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{~~~~~~~~~~~~~A Bequest to the Nation\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Terence Rattigan\\
\\
A Bequest to the Nation was first produced at the Theatre Royal,
Haymarket, London, onSeptember 23nd, 1970, with the following cast:\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~Characters in order of their appearance\\
George Matcham Snr ....................................................Ewan Roberts\\
Katherine Matcham ....................................................Jean Harvey\\
Betsy .................................................................................Deborah Watling\\
George Matcham Jnr ....................................................Michael Wardle\\
Emily...................................................................................Una Brandon Jones\\
Frances, Lady Nelson ...................................................Leueen MacGrath\\
Nelson..................................................................................Ian Holm\\
Lord Barham......................................................................A. J. Brown\\
Emma Hamilton...............................................................Zoe Caldwell\\
Francesca..........................................................................Marisa Merlini\\
Lord Minto.........................................................................Michael Aldridge\\
Captain Hardy..................................................................Brian Glover\\
Rev. William Nelson......................................................Geoffrey Edwards\\
Sarah Nelson....................................................................Eira Griffiths\\
Horatio................................................................................Stuart Knee\\
Captain Blackwood........................................................Geoffrey Beevers\\
Midshipman.......................................................................Stuart Knee\\
Footmen, sailors, maids..............................................Stanley Lloyd\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Conrad Asquith\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Graham Edwards\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Chris Carbis\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Deborah Watling\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Alison Coleridge\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Directed by Peter Glenville\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Narrative\\
~~The main action of the play covers the twenty-five days
between Nelson's return to England on August 20th and
his departure for Cadiz on September 13th, 1805. The "Naval
Action fought off Cape Trafalgar" was on October 21st of that
year, and the final scene of the play would have taken place
some days after the news reached London, on November 5th.\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Setting\\
~~The play is set in a permanent and open architectural structure
which will include a staircase and different levels for the various
acting areas. Neither doors nor windows will be shown although
both are sometimes referred to in the text. The reader therefore,
might find it more convenient to visualize their existence.\\
~~Nevertheless the sets are not naturalistic, and the scene
changes are indicated more by the use of lighting than by
physical transformations.\\
~~There are four backcloths to represent, in order, Bath,
London, Merton and Trafalgar.\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Acte One\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scene 1\\
~~(The lights come on. We are in a part of the Matcham's house in Bath,
comprising a morning room and a glimpse of a staircase. George
Matcham is completing the packing of some hand luggage. A trunk is
in process of being carried down the staircase by a footman. The footman
slips and curses.)\\
~~Matcham. Be careful with that. It has brandy for Lady
Hamilton.\\
~~Footman. Sure it hasn't some cannon for his Lordship?\\
~~Matcham. Well, get Tom to help you.\\
~~Footman. He's helping Mrs. Matcham close t'other.\\
~~Matcham. Two trunks?\\
(The footman disppears. Matcham calls up the stairs.)\\
~~Matcham. (Calling.) Kitty, why two trunks?\\
~~Katherine. (Off.) We need two.\\
(The second trunk is descending the stairs on a second footman's back. A
maid (Betsy) comes down the stairs behind, carrying a vanity case and
some hat boxes.)\\
~~Katherine. (Appearing.) Careful, Bob. There's my lavender in that.
(Calling in sudden panic) Betsy -- Betsy -- did I forget my jewel
case?\\
~~Betsy. It's in this hat box, Ma'am. You packed it there special. \\
~~Katherine. Of course. Just make sure, though.\\
(George Matcham Jnr. comes in. He is a schoolboy of sixteen. He
carries a newspaper.)\\
~~George. (Excitedly.) We're in the Bath Gazette -- all three of us.\\
~~Matcham. Indeed?\\
~~Betsy. (Having made sure.) It's here, Ma'am.\\
(She goes out.)\\
~~Matcham. Why do you have a jewel case if you keep it in a hat
box?\\
~~Katherine. In case of highwaymen.\\
~~Matcham. Madam, there has been no highwayman apprehended
on the Bath to London Road for some twenty-five years.\\
~~Katherine. You never know. (To George). Shouldn't you be at
school?\\
~~George. Not for half an hour. Mother, I said we're in the
\textit{Gazette}.\\
~~Katherine. Being in the \textit{Gazette} is no new thing to us, George.
