the story of Nelson 17

the story of Nelson 17

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