord St. Vincent, stating that it was almost an
impossible task to find a suitable successor, as in all his experience
he never knew any one, except Troubridge, who had the art of enthusing
others with his own unequalled spirit as he had. The command was
handed over to Sir Charles Pole, and Nelson, almost wild with joy,
sailed from the Baltic in the brig _Kite_ on the 19th June, and
arrived at Yarmouth on the 1st July, 1801. Nelson always claimed that
if the command had been given to him in February many lives would have
been saved, and our prestige would not have suffered.
We cannot describe all the fascinating pleasure we get when we read
and think of the wonders this strange mortal performed in the ordinary
course of his profession; when, however, he departs from that and
begins to make stagey love to Lady Hamilton, it tries one's Christian
patience. What business had he, as the first sailor in the world, to
enter into such a compact with another man's wife? However, he must
not be judged by this liaison alone, but by the circumstances that led
to it.
We know that his domestic life had been made irritating and unbearable
to his sensitive and highly strung nature, but he found in Emma
Hamilton one who played upon his vanity, and made him feel that he was
regarded as an idol as well as an idolatrous lover. He thirsted for
reverence and the love of soul for soul, and she, in her own way, gave
both with lavish profusion, whereas his wife's austere indifference to
his amazing accomplishments fell upon his large heart like ice, and
who can estimate his sufferings before he decided to defy society? He
believed and hoped that he would be exonerated, and became in the
sight of Heaven (as he avowed) the husband of a woman who, there can
be little doubt, did not keep her honour unstained, but who, to him,
was the guiding spirit of his remaining days: and whatever impressions
we may have forced upon us of the liaisons of this noxious creature,
there is nothing on record that suggests that he was ever unfaithful
to her after the bond of union was made. Nor does he appear to have
been openly charged with illicit intimacy with other women after his
marriage to Mrs. Nisbet, other than with Lady Hamilton.
We may talk of his wonderful career being morally blunted, but his own
belief in the sanctity of the verbal arrangement was sound to the
core, and he hazarded the opprobrium of our stern conventional
system. To him, Lady Hamilton had an enduring charm which influenced
his wild, weak, generous soul, and was in fact an inspiration to him.
It is a truism that the life-story of all men has its tragedy and
romance, and in this, Nelson's was only similar to others; and who can
help loving his memory?
The Hamiltons lived with him at Merton when he was on leave. They
shared the cost of the home, which Lady Hamilton had, with elaborate,
artistic taste, prepared for him. A document written by Sir William
makes it clear that the relations of man and wife were strained at
times to breaking-point, for, as he states, "I am old and she in the
beauty and vigour of youth"; and then he proceeds: "I have no
complaint to make, but I feel that the whole attention of my wife is
given to Lord Nelson and his interest at Merton." Obviously, this is
the old gentleman's dull way of expressing his idea that there was a
gamble going on with the marriage vow, and then, with delightful
simplicity, he nullifies his suspicious thoughts by stating that he
well knows the purity of Lord Nelson's friendship for Emma and himself
and that he knows how uncomfortable it would make his Lordship, our
best friend, if a separation should take place; therefore he was
determined to do all in his power to prevent such an extremity, which
would be essentially detrimental to all parties, but would be more
sensibly felt by "_our dear friend than by us_."[3] He is willing to
go on provided the expenses do not go on increasing, but as he cannot
expect to live many years, every moment is precious to him, and hopes
that he may be allowed to be his own master _and pass his time in his
own way_.[4] He continues: "I am fully determined not to have any more
silly altercations that too often arise between us, and embitter his
present moments exceedingly. If we cannot live comfortably together,"
he continues, "a wise and well-concerted separation would be
preferable." He says he knows and admires her talents and many
excellent qualities, but _he is not blind to her defects_,[5] and
confesses to having many himself, and pleads "for God's sake to bear
and forbear."
Throughout this pathetic document we find evidences that his heart was
torn with the consciousness of the mean advantage being taken of his
friendship. There is a droll, vacillating belief in the virtue of his
wife and the purity of Nelson's motives, but every sentence indicates
that his instinct led him to believe that another had taken his place.
It may have been that he saw it dimly, and that he shrank from making
any direct accusation, not wishing to break with the man with whom he
had long been on close terms of friendship. It is highly improbable
that either his own or Emma's past histories escaped his memory when
he was penning his grievances. Indeed, there are evidences gleaming
through his memorandum that his reflections were harassed by the
remembrance of his own conduct, which had plunged to epic depths of
wrongdoing in other days. These and other considerations would
doubtless have a restraining effect on the action that might have been
taken under different circumstances. Sir William Hamilton must have
pondered over the parentage of Horatia, who was born on the 29th
January, 1801. Is it possible that he knew that Nelson was her father,
and believed in the purity of his friendship for Emma and himself? I
think everything goes to prove that he knew of his friend's relations
with his wife and condoned it. Nelson, in his clumsy, transparent way,
tried to conceal the origin of the child, so he proceeds to write a
letter to Lady Hamilton, which I shall quote later on. To say that Sir
William Hamilton, a man of the world with vast experience of human
deceptions and intrigues, could have been put off the scent, in view
of all the circumstances, is too great a tax on credulity, but it is
wholly characteristic of Nelson's ideas of mystification. But even if
there were any further proof needed, Lady Hamilton has settled the
matter by preserving the correspondence Nelson urged her to destroy.