Nor in \itshape The Times \upshape of London either.\\
~~George. But this time I'm in it --\\
~~Katherine. Are you, dear? (To Matcham.) When should we
leave?\\
~~Matcham. Very shortly. The coach seats are booked, but I made
no mention of two trunks.\\
~~George. May I read what it says about me? (Finding the place
excitedly.) Their eldest son, George Matcham, Junior --\\
~~Katherine. (Sipping coffee.) Perhaps you had better begin just a
little earlier, dear.\\
~~George. Oh, sorry.\\
(He takes a Bath bun and begins to eat it.)\\
~~George. (Reading fast.) It is not yet known whether Lord Nelson's
unexpected return to these shores has been commanded by
the Admiralty in order that he should enjoy the rest that is
undeoubtedly due to him following his unremitting labours --
etcetera -- West Indies etcetera, etcetera but --\\
~~Katherine. Don't read with your mouth full. And I said 'a
\textit{little} earlier' --\\
~~George. Well it leads on. Here it is. (Reading.) There is some
confirmation of this view in the undoubted fact that Lord
Nelson has already invited to visit him at his newly completed
house at Merton, Surrey, almost every single close member of
his family --\\
~~Matcham. (Sharply.) Almost?\\
~~George. Yes, father.\\
~~Katherine. They probably meant nothing.\\
~~Matcham. They never mean nothing. Go on, Geoge.\\
~~George. (Reading.) and three residents of Bath so honoured are
His Lordship's sister, Mrs. Matcham, Mr. George Matcham,
the well-known financier, and (Giving it point.) their son,
George Matcham, Junior, who --\\
(He is stopped by an imperious gesture from his mother.)\\
~~Katherine. Financier I don't care for. It sounds -- it sounds as
if --\\
~~Matcham. I dealt in finance. I do.\\
~~Katherine. But as if you did so as a business.\\
~~Matcham. I do so as a business. (Growing angry.) There seems
to be this growing asumption that since your brother has
become a demi-god, you have become a demi-goddess -- and
that you have therefore married quite beneath you. When you
were at Burnham Rectory you were glad enough to land a
business-man, Madam --\\
~~Katherine. (With dignity, to George.) You were saying, George
-- their son, George Matcham, Junior?\\
~~George. (Reading to Matcham.) -- who is at school near Bath and
who will also be journeying to Merton in a week's time when
his term is finished. Indeed (To Matcham.) listen to this -- indeed
young George Matcham must surely account himself
the luckiest schoolboy in all of England.\\
~~Katherine. I hope you do, George.\\
~~George. (With a fervour missed by both his parents.) I do.\\
(Matcham takes the paper from him and, rather sulkily, begins to read
it. George goes to his satchel and busies himself with what is evidently
his homework.)\\
~~Katherine. (To Matcham.) Anything about the rest of the
family?\\
~~Matcham. Your brother William. They call him Dean.\\
~~Katherine. That is very proper.\\
~~Matcham. If not in the least accurate.\\
~~Katherine. Is there much about our dear Emma?\\
(Matcham glances over the newspaper quickly.)\\
~~Matcham. Much the usual.\\
~~Katherine. Nothing, I trust -- out of place?\\
~~Matcham. Dammit, Madam, what, in this case, is in place?\\
~~Katherine. If it is written of with delicacy --\\
~~Matcham. It sounds far worse. Listen (Reading.) Lady H. has
been reported as flitting constantly between her house in
Clages Street and her temporary abode at Merton --\\
~~Katherine. 'Temporary's' perfectly delicate --\\
~~Matcham. (Continuing.) -- where she will no doubt be pleased to
enact one more that role of honorary hostess to the House of
Nelson, which befits Her Ladyship as gracefully in her
widowhood --\\
~~Katherine. If only he could have lasted a year or two longer.\\
~~Matcham. Yes. It was indelicate of him to die. (Reading.) -- as
gracefully in her widowhood as ever it did in former times
when Sir William, Lord Nelson and Her Ladyship were all
three joined together in bonds of perfect and mutual amity --
tria juncta in uno -- three joined in one --\\
~~George. (Deep in his homework.) Sounds like a real old rough
and tumble.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Katherine. (At length, outraged.) George!\\
~~George. (Turning.) Oh, it's all right, mother. Of course I know
it wasn't anything like that really. Sir William must have
upped anchor when Uncle Horatio sailed in -- and who can
blame him? But 'tria juncta in uno' does make it sound a bit
-- well -- Roman.\\
~~Katherine. It is the motto of your uncle and Sir William's
order of the Bath.\\
~~George. (Laughing.) That makes it worse. Did she get one too?
A bath, I mean? All three together?\\
(And now he laughs helplessly -- a schoolboy's laugh at a schoolboy's joke.)\\
~~Katherine. George, I am appalled. Utterly appalled. Stop
laughing at once! (To Matcham.) Oh, do something.\\
~~Matcham. Stop laughing, sir, this instant!\\
~~George. Yes, Father.\\
(And, apart from a faint splutter or two, he does.)\\
~~Katherine. I can't think what they teach boys at school these
days.\\
~~Matcham. Roman history.\\
~~Katherine. But it's monstrous that a boy of his age should ever
imagine such terrible and unnatural things about his uncle --
it's nothing but the rankest disloyalty --\\
~~George. (Facing her quietly.) I couldn't be disloyal about him,
mother. To me he is simply the greatest man on earth.\\
~~Katherine. But you said --\\
~~George. If I made a joke, I'm sorry, but it's one that all
England makes, and there's no harm --\\
~~Matcham. How came you by this intimate knowledge of all
England, sir?\\
~~George. Father, I'm not a child.\\
~~Matcham. (Losing the argument.) You are a child, sir.\\
~~George. (Winning it.) If you say so, father. But, after all, now
that I'm going to stay with Uncle Horatio and Lady
Hamilton in their house --\\
~~Katherine. \textit{His} house.\\
~~Matcham. \textit{My} house, until he repays the mortgage --\\
~~George. Well, Lady Hamilton's going to be my honorary
hostess, isn't she? It says that in the \textit{Gazette}. So what am I
\textit{supposed} to suppose, mother?\\
~~Katherine. (Harassed, but firm.) That she's a very close and dear
friend of Lord Nelson's who -- who --\\
~~Matcham. Helps with the housekeeping.\\
(She gives her husband a look and begins to gather some inpedimenta.)\\
~~Katherine. You are far too young to understand such a lofty
and noble relationship between two exalted human beings.\\
~~George. (Sincerely.) No, mother, I don't think I am -- especially
when one of them is Uncle Horatio and the other, they say,
is one of the most beautiful and gracious ladies who ever lived.
