The Neapolitan Court and Lady Hamilton
“_‘Down, down with the French!’ is my constant prayer._”
NELSON.
Truth has no secrets. It is the duty of the historian to reveal all and
to hide nothing. The archæologist with pick and spade unearths a buried
city, disclosing alike the mansions of the wealthy and the hovels of
the poor. In describing the result of his researches the investigator
would betray his science were he merely to mention the beauties of
the king’s palace, the tesselated pavements, the marble columns. The
hideous back street must also tell its drab story, for aristocrat and
plebeian are alike members of the Commonwealth.
The pen is the scalpel of history. It must neither condone nor
palliate, although justice may be tempered with mercy.
Temptation came to Nelson at Naples, and he fell. Physically frail, he
proved morally frail as well, but we must not unhesitatingly condemn
him. Vanity caused him to stumble, and before he had time to realise
the consequences a woman had sullied his reputation and tarnished his
glory. Probably no reputable biographer of the great Admiral has penned
the chapter dealing with this phase of his life without a wish that he
could be excused from the necessity of doing so.
No sooner do we begin to investigate the relations between Nelson
and Lady Hamilton than we are in a maze of perplexities. He was ill
and she nursed him, he was victorious and she praised him, she was
beautiful and he admired loveliness, she had a warm heart and he was
susceptible, his wife was reserved and his “friend” was vivacious.
The spider and the fly have their counterpart in real life. Once in
the entangled meshes of the web Nelson never found his way out, even
supposing he had wished to do so, which his passionate letters do not
for a moment suggest.
When the _Vanguard_ hove in sight off Naples, King Ferdinand, Sir
William Hamilton, Lady Hamilton, and others went to meet “our
liberator.” In writing to Earl Spencer, Nelson says, “You will not, my
Lord, I trust, think that one spark of vanity induces me to mention
the most distinguished reception that ever, I believe, fell to the
lot of a human being, but that it is a measure of justice due to his
Sicilian Majesty and the Nation. If God knows my heart, it is amongst
the most humble of the creation, full of thankfulness and gratitude!”
No one doubts the latter portion of the remark. Nelson always exhibited
a lively trust in an All-wise Providence. The “one spark of vanity”
was self-deception, although perhaps “pride” would be more correct
than “vanity,” for the vain man usually distrusts his own opinion in
setting great store by himself and wishes it to be confirmed by others.
The Admiral was nothing if not self-reliant. Those who have read his
voluminous correspondence and the memoirs of those with whom he came
in contact cannot be blind to the fault of which he was seemingly in
ignorance.
For instance, the writer of the “Croker Papers” furnishes us with the
following particulars of the one and only occasion on which Nelson and
Wellington had conversation. The latter noted the Admiral’s weak point
at once:
“We were talking of Lord Nelson, and some instances were mentioned
of the egotism and vanity that derogated from his character. ‘Why,’
said the Duke, ‘I am not surprised at such instances, for Lord Nelson
was, in different circumstances, two quite different men, as I myself
can vouch, though I only saw him once in my life, and for, perhaps,
an hour. It was soon after I returned from India.[35] I went to the
Colonial Office in Downing Street, and there I was shown into the
little waiting-room on the right hand, where I found, also waiting
to see the Secretary of State, a gentleman, whom from his likeness
to his pictures and the loss of an arm, I immediately recognised as
Lord Nelson. He could not know who I was, but he entered at once into
conversation with me, if I can call it conversation, for it was almost
all on his side and all about himself, and in, really, a style so vain
and so silly as to surprise and almost disgust me. I suppose something
that I happened to say may have made him guess that I was _somebody_,
and he went out of the room for a moment, I have no doubt to ask the
office-keeper who I was, for when he came back he was altogether a
different man, both in manner and matter. All that I had thought a
charlatan style had vanished, and he talked of the state of this
country and of the aspect and probabilities of affairs on the Continent
with a good sense, and a knowledge of subjects both at home and abroad,
that surprised me equally and more agreeably than the first part of our
interview had done; in fact, he talked like an officer and a statesman.
The Secretary of State kept us long waiting, and certainly, for the
last half or three-quarters of an hour, I don’t know that I ever had a
conversation that interested me more. Now, if the Secretary of State
had been punctual, and admitted Lord Nelson in the first quarter of
an hour, I should have had the same impression of a light and trivial
character that other people have had, but luckily I saw enough to be
satisfied that he was really a very superior man; but certainly a more
sudden and complete metamorphosis I never saw.’”