This will be referred to later on.
Meanwhile, it is hardly thinkable that Nelson, who had such a high
sense of honour in other affairs of life, and who had accepted the
hospitality and been the honoured guest of Sir William Hamilton at
Naples, should have made the occasion an opportunity of establishing
illicit relations with his wife. The whole matter must ever remain a
blot on the great Admiral's fame, even though his host appeared to, or
really did, connive at it. The price was too high to pay for both of
them.
The following extract from a letter from Lord Minto to his wife
indicates the mode of life of the family party. He says:
I went to Lord Nelson's (Merton) on Saturday. The whole
establishment and way of life makes me angry as well as
melancholy. I do not think myself obliged to quarrel with him
for his weakness, though nothing shall ever induce me to give
the smallest countenance to Lady Hamilton. She looks ultimately
to the chance of marriage, as Sir William will not be long in
her way, and she probably indulges a hope that she may survive
Lady Nelson. She is in high looks, but more immense than ever.
She goes on cramming Nelson with trowels of flattery, which he
takes as quietly as a child does pap. The love she makes to him
is ridiculous and disgusting. The whole house, staircase and
all, are covered with pictures of her and him of all sorts and
sizes. He is represented in naval actions, coats of arms, pieces
of plate in his honour, the flagstaff of _L'Orient_. If it were
Lady Hamilton's house, there might be pretence for it; but to
make his own a mere looking-glass to view himself all day is bad
taste.
This letter was written on the 22nd March, 1802, and Nelson writes
that Sir William Hamilton died in his arms and in Lady Hamilton's on
the 6th April, 1803, passing on "without a struggle, and that the
world had never lost a more upright and accomplished gentleman";[5]
which, be it said, is rather a stagey performance of his wife's lover.
But the mistress excels her lover in the record of the death-bed
drama. "Unhappy day," says she in profusion of tears, "for the forlorn
Emma. Ten minutes past ten dear beloved Sir William left me." Emma was
poorly provided for; only £700 a year jointure and £100 a year for her
mother for life. She and Nelson appealed to Lord Minto to urge on Mr.
Addington her claim for a pension, and she vowed to Minto that her
connection with Nelson was pure, and he says he can believe it, which
is hardly consistent with the description he gives his wife as to
"their open and disgusting proceedings," or with his comments on a
visit paid to the Duke of Marlborough at Blenheim, where the Duke had
treated the gallant naval chief and his party as though they were mere
ordinary trippers who had come to see the wonders of his possessions.
He condescendingly ordered refreshments to be given to them, which
sent Nelson into a fury of indignation, and Minto excuses the Duke by
stating that Nelson persuaded himself that all the world should be
blind because he chose to extol Emma's "virtues." Obviously, Minto was
not firmly convinced of her chastity.
Nelson, with his heart full of blind adoration, had quite a simple,
sailorly conviction that no one ought to question the innocence of his
attachment to Emma, since he called Hamilton her "Uncle"; and, because
he wished the public to believe in his innocence, he took it for
granted that they would believe it. The Duke of Marlborough evidently
had heard and believed in the impure tale, but that did not justify
him in treating his noble guest and his friends in the snobbish and
ill-mannered way he did. It is hardly likely that Nelson would have
paid the visit without being asked, and in ordinary decency he should
have been received or not asked at all. He was a greater figure and
public servant than the Duke, and His Grace would not have suffered in
dignity had he met Nelson on terms of equality. He could not have done
less, at all events. On the other hand, the great Admiral showed a
peevishness at the treatment which was unworthy of his fame and
position; he could well afford to ignore the affront, more especially
as he prided himself that the lady the Duke took exception to was "in
the sight of Heaven his wife," and no one had any right to question
his choice.