The only thing I can't understand is that 'three in one'
business. What on earth did people think that time when they
all lived together?\\
(Pause. Betsy appears in the stairway with an old woman (Emily) to
whom she points out the morning-room before disppearing herself
upstairs. Emily waits on the threshold nervously.)\\
~~Matcham. (Looking at his watch.) My dearest Kitty, your reply
to that, which I'm sure would have been a model of refinement and
sensibility, had better be deferred to a later and
more convenient --\\
(Emily has had the courage to enter the morning-room. Matcham sees
her and starts. Pause.)\\
~~Matcham. Why, Emily, what a surprise. How pleasant to see you. How
are you, these days?\\
~~Emily. Quite well, thank you, Mr. Matcham. (Bobbing.) Mrs.
Matcham.\\
(Katherine nods.)\\
~~Emily. Why, Master George, how you've grown.\\
~~George. Have I?\\
~~Emily. Oh yes. (To Matcham and Katherine.) Lady Nelson's
compliments to you both and might she have two words with
you. She's waiting outside.\\
~~Katherine. Outside this house?\\
~~Emily. Yes, Ma'am.\\
~~Katherine. At six in the morning?\\
~~Emily. She wanted to see you before the coach left.\\
~~Katherine. Well, quite aside from the propriety of that, she
has left it rather too late --\\
~~Emily. No, Ma'am. The coach has been delayed half an hour
for despatches. She went to the Coach Yard to see you and
found out. So she had to come here.\\
~~Katherine. And is waiting in this street?\\
~~Emily. Yes, Ma'am. In her chaise.\\
(There is a pause. Matcham looks at his wife in uneasy enquiry, and
receives a steely negative.)\\
~~Matcham. I'm afraid it's still too late, Emily. We have so much to
attend to.\\
~~Emily. Just two words, Her ladyship said. She has read by the
papers how you were both going to Merton House today,
and she's most anxious to see you.\\
~~Katherine. And why?\\
~~Emily. I don't know for sure, Mrs. Matcham, but I'd fancy it
might be a message for his Lordship.\\
~~Katherine. What kind of message?\\
~~Emily. I suppose the kind of message a wife could sent to a
husband she hasn't seen since over four years. Meaning, of course,
Madam, no desrespect.\\
~~Katherine. You may tell your mistress, Emily, that there is no
point whatever in our seeing her at then present time and in
the present circumstances, and that she should know much,
much better than to ask such a thing at all, and that my husband
and I confess ourselves extremely surprised at such
unrefined behaviour. You may quote those very words,
Emily -- in full.\\
~~Emily. Very good, Mrs. Matcham. I told her it was no good.
I told her not to try --\\
~~Katherine. She should have listened to you. (Graciously.) We
bear you personally, Emily, no ill-will at all.\\
~~Emily. Very kind, Ma'am, I'm sure.\\
(She bobs and goes.)\\
~~Katherine. (Outraged.) Well. The insensibility of it! What a
cold, hard, conniving bitch! George, you did not hear that.\\
~~George. (Grinning in his coffee.) I did.\\
~~Katherine. Oh wait till I tell Horatio of this latest exploit of
Tom Tit. (To Matcham.) Do you know what I think she's
going to do now? I think she's going to blockade us in here,
so that we can't possibly go to our carrage without passing
her chaise and talking. (Picking up objects with determination.)
Well, if she thinks that, she's in for a very big surprise. (To
Matcham.) Come.\\
~~Matcham. Should we? I confess, I have no great stomach for an
armed sortie against an enemy in force.\\
~~George. (Grinning.) That from a Nelson.\\
~~Matcham. Don't be impertinent, sir. And I am not a Nelson.\\
~~Katherine. Well, I \textit{am}, and to walk past that chaise and give
that woman one of my special looks will not dismay me at all.
I shall, in fact, relish it keenly.\\
(She goes.)\\
~~Matcham. (Embracing George.) Goodbye, George. When I see
you at Merton in a week's time I expect a good report from
your Headmaster.\\
~~George. I hope I'll give you one, sir.\\
~~Matcham. (Benignly -- he is fond of his son.) Even if you have to
write it yourself, eh?\\
(He goes out.)\\
~~Katherine. (Off.) We are leaving, Bob.\\
(Bob appears and gathers up some hat-boxes.)\\
~~Matcham. (Off.) Kitty, we could easily send Betsy to tell the
carriage to come to the back door.\\
~~Katherine. (Off, outraged.) The back door? To avoid Tom Tit?