To sum up the whole matter. Pride, or vanity if you prefer it, laid
Nelson open to the great temptation of his life, and it assailed him
at a time when he was ill and suffering. He was by nature sympathetic
and grateful, and could not fail to be impressed by the ministrations
of Lady Hamilton during his sickness, any less than by her flattery--a
hero-worship which may, or may not, have been sincere on her part.
Josceline Percy, who was on the _Victory_ in the trying times of 1803,
has some sage remarks to offer in this matter. Though the Christian
faith “did not keep him from the fatal error of his life,” Percy says,
“it ought to be remembered that few were so strongly tempted, and I
believe it may safely be affirmed that had Nelson’s home been made to
him, what a wife of good temper and judgment would have rendered it,
never would he have forsaken it.”
The candid friend, though seldom loved, is oftentimes the best friend.
Nelson was warned of his mad infatuation for Lady Hamilton by more than
one person who desired to save him from himself, but the fatal spell
which she exerted upon him held him beyond reclamation.
On meeting the Admiral Lady Hamilton fainted away, and we find the hero
writing to his wife that “she is one of the very best women in this
world; she is an honour to her sex. Her kindness, with Sir William’s,
to me, is more than I can express: I am in their house, and I may now
tell you, it required all the kindness of my friends to set me up.” A
week or so later, he says, “The continued kind attention of Sir William
and Lady Hamilton must ever make you and I love them, and they are
deserving the love and admiration of all the world.”
We must now return to the scene of the tragedy. Italy was in a
turmoil. Berthier had appeared before Rome, the aged Pontiff had been
dragged from his palace and sent into Tuscany, a Republic set up, and
an offensive and defensive alliance entered into with Revolutionary
France. By his placing the citadel of Turin in the hands of the
all-conquering nation for “security” the King of Sardinia became a mere
State-prisoner. These events in the North naturally caused trepidation
in the kingdom of Naples, and Ferdinand wisely secured the assistance
of Austria. The news of the French defeat at the Nile, more especially
the presence of the victor, caused the war party--of which Queen Maria
Carolina and Lady Hamilton were the leaders--to forget that mere
enthusiasm, although a valuable asset, was not the sole requisite in
a campaign, especially when the enemy to be met was one so formidable
as the victorious French. Naples was for up and doing, regardless of
the consequences. She sowed the storm and reaped the whirlwind by
reason of her undue haste in taking up arms before everything was
ready for the conflict. There is perhaps some excuse for her Majesty’s
eagerness. Sister of the ill-fated Marie Antoinette, who had perished
on the scaffold, and “truly a daughter of Maria Theresa,”[36] as Nelson
averred, she wished to be avenged. Lady Hamilton on her part had
become the confidential friend of Her Majesty and had rendered certain
services to the Neapolitan and English Courts which she afterwards
grossly exaggerated in an endeavour to secure a competence for herself.
Nelson is not undeserving of censure for having forced the issue. He
quoted Chatham’s dictum, “The boldest measures are the safest,” to
Lady Hamilton, and told her that should “this miserable ruinous system
of procrastination be persisted in, I would recommend that all your
property and persons are ready to embark at a very short notice.”
Nelson’s instructions were to provide for the safety of the Sicilian
kingdom, “the cutting off all communication between France and Egypt,”
and “the co-operating with the Turkish and Russian Squadrons which are
to be sent into the Archipelago.” In addition he was to blockade Malta.
He delegated the last duty to Captain Ball, who, with four ships, was
to cruise off the island in company with a Portuguese squadron under
the Marquis de Niza. Of General Mack, who commanded the Neapolitan
army, Nelson at first entertained a favourable opinion. With delightful
_naïveté_ he informed St Vincent, “I have endeavoured to impress the
General with a favourable impression of me, and I think have succeeded.
He is active and has an intelligent eye, and will do well, I have
no doubt.” But something more than these estimable qualities was
necessary, as the total failure of the campaign was to prove.
Mack was then forty-six years of age, and had served under
Field-Marshal Loudon, the most formidable soldier against whom
Frederick the Great had fought. He was not a brilliant soldier,
although he had acquitted himself with honour in the campaign of
1793. The son of a minor official, Mack had found it difficult to
obtain promotion in a service dominated by the aristocracy, and he
was certainly unpopular, which was not to his advantage in the field.