The views held by Hamilton and recorded in various conflicting
versions give the impression that he was puzzled, and could not
determine whether to believe in the fidelity of Nelson or not. Some
writers think that he winked at the liaison because of the difference
between his own age and that of his wife; others, that he thought the
relations were innocent, and a token of high-spirited friendship for
himself; but all delicately indicate their conviction that he knew
what was going on. Meanwhile, Nelson steadfastly avows his unyielding
fidelity to his friends, and, with this exception, I think we may
conclude that his devotion to them could always be relied upon;
indeed, his attachment to Hamilton was of an affectionate character,
even when many people believed he was betraying him. Whether Sir
William knew and believed that the association between his wife and
Nelson was pure or not,[6] he evidently desired that no one else
should believe it, for in a codicil to his will he bequeaths "The copy
of Madam Le Brun's picture of his wife in enamel, and gives to his
dearest friend, Nelson, a very small token of the great regard he has
for his Lordship, the most virtuous, loyal, and truly brave character
I ever met with." Then he finishes up with God's blessing to him and
shame to those who do not say "Amen." This is a wonderful testimony of
friendship from a man who had been wronged, and might well have shaken
the belief of those who founded their opinions on the startling
improprieties they had beheld between the man whom he designated "the
most virtuous, loyal, and truly brave character he had ever met with"
and his wife. That Sir William connived at what looked uncommonly like
infidelity may or may not be doubtful, but that he saw more than would
have impressed an ordinary man or woman with suspicion is
unquestionable, and the best that can be said for his attitude is that
he was so mentally constituted that he could only see or preferred to
see in Nelson's extravagant attentions to his wife a guileless symbol
of high friendship for her, which he took as a compliment to himself.
On the other hand, if he not only suspected but knew that he was being
betrayed, and bitterly resented the passion which no remonstrances
from him could have controlled, he at any rate determined to let the
world see "how a Christian could die," and refrained from uttering the
unutterable. Napoleon on the rock at St. Helena acted in the same
magnanimous way towards the adulterous Marie Louise, of whose
faithlessness he also unguardedly let slip his opinion.
It is an odious habit, but we are apt to believe, without any reserve,
disparaging stories, that may or may not be true, concerning men of
distinction, and the more prominent the man or woman, the more
viciously the scandal-mongers pursue their contemptible occupation.
These vermin invariably belong to a class of industrious mediocrities
who have been born with a mental kink, and their treachery, falsehood,
and cowardice are incurable. They are merely hurtful creatures who
spoil the earth, and are to be found dolefully chattering about what
they conceive to be other men's and women's lapses from the paths of
stern virtue. Their plan of life is to defame other people, and by
this means proclaim their own superiority over other weak mortals.
Give the unsexed woman a chance, and she will let fly with
unrestrained industry. How many innocent people have had their names
dragged into the public gaze by this vice! The report may arise from
professional or political jealousy, and may grow into incredible
accusations of immorality. Who can estimate the suffering caused to
Lord Melbourne, the then Prime Minister, and to his relatives and
friends, and even to some of his political opponents, and to the Hon.
Mrs. Norton, one of Sheridan's beautiful daughters (who was the wife
of as unscrupulous a scamp as was ever permitted to live), by the
engineering of an accusation of infidelity that forced the Prime
Minister and Mrs. Norton into the Courts to defend themselves against
what was proved to be a malicious and unfounded story? The plaintiff's
case, resting as it did upon a tissue of fabricated evidence, takes a
fine place in history because of the judge's impartiality and
sagacious charge, and the verdict of the jury for the defendants which
was received with tumultuous cheers, characterized by the judge as
"disgraceful in a court of justice." His Lordship's remonstrance was
futile, and again and again the cheers were given, both in the court
and outside, where the wildest enthusiasm prevailed. No one who took
part in this disgraceful action came out of it with a higher
reputation than Sir John Campbell, who acted for Melbourne. His
entrance to the House of Commons that night was the occasion of an
outburst of delirious cheering, the like of which had never been
witnessed in the House. "The Tories" are said to have "affected to
cheer." I give this as a notable case whereby two innocent people were
threatened with ruin and disgrace by the poisonous slander circulated
for both private and political ends and fostered by the worthless
husband of a virtuous and amiable woman.
It is common knowledge that Nelson and Sir William Hamilton were
assailed by the same stinging wasps as Melbourne and Mrs. Norton (if
it be proper to make a comparison), but they were different types of
men living in a different atmosphere and under different
circumstances. It is true that Nelson had scruples about the unwisdom
of his unconventional connection with Lady Hamilton, and, big-hearted
fellow that he was, he would have struggled hard to avoid giving pain
to his relations and friends; and who knows that he did not? For
though his actions may belie that impression, his whole attitude was
reckless, silly, and whimsical. To whatever extent he may have had
scruples, he certainly did not possess the faculty of holding his
inclinations in check. Indeed, he made no secret of the idea that
"every man became a bachelor after passing the Rock of Gibraltar," and
in this notion he carried out the orthodoxy of the old-time sailor.