What kind of man are you?\\
~~Matcham. (Off.) A man civilised enough to wish to avoid causing
hurt to a member of his family.\\
(George has sat down again at his homework. Betsy appears and
approaches George as if she has been waiting for this moment.)\\
~~Betsy. Master George, next week, when you go to see your
Uncle Horatio, would you take something from me? I
couldn't ask your mother, you know what she'd have said.
It's in my room, all wrapped up and ready.\\
~~George. What is it, Betsy?\\
~~Betsy. Somethig agaist the ague. I read he gets these attacks.\\
~~George. A medicine?\\
~~Betsy. No. Something for him to wear against the skin.\\
~~George. Did you buy it?\\
~~Betsy. Didn't steal it.\\
~~George. You shouldn't have spent your money --\\
~~Betsy. Why not? It might work. Will you give it him?\\
~~George. Of course. And I'll tell him who it's from, too.\\
~~Betsy. Oh, you don't need to do that. Just give it to him, that's
all. And tell him to wear it.\\
(There is the sound of a bell.)\\
~~Betsy. That's the post. You won't forget now, will you?\\
~~Geroge. Of course I won't. I hope you didn't pay too much for
it.\\
~~Betsy. What if I did? Think where we'd all be now without
him.\\
(Betsy goes. George goes back to his homework.)\\
(After a moment, Betsy, looking startled, reappears -- followed by
Frances, Lady Nelson. She is the same age as her husband (46). Her
face was never beautiful, but it has a composure and a gentle dignity
that gives it distinction. Betsy indicates the morning-room, and then
flees.)\\
~~Francis. Good morning, George.\\
(Geroge is deeply alarmed, but flight is impossible. He gives her, at
length, a stiff formal bow.)\\
~~George. Your Ladyship.\\
~~Frances. (Returning the bow.) Am I no longer Aunt Frances?\\
~~George. (Bowing again.) Aunt Frances.\\
~~Frances. Emily was right. You have grown. You're too tall for
those breeches. Who buys your clothes for you now?\\
~~George. My mother.\\
~~Frances. I did rather better when I used to buy your clothes.
Kitty never did understand how quickly boys grow out of
things.\\
(There is a pause during which we see that Frances is quite as nervous
as her nephew.)\\
~~Frances. (Timidly preferring a packet.) Do you sitll like toffees? I've
bought some at Hathertons for you.\\
~~George. (His voice growing squeaky with embarrassment.) I thank
your Ladyship, I have already eaten breakfast, and a Bath
bun.\\
~~Frances. I should have thought of that. (Holding out the packet.)
Take them anyway.\\
~~George. (Decling.) No thank you.\\
~~Frances. Oh dear. I've made things worse, haven't I? Emily
said I would.\\
~~George. (Making a decisive movement.) I must go to my class, so,
if your Ladyship will forgive me --\\
~~Frances. (With some edge.) Her Ladyship will not forgive you.
Nor will your Aunt Frances, who knows perfectly well what
time your classes start. Sit down, George.\\
(George involuntarily obeys the voice of authority and sits.)\\
~~Frances. You are going to Merton next week?\\
~~George. Yes.\\
~~Frances. On what day?\\
~~George. Thursday.\\
~~Frances. I am going to London on Tuesday -- to my house in
Somerset Street. I shall be there several weeks.\\
(Pause. George says nothing. There seems, indeed nothing for him to
say. But Frances had hoped that he would say something, for she is
plainly searching for words, and her brief access of auntly authority
has not dissipated her extreme nervousness.)\\
~~Frances. Is this coffee still hot?\\
~~George. I'll order some more.\\
~~Frances. This will do. There's an extra cup. It's almost as if they
expected me to breakfast. Your mother delivers a cut so
badly, George. You should look through your victim, not over
her head. And your father -- (she laughs, then tries to pull herself
together.) Oh George, forgive me. The truth is you make me so
nervous that I can't speak --\\
~~George. \textit{I} make you nervous?\\
~~Frances. Look at my hand.\\
(She puts the coffee cup down. It has indeed been impossible for her to get
it into her mouth.)\\
~~Frances. Isn't it silly?\\
~~George. Yes, it is. If you're like this with me, I can't think what
you'd have been like with mother and father, if they'd let
you come in.\\
~~Frances. Oh, not nervous at all. It's they whose hands would
have been shaking, not mine. It's guilt makes people's hands
shake, Goerge. Conscience making cowards of us -- like you
bowing to the ground and saying 'Ladyship' to an aunt you
used once to call your favourite.\\
~~George. Why have you a conscience about me?\\
~~Frances. Because of something I'm going to ask you to do for
me -- something my conscience says I shouldn't.\\
~~George. What is it?\\
~~Frances. Take a letter to Merton.\\
~~George. To him?\\
~~Frances. To my husband.\\
(Pause. George frowns as he tries to think of ways in which his conscience
might be persuaded to say no.)\\
~~George. What kind of letter?\\
~~Frances. An ordinary letter.\\
~~George. Does it say anything beastly -- like calling Lady
Hamilton a whore?\\
~~Frances. It doesn't mention Lady Hamilton. If it did there
would be little point in reminding him of the profession she
is reputedmto have once followed.\\
~~George. (Angrily.) You're not trying to get me to believe Lady
Hamilton really \textit{was} a whore?\\