He had accepted his present service in an army which he called “the
finest in Europe,” but which was scarcely more than a rabble, at the
request of the Empress. Nelson, in a burst of enthusiasm, referred to
it as “composed of 30,000 healthy good-looking troops,” and “as far as
my judgment goes in those matters, I agree, that a finer Army cannot
be.” The optimistic told themselves that Nelson had banished Napoleon
and the finest warriors of France, which was correct, and prophesied
that the scattered Republican army in Italy would be as completely
overwhelmed as was the French fleet in Aboukir Bay. In this they were
grievously mistaken. Instead of concentrating his forces and striking a
decisive blow, the Austrian commander saw fit to divide them, with the
result that although the Eternal City was occupied and Tuscany entered,
the French succeeded in defeating three of the five columns. After
a series of reverses, Mack retreated, Ferdinand fled, and Rome was
retaken.
Nelson’s part in this unfortunate undertaking was to convey some
5,000 troops to Leghorn and effect a diversion in the rear of the
enemy by taking possession of the aforementioned port. When this was
done, and the cannon and baggage landed, Nelson returned to Naples.
The story of the campaign, which ended in disaster and the creation
of the Parthenopeian Republic[37] at Naples, does not concern us.
Suffice it to say that in the last month of 1798 King Ferdinand and
his Court concluded that they would be safer under Nelson’s protection
than in the Capital. They therefore embarked in the British fleet on
the night of the 21st December, whence they were taken to Palermo.
The circumstances and manner of the enforced retreat are described at
length in the Admiral’s despatch to the Earl of St Vincent, which runs
as follows:--
“... For many days previous to the embarkation it was not difficult
to foresee that such a thing might happen, I therefore sent for the
_Goliath_ from off Malta, and for Captain Troubridge in the _Culloden_,
and his Squadron from the north and west Coast of Italy, the _Vanguard_
being the only Ship in Naples Bay. On the 14th, the Marquis de Niza,
with three of the Portuguese Squadron, arrived from Leghorn, as
did Captain Hope in the _Alcmene_ from Egypt: from this time, the
danger for the personal safety of their Sicilian Majesties was daily
increasing, and new treasons were found out, even to the Minister of
War. The whole correspondence relative to this important business was
carried on with the greatest address by Lady Hamilton and the Queen,
who being constantly in the habits of correspondence, no one could
suspect. It would have been highly imprudent in either Sir William
Hamilton or myself to have gone to Court, as we knew that all our
movements were watched, and even an idea by the Jacobins of arresting
our persons as a hostage (as they foolishly imagined) against the
attack of Naples, should the French get possession of it.
“Lady Hamilton, from this time to the 21st, every night received the
jewels of the Royal Family, &c., &c., and such clothes as might be
necessary for the very large party to embark, to the amount, I am
confident, of full two millions five hundred thousand pounds sterling.
On the 18th, General Mack wrote that he had no prospect of stopping
the progress of the French, and entreated their Majesties to think
of retiring from Naples with their august Family as expeditiously as
possible. All the Neapolitan Navy were now taken out of the Mole,
consisting of three Sail of the Line and three Frigates: the seamen
from the two Sail of the Line in the Bay left their Ships and went
on shore: a party of English seamen with Officers were sent from the
_Vanguard_ to assist in navigating them to a place of safety. From the
18th, various plans were formed for the removal of the Royal Family
from the palace to the water-side; on the 19th, I received a note
from General Acton,[38] saying, that the King approved of my plan for
their embarkation; this day, the 20th and 21st, very large assemblies
of people were in commotion, and several people were killed, and one
dragged by the legs to the palace. The mob by the 20th were very
unruly, and insisted the Royal Family should not leave Naples; however,
they were pacified by the King and Queen speaking to them.
“On the 21st, at half-past 8 P.M., three Barges with myself and Captain
Hope, landed at a corner of the Arsenal. I went into the palace and
brought out the whole Royal Family, put them into the Boats, and at
half-past nine they were all safely on board the _Vanguard_, when I
gave immediate notice to all British Merchants that their persons would
be received on board every and any Ship in the Squadron, their effects
of value being before embarked in the three English transports who were
partly unloaded, and I had directed that all the condemned provisions
should be thrown overboard, in order to make room for their effects.