He disliked marriage and loved glory, and being a popular hero, he was
forgiven all his amorous sins, which were by many looked upon as being
part of his heroism. His laughable efforts to obscure the facts might
have satisfied those who wished to rely on Hamilton's benedictory
absolution, had not Nelson and Emma, as I have already said, left
behind them incriminating letters and documents which leave no doubt
as to what they were to each other. The great Admiral industriously
destroyed much of the massive correspondence, but had overlooked some
of the hidden treasures. Lady Hamilton promised to destroy all hers,
but failed to do so. Hence the documentary proof written by his own
hand and that of Emma's cancels Nelson's childish device to throw a
too critical public off the scent.
Nelson was alternately weak, nervous, careless, and defiant in his
attitude in regard to public opinion concerning his private life. He
at one time asserted the right of living in any way he might choose,
and resented the criticism of a few cackling busybodies, even though
it was not in accordance with the views of the late Mr. Edward Cocker.
It was his affair, and if his ideas differed from those of his
critics, it was no business of theirs. His independence in this, as
well as in the practical concerns of his profession, coincided with
the opinions held by Sandy Mackay in "Alton Locke," who declared that
he would "never bow down to a bit of brains." But these independent
views alternated with weaker ones. He was as indiscreetly lavish with
his love as he was with his money; at one time he would contemptuously
defy the poisoned arrows that were darted at him, and when beset by
the sullen storm-cloud of scandal, he let fly with red-hot courage and
audaciously upheld his honour: at another time he was timid,
vacillating, and ridiculous in his attempts to avert the public eye
from his love affair and its consequence. People who knew him
intimately were aware that Horatia was his daughter, and in order to
throw them off their guard he proceeded to invent a cock-and-bull
story of how he came by the child. Here is his letter to Lady Hamilton
written in the middle of 1804: "I am now going to state a thing to
you and to request your kind assistance which, from my dear Emma's
goodness of heart, I am sure of her acquiescence in. Before we left
Italy, I told you of the extraordinary circumstances of a child being
left to my care and protection. On your first coming to England, I
presented you the child, dear Horatia. You became, to my comfort,
attached to it, so did Sir William, thinking her the finest child he
had ever seen. She is become of that age when it is necessary to
remove her from a mere nurse, and to think of educating her. I am now
anxious for the child's being placed under your protecting wing"; a
clumsy, transparent piece of foolery, which at once confirms its
intention to mislead! But we are saved the trouble of interpretation,
for the father goes on to write on another piece of note-paper, "My
beloved, how I feel for your situation and that of our dear Horatia,
our dear child." It is almost incredible that Nelson could have
written such a silly fabrication. In the early part of 1804, Emma gave
birth to another child, of which he believed himself to be the father.
He asked the mother to call _him_ what she pleased (evidently he hoped
and expected a boy), but if a girl, it was to be named Emma. It was a
girl, so it was called after the mother, but it did not live long, and
the father never saw it.
As though he thought the letter written about little Miss Thompson
(Horatia, be it understood) were not sufficiently delusive, he sends
an equally absurd production to his niece, Charlotte Nelson, who
lived a good deal at Merton, in which he says that he is "truly
sensible of her attachment to that dear little orphan, Horatia," and
although her parents are lost, yet she is not "without a fortune; and
that he will cherish her to the last moment of his life, and _curse_
them who _curse_ her, and Heaven bless them who bless her." This
solemn enthusiasm for the poor orphan puts Nelson out of court as a
cute letter-writer. The quality of ingenious diplomacy had been left
entirely out of him, and like any one else who dallies with an art for
which they have no gift, he excites suspicions, and more often than
not discloses the very secret he is so anxious to keep. Every line of
these letters indicates a tussle between a natural tendency to frank
honesty and an unnatural and unworthy method of deception. Obviously,
the recipient of this precious document would have her curiosity
excited over the disingenuous tale of romance. She would ask herself
first of all, "Why should my kinsman be so desirous to tell me that
the orphan in whom he has so fond an interest is not without a
fortune? and why should the responsibility of rearing and educating
the child have been entrusted to him, the most active and important
Admiral in the British Navy? And if it be true that she is an orphan,
surely there could be no object in supposing that any one would
'_curse_ her,' especially as he declared that she was 'not without
fortune,' and that she was to be known as his adopted child." The
niece, being a quick-witted girl, would naturally think the problem
out for herself, and decide that there was something fishy involved
in the mystery of these unnecessary phrases.
In dealing with his domestic complications, Nelson's mind seems to
have been in a constant whirlwind, dodging from one difficulty into
another, never direct, and for ever in conflict with his true self. He
was brave and resourceful in everything that appertained to the
service he adorned, and yet a shivering fear came over him now and
again lest the truth concerning his attachment to his friend's wife
should be revealed. When he was seized with these remorseful thoughts,
he could not be silent; he was not possessed of the constitutional
gift of reticence, and could only find relief by constant reference to
the matter he wished kept secret in such a way as to cause people to
put two and two together and arrive at the very truth he wished to
hide.