~~Frances. (Smiling.) Of course not, George. I'm merely observing
that in the matter of preserving her original countrybred
chastity, appearances do seem to have been somewhat against
her. (Opening her reticule.) Now here is the letter. As you see,
the covering is blank, and I haven't used the seal.\\
~~George. Why?\\
~~Frances. My handwriting and seal are both well known to
your hostess.\\
~~George. But if I take it myself. --\\
~~Frances. You'll have a servant to clean your room. Several
probably -- I'm told Lady Hamilton is very lavish with staff
-- and must surely pay the all very well --\\
~~George. (Laughing.) Aren't you being too suspicious?\\
~~Frances. No. If you take that, keep it under lock and key.\\
~~George. (Still laughing.) You mean she'd burn it, or something?\\
~~Frances. No. She would probably do what she did with my last
letter to him -- the one I was stupid enough to send to him by
the post. It was returned to me, and the covering had a
message written on it. 'Opened by mistake by Lord Nelson,
but not read.'\\
~~George. In her handwriting?\\
~~Frances. No. Mr. Davidson's.\\
~~George. Uncle Horatio's agent?\\
(Frances nods.)\\
~~George. She made him do that?\\
~~Frances. It would seem so.\\
~~George. But Mr. Davidson used to be a great friend of yours.\\
~~Frances. So did a lot of people.\\
~~George. (A shade shame-facedly.) Yes, I suppose so.\\
~~Frances. (Affectionately.) Dear George, you look so grown up
now --\\
~~George. But I can't believe anyone would behave like that. And
Mr. Davidson -- it's such a bad thing to do to Lord Nelson --
of all people -- to make him seem dishonourable. Surely Mr.
Davidson would be the very last person -- look, Aunt Frances
-- I'm not being rude but you know what people say about
you in the family, these days?\\
~~Frances. About the mischief-making Tom Tit?\\
~~George. Well, both mother and father say you do make things
up about the present situation.\\
~~Frances. Why do I need to make things up?\\
~~George. Well, to get pity and so on.\\
~~Frances. I hate pity. I can't bear it.\\
~~George. Well you can't deny you must feel pretty hostile to
Lady Hamilton.\\
~~Frances. No, I can't deny that. But what I told you about that
letter is true. Look.\\
(She takes the letter out of her reticule and removes the outer covering
showing him the enclosure.)\\
~~George. (Spelling with diffuculty.) 'Opened by mistake by Lord
Nelson, but not read. A. Davidson.'\\
(Frances nods.)\\
~~George. It \textit{is} the same letter?\\
~~Frances. Yes.\\
~~George. When was it written?\\
~~Frances. On December eighteenth, 1801.\\
~~George. A \textit{Christmas} letter?\\
~~Frances. Is that what shocks you?\\
~~George. Well, it's bad at any time I agree. But Christmas!
Well, perhaps I'm sentimental.\\
~~Frances. So am I -- but I hadn't, until now, connected that
rejected letter of mine with any special season.\\
~~George. (Gravely.) You will swear that there's nothing in it that
will upset him or make him angry?\\
~~Frances. How can I swear that? How do I know, after four
years, what will upset him or make him angry?\\
~~George. But is there anything in the letter itself?\\
~~Frances. There is nothing in the letter itself that a wife might
not write to a husband who has deserted her and whom she
still most deeply loves.\\
~~George. (Uncomfortably.) But do you? They all say --\\
~~Frances. (Shortly.) I know what they all say. (Brightly.) Your
mother looks well, George. I saw her and your father at the Pump
Room, the other night -- together with your Uncle
William and Aunt Sarah. Quite an assembly of in-laws, I
must say. Of course I fled. Poor things. It is difficult for them
all my being in Bath. In London, of course, things are
different. I so seldom go out there. Are you going to give
him that?\\
~~George. Yes.\\
~~Frances. To him personally?\\
~~George. Oh, of course.\\
~~Frances. You're not scared?\\
~~George. Of him? Of Uncle Horatio? Of course not. He's the
kindest soul alive.\\
~~Frances. Yes he is. (There is no irony.) There's not a midshipman
sails with him who doesn't worship him. (She gets up with difficulty.)
Is that a promise, George?\\
~~George. Yes. A promise.\\
~~Frances. And, of course, you must not tell your mother --\\
~~George. (Laughing.) Is that likely?\\
~~Frances. (Fumbling in her purse.) I haven't seen you for three
Christmas.\\
~~George. (Indignantly.) I don't need \textit{bribing.}\\
~~Frances. No. I'm sorry. (She picks up the bag of toffee.) Not
even these?\\
~~George. Well, those are different. (He takes the bag.) Thanks
awfully, Aunt Frances.\\
~~Frances. (Timidly.) Of course, if you \textit{could} let slip that I am
returned to Somerset Street -- and would be overjoyed to --
set eyes on him again -- just once, alone, for a few brief
moments -- no one need ever know he'd been to see me -- or
if he'd just give me some inkling where I could go to see him
-- not to talk, George, if it displeases him -- or at least only
about such trivial things as whether his eye still hurts him and
if he is still wearing his green shade -- or just if he'd let me sit
in a room with him alone, not speaking at all, just looking --
I'm sorry -- I forget how I began the sentence. A bad habit.
You had better tell him none of these things. They would
only irritate him. (Brightly again.) Just tell him you were
waylaid by Tom Tit in your own home and that she gave
you that letter. Oh, do explain, George, why am I now called
Tom Tit?\\
~~George. Don't you know?\\
~~Frances. No.\\
~~George. Weren't you called that before -- I mean in the old
days?\\
~~Frances. No, I don't think so.\\
~~George. You really want to know?\\
~~Frances. Yes, please.\\
~~George. You won't mind?\\
~~Frances. Of course not.\\
~~George. It's the way you walk.\\
~~Frances. The way I walk?\\
~~George. Yes, like a bird. (Politely.) At least that's what they
say --\\
~~Frances. Of course. With my rheumatickly legs, it must seem
most bird-like, I see.\\
(They are both smiling, George rather embarrassedly, Frances as if
enjoying a joke.)\\
~~Frances. And does Lord Nelson call me that too?\\
~~George. Oh, yes.\\
~~Frances. You've heard him.\\
~~Geroge. Oy yes. (Hastily.) It's not unkind.\\
~~Frances. No, of course it's not unkind --\\
(The tears that have never been far away during the scene now come out
in sudden, ugly racking sobs. George stands helpless, watching her.)\\
~~George. Shall I get Emily?\\
~~Frances. No.\\
(George watches her unhappily while she struggles to recover herself.)\\
~~Frances. (At length.) Oh, dear Heavens, I'm so sorry --\\
~~George. (Sitting opposite her.) I don't understand.\\
~~Frances. What don't you understand?\\
~~George. What you did to make them all so against you.\\
~~Frances. What do your mother and father say I did?\\
~~George. They won't tell me, but they're always hinting it was
very bad --\\
~~Frances. Perhaps it was.\\
~~George. What was it?\\
~~Frances. In the end I told him he had to choose.\\
~~George. But that's not bad.\\
~~Frances. It was for him.\\
~~George. But is that \textit{all}?\\
~~Frances. I think so.\\
(She gets up. George tries to help her.)\\
~~Frances. I'm all right now, thank you, George. Yes, I've often wondered
how else I've offended.\\
~~George. But why did the whole family turn against you?\\
~~Frances. (In a hard voice.) Why does your Reverend Uncle William
now hold a stall at Canterbury, when he can't read so much as
a Morning Collect? Why is your cousin Tom Bolton a
Knight before he is even twenty? Why is -- oh, it doesn't
matter. Lord Nelson is deservedly a man of great and powerful
influence in England, and he is very good to his family.\\
~~George. You said 'why is' and stopped. Were you going to say
why is my father now a Director of the East India Company?
Because, if you were, I know the answer. Lord Liverpool
spoke for him.\\
~~Frances. And who spoke for him to Lord Liverpool?\\
(Pause. George has no answer and knows he can never find one, except
in tears and hopeless rage both of which he forbears.)\\
~~George. You say he has actually \textit{bribed} my father to turn against
you?\\
~~Frances. I said no such thing. You did.\\
~~George. But why \textit{does} Uncle Horatio hate you so much?\\
~~Frances. I don't know, George. I'm sure, knowing him, there
must be a good reason. I wish I knew what it was.\\
(She turns to go as the lights fade and the sound of a naval band is heard,
together with the noise and cheers of a crowd. The music and cheering
will continue into and through the beginning of the next scene.)\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scene 2\\
(The figure of Nelson is looking much as our imaginations have always
pictured him -- in full dress uniform, with four glittering stars, a black
patch over his right eye and the empty sleeve of his right arm tucked into
his tunic. He is apparently staring out of a window, facing the auditoriun.)\\
(Lord Barham, First Lord of the Admiralty, is at his desk.)\\
(Barham is eighty, and recently appointed, but is scared neither of Nelson
whom he has never met, nor of his formidable post, in this year of
threatened invasion.)\\
~~Barham. (He indicates.) Perhaps you would care to sit down,
Lord Nelson -- the sight of you at that window seems to
excite the crowd that has been attracted here by your visit.\\
~~Nelson. Did I attract them, Lord Barham?\\
~~Barham. Undoubtedly. The name is pronounced Barham.\\
(He uses the short A.)\\
~~Nelson. I'm so sorry. A junior Vice-Admiral should at least
know how to pronounce the name of the First Lord.\\
~~Bahram. I see no reason. It's a very new title, and a very new
appointment.\\
(He motions Nelson to a seat.)\\
~~Neson. You have my heartiest congratulations on both.\\
~~Barham. Thank you. May we get to business? (He picks up a
document.) Now, I have been instructed by their Lordships
to speak to you regarding your recent operations in the
following terms.\\
~~Nelson. (Quietly.) Please, don't trouble yourself to tell me what
you were instructed to say to me. I mean no disrespect to their
Lordships, but we both know that their judgement of naval
operations can be coloured by circumstances. Tell me, not as
First Lord but as -- what was it? -- Admiral Middleton?\\
(Barham nods.)\\
~~Nelson. Tell me then as Admiral, did I do right to chase Villeneuve
to the West Indies and back, and leave England unguarded?\\
~~Barham. Not quite unguarded. I made certain Naval dispositions.\\
~~Nelson. But unguaded enough to have risked giving Napoleon
that eight hours command of the Channel he says he needs for
his invasion. Did I do right?\\
~~Bahram. In the event --\\
~~Nelson. In the event Villeneuve's courage failed him but that
doesn't answer my question.\\
~~Barham. Perhaps it does. Villeneuve's courage failed him precisely
because he learnt that it was you who was chasing him.