Sir William Hamilton had also directed two Vessels to be hired for
the accommodation of the French emigrants,[39] and provisions were
supplied from our Victuallers; in short, everything had been done for
the comfort of all persons embarked.
“I did not forget in these important moments that it was my duty not
to leave the chance of any Ships of War falling into the hands of the
French, therefore, every preparation was made for burning them before I
sailed; but the reasons given me by their Sicilian Majesties, induced
me not to burn them till the last moment. I, therefore, directed
the Marquis de Niza to remove all the Neapolitan Ships outside the
Squadron under his command, and if it was possible, to equip some of
them with jury masts and send them to Messina; and whenever the French
advanced near Naples, or the people revolted against their legitimate
Government, immediately to destroy the Ships of War, and to join me
at Palermo, leaving one or two Ships to cruize between Capri and
Ischia in order to prevent the entrance of any English Ship into the
Bay of Naples. On the 23rd, at 7 P.M., the _Vanguard_, _Sannite_, and
_Archimedes_, with about twenty sail of Vessels left the Bay of Naples;
the next day it blew harder than I ever experienced since I have been
at sea. Your Lordship will believe that my anxiety was not lessened by
the great charge that was with me, but not a word of uneasiness escaped
the lips of any of the Royal Family. On the 25th, at 9 A.M., Prince
Albert, their Majesties’ youngest child, having eat a hearty breakfast,
was taken ill, and at 7 P.M. died in the arms of Lady Hamilton; and
here it is my duty to tell your Lordship the obligations which the
whole Royal Family as well as myself are under on this trying occasion
to her Ladyship.... Lady Hamilton provided her own beds, linen, &c.,
and became _their slave_, for except one man, no person belonging
to Royalty assisted the Royal Family, nor did her Ladyship enter a
bed the whole time they were on board. Good Sir William also made
every sacrifice for the comfort of the august Family embarked with
him. I must not omit to state the kindness of Captain Hardy and every
Officer in the _Vanguard_, all of whom readily gave their beds for the
convenience of the numerous persons attending the Royal Family.
“At 3 P.M., being in sight of Palermo, his Sicilian Majesty’s Royal
Standard was hoisted at the main-top gallant-mast head of the
_Vanguard_, which was kept flying there till his Majesty got into the
_Vanguard’s_ barge, when it was struck in the Ship and hoisted in the
Barge, and every proper honour paid to it from the Ship. As soon as
his Majesty set his foot on shore, it was struck from the Barge. The
_Vanguard_ anchored at 2 A.M. of the 26th; at 5, I attended her Majesty
and all the Princesses on shore; her Majesty being so much affected by
the death of Prince Albert that she could not bear to go on shore in a
public manner. At 9 A.M., his Majesty went on shore, and was received
with the loudest acclamations and apparent joy.”
Alas, that one has to admit that while Lady Hamilton was the “slave” of
the Sicilian Royal Family, Nelson was rapidly becoming so infatuated
that the same word might be used to describe his relationship with
“our dear invaluable Lady Hamilton”! He also seems to have had an
exaggerated sense of the importance of the princely personages who
had placed themselves under his protection. In his letters he speaks
of “The good and amiable Queen,” “the great Queen,” and so on. “I am
here,” he writes to Captain Ball, of the _Alexander_, dated Palermo,
January 21st, 1799, “nor will the King or Queen allow me to move. I
have offered to go to Naples, and have wished to go off Malta in case
the Squadron from Brest should get near you, but neither one or the
other can weigh with them.” To Earl Spencer he confides on the 6th
March, “In Calabria the people have cut down the Tree of Liberty; but I
shall never consider any part of the Kingdom of Naples safe, or even
Sicily, until I hear of the Emperor’s entering Italy, when all my Ships
shall go into the Bay of Naples, and I think we can make a Revolution
against the French--at least, my endeavours shall not be wanting. I
hope to go on the service myself, but I have my doubts if the King and
Queen will consent to my leaving them for a moment.” On the 20th of
the same month he tells St Vincent very much the same thing. “If the
Emperor moves, I hope yet to return the Royal Family to Naples. At
present, I cannot move. Would the Court but let me, I should be better,
I believe; for here I am writing from morn to eve: therefore you must
excuse this jumble of a letter.”