Another Admiral chasing him and his courage would not
have failed.\\
~~Nelson. I was hardly to know that --\\
~~Barham. You might have guessed it.\\
~~Nelson. I might. (Grinning.) I did. Yes, to be honest, I know my
name to be worth the addition of a frigate or two to our Naval
forces in the discomforting of an enemy.\\
~~Barham. About five battle ships, my lord. That is my own estimation.
Some would put it higher.\\
~~Nelson. I can hardly dispute the estimation of a First Lord.\\
~~Barham. I thought it was to an Admiral you wished to speak.\\
(Pause. Nelson laughs.)\\
~~Nelson. By God, I like you. I was told I wouldn't, but I do.\\
~~Barham. Thank you, Lord Nelson. Now, is your question what
I would have done, had I been in Command at Toulon and
Villeneuve had slipped me and sailed for the Atlantic?\\
~~(Nelson nods.)\\
~~Barham. I would not have done as you did, my Lord.\\
~~Nelson. I like you the more.\\
~~Barham. With Napoleon's whole army at Boulogne and only
pitchforks to throw against him if he landed, I wouldn't have
given chase half across the world. My mind would have been
only on defence. But then my name was only Middleton.\\
(Pause. Nelson laughs, unconstrainedly pleased.)\\
~~Nelson. I have never received a more graceful and inspiring
appraisal of an agonising and most hazardous decision. You see
now why I asked you not to read me that testimonial. Their
Lordships would not have said a tenth as much in a hundredth
part the length. You do me great honour, Lord Barham.\\
~~Barham. I am back to First Lord again?\\
~~Nelson. (Laughing.) By Heavens you are, and with great
honour to your office. (Changing tone.) Oh but the agony of
that chase --\\
~~Barham. I can guess it.\\
~~Nelson. To have been forced to gamble so wildly -- so recklessly
-- on the merest whiff of intuition -- and with such a stake --\\
~~Barham. Your reputation is indeed a great stake, my Lord.\\
~~Nelson. (Suddenly quiet.) Oh, God! Did you think I meant that?\\
~~Barham. I'm sorry. Your country, of course, is a greater one.\\
~~Nelson. A greater one? I love my reputation, and the cheers
from those good people outside, don't as you've noticed,
entirely displease me. But how can you measure one man's
reputation against the safety of England? You talk like
Charles James Fox.\\
~~Barham. Mr. Fox's speeches are becoming somethig more
patriotic. His love of England keeps pace with the diminishing
ardour of his infatuation with the Emperor Napoleon as
a revolutionary.\\
~~Nelson. (Sincerely.) I don't understand how a man's love of
England can keep pace with anything except -- just England.
You don't love England as you love a person or a thing or an
idea. You don't even love it because it's your country. You
love it because it's England, and if you don't love it, you are
damned. Voil\`a tout, as the enemy might say. I don't doubt
but that Mr. Fox would make mincemeat of that argument --\\
~~Barham. A statement of faith is hardly arguable, my Lord.\\
~~Nelson. Well, back to business. You believe then, as I do, that
we must attack to survive.\\
~~Barham. The boldest measures are always the safest. Your own
saying, is it not, Lord Nelson?\\
~~Nelson. Well, you don't fight a war except to win it, do you?\\
~~Barham. Not all agree with you. Some feel that just by holding
out in this island we may achieve a peace.\\
~~Nelson. Peace, with Napoleon?\\
~~Barham. Some think it possible.\\
~~Nelson. Peace? Now that he has crowned himself Emperor of
the World --\\
~~Barham. Not quite 'of the world', my Lord. 'Of the French',
is the title, I believe.\\
~~Nelson. And that is already 'of Europe', and tomorrow it \textit{will}
be of the world. I tell you Lord Barham, this new Caesar
means to conquer the entire globe. He has said so. Peace with
such a man? How is it possible?\\
~~Barham. Some think that, if we stand the long siege, he may
grow tired, and leave us alone.\\
~~Nelson. (Contemptuously.) Or he may exhaust himself in the
embraces of his Empress, and take up gardening at the
Tuileries. My Lord, we speak of the man who means to be
master of the world. He makes no secret of it. He may speak
in the holy names of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity -- but do
you seriously think he even knows what those words mean?
(Anxiously.) I do trust that Mr. Pitt pays proper study to the
public speeches of Napoleon?\\
~~Barham. Your Lordships trust is not, I believe, misplaced.\\
~~Nelson. Good. Well, then to master the world, the man must
first destroy this island. This island must therefore destroy the
man. That, too, is hardly arguable, is it?\\
~~Barham. As your Lordship puts it, no. But what might merit
debate is exactly how this island is to manage the job.\\
~~Nelson. Not by skulking behind a ditch, waiting for him to cross
it. By crossing it ourselves and attacking hi. Not with
pitchforks either, but with an expeditionary force armed with
the best weapons our factories can make.\\
~~Barham. Where do we land it?\\
~~Nelson. Anywhere. Europe's coast line is three thousand miles
long. Even Napoleon can't be everywhere at once. But I
would advise Mr. Pitt to look closely at the Kingdom of
Naples, where our troops were recently engaged, and which
has proved to be Napoleon's Achilles' heel. (Carelessly.) I
don't say that on grounds of personal attachment, just in case
you think I do.\\
~~Barham. (Carefully.) I had heard of your Lordship's strong
friendship for the exiled King and Queen of Naples.\\
~~Nelson. (Having fun.) And not for the widow of our late
Ambassador there?\\
~~Barham. I read my newspapers.\\
~~Nelson. And perhaps find a moment to glance at the cartoonists
in St. James's Street?\\
~~Barham. (Stiffly.) Seldom, my lord.\\
~~Nelson. You should more often. Some are very witty, I assure
you -- although they are apt to portray Lady Hamilton as
somewhat too large and myself as somewhat too small. But
one doesn't expect to find the exact truth in cartoons. Where
were we?\\
~~Barham. Attacking Napoleon at Naples.\\
~~Nelson. Ah, but not only Naples. In Portugal and Spain, for
instance. Another expeditionary force landed, say at Lisbon --\\
~~Barham. (Abruptly.) Pardon my interruption, Lord Nelson,
but this is the Admiralty, and not the War Office. How can
we attack anywhere on the continent of Europe without full
and unchallenged command of the seas?\\
~~Nelson. Well, of course, we must have that.\\
~~Barham. (Barking.) How?\\
~~Nelson. By annihilation.\\
~~Barahm. Such words are easy.\\
~~Nelson. The matter is easy. Now that the combined enemy
fleets have locked themselves up in Cadiz, from which they
must mean to emerge soon and fight -- for Cadiz can't
supply so vast an Armada for long --\\
~~Barham. Who told you that?\\
~~Nelson. (Gently.) My Lord, I learnt the capacities of Cadiz as
a supply base at my mother's knee.\\
~~Barham. (Raising his voise.) I meant who told you that the combined
fleets were now at Cadiz?\\
~~Nelson. Captain Blackwood of the Frigate Euryalus. He had
despatches from Admiral Collingwood off Cadiz.\\
~~Barham. Those despatches were addressed to me.\\
~~Nelson. And my house lies on the Portsmouth Road.\\
~~Barham. But not even Mr. Pitt has read those despatches yet.\\
~~Nelson. Gracious me! I hope you have used a fast runner to
Downing Street. For plainly what Mr. Pitt should do now -- \\
~~Barham. Excuse me, but perhaps your Lordship would be good
enough to inform me first what \textit{I} should do now.\\
~~Nelson. Most gladly. You must reinforce Collingwood immediately
with everything that you have. Within weeks the
enemy must come out from Cadiz and we must then destroy
him. Annihilate is a better word. This chance may never
come again.\\
~~Barham. May I be blunt? Does 'everything that I have' include
Nelson?\\
~~Nelson. No.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Barham. You don't feel capable --\\
~~Nelson. Capable? (He nearly raises to the bait but restrains himself.)
I must remind your Lordship that I am on sick leave. I am
indeed a very sick man.\\
~~Barham. Too sick to go out again, my Lord?\\
~~Nelson. Too sick to be capable of going out again, my Lord.\\
~~Barham. It will grieve Mr. Pitt. He will certainly want it. So,
of course, will the country.\\
~~Neson. The country and Mr. Pitt expect too much of me.
(Angrily now.) Lord Barham, I am crippled, blind, infirm and
nearly dead with service of Mr. Pitt and my country. And I
am not now needed. The ships and the men and the commander
for the battle will be the best that we have, and when
they come on the enemy the plan of battle is already laid
out --\\
~~Barham. Your plan, my Lord?\\
~~Nelson. (Shrugging.) If Collingwood uses it it will be his. And
he \textit{will} use it, I'm sure. For complete annihilation it is the
only one.\\
~~Barham. I would be interested to hear it?\\
~~Nelson. Perhaps another time. I am keeping a certain lady
waiting.\\
(He gets up.)\\
~~Barham. (Rather stiffly.) I am sorry, my Lord. Perhaps, at your
convenience, you would draft it for me as a memorandum?\\
~~Nelson. I would be happy. May I take my leave?\\
(Barham says nothing. There is a tense pause.)\\
(Nelson suddenly changes his tone to one of desperate pleading.)\\
~~Nelson. Oh for the sake of Heaven, Barham, show some humanity!
Don't you understand how I am placed?\\
~~Barham. Your Lordship has made it clear --\\
~~Nelson. Not clear enough it seems. You disaprove -- I can see
it all over your face -- and I am childish enough to hate any
man's disapproval -- let alone a First Lord's. Barham, when
were