And after evening what? Rumour, not altogether devoid of fact, told
strange tales of gambling continued far into the night, of money
made and money lost, of an insidious enchantment which was beginning
to sully the fair soul of Britain’s greatest Admiral. How far the
influence of Lady Hamilton led Nelson to neglect his duty is a
debatable point. Admiral Mahan points out that on the 22nd October
1798, Nelson wrote to Lord St Vincent to the effect that he had given
up his original plan, “which was to have gone to Egypt and attend to
the destruction of the French shipping in that quarter,” owing to the
King’s desire that he should return to Naples, after having arranged
the blockade of Malta. This and similar expressions, says Mahan, “show
the anxiety of his mind acting against his judgment.” The late Judge
O’Connor Morris, commenting on this phase of the Hero’s career, is
most emphatic in his condemnation. His connection with Emma Hamilton
“kept him at Naples when he ought to have been elsewhere; it led him
to disobey a superior’s orders, on one occasion when there was no
excuse; it perhaps prevented him from being present at the siege of
Malta. It exposed him, too, to just censure at home, and gave pain
and offence to his best friends; and the consciousness that he was
acting wrongly soured, in some degree, his nature, and made him morose
and at odds with faithful companions in arms.” For the defence there
are no more able advocates than Professor Sir J. Knox Laughton and Mr
James R. Thursfield, M.A. Nelson, the former asserts, “in becoming
the slave of a beautiful and voluptuous woman, did not cease to be a
great commander. There is a common idea that his passions detained
him at Naples to the neglect of his duty. This is erroneous. He made
Naples his headquarters because he was ordered to do so, to provide
for the safety of the kingdom and to take measures for the reduction
of Malta.” “The point to be observed and insisted on,” Mr Thursfield
says, “is that the whole of this pitiful tragedy belongs only to the
last seven years of Nelson’s life.” He asks, “Why should the seven
years of private lapse be allowed to overshadow the splendid devotion
of a lifetime to public duty?” This authority does not deny that
during the two years following the victory of the Nile Nelson’s genius
“suffered some eclipse,” that his passion for Lady Hamilton was then
“in its first transports, when he seemed tied to the Court of the
Two Sicilies by other bonds than those of duty, when he annulled the
capitulation at Naples and insisted on the trial and execution of
Caracciolo,[40] and when he repeatedly disobeyed the orders of Lord
Keith.” He further points out that the period is the same “during
which his mental balance was more or less disturbed by the wound he
had received at the Nile, and his _amour-propre_ was deeply and justly
mortified by the deplorable blunder of the Admiralty in appointing Lord
Keith to the chief command in succession to Lord St Vincent.” At the
time with which we are now dealing the latter disturbing element was
not present, although he was considerably worried by the appointment
of Captain Sir Sidney Smith as commander of a squadron in the Levant,
“within the district which I had thought under my command.” “The Knight
forgets the respect due to his superior Officer”: Nelson tells Lord
St Vincent, “he has no orders from you to take my Ships away from my
command; but it is all of a piece. Is it to be borne? Pray grant me
your permission to retire, and I hope the _Vanguard_ will be allowed to
convey me and my friends, Sir William and Lady Hamilton, to England.”
Mr Thursfield makes no mention of this vexation, perhaps because the
matter distressed the Admiral less than Lord Keith’s appointment. On
the other hand, Nelson’s correspondence contains frequent reference to
the gratuitous snub, which shows how deeply the iron had entered into
his soul. “_I do feel, for I am a man_, that it is impossible for me to
serve in these seas, with the Squadron under a junior Officer:--could
I have thought it!--and from Earl Spencer!” is a typical instance. In
the opinion of the same biographer, “the influence of Lady Hamilton,
which ceased only with Nelson’s life, cannot have been the sole cause,
even if it was a contributory cause, of an attitude and temper of mind
which lasted only while other causes were in operation and disappeared
with their cessation. The evil spirit which beset him, whatever it may
have been, had been exorcised for ever by the time that he entered the
Sound.[41]... Yet the influence of Lady Hamilton was not less potent
then and afterward than it was during the period of eclipse. There
are no letters in the Morrison Collection more passionate than those
which Nelson wrote to Lady Hamilton at this time, none which show more
clearly that, as regards Lady Hamilton, and yet only in that relation,
his mental balance was still more than infirm, his moral fibre utterly
disorganized.”
With this verdict the present writer is in complete accord. Nelson
is to be censured for his moral breach and any neglect of duty which
may be traceable to it, but to condemn him to infamy is to forget his
subsequent career and to consign to the flames many other great figures
of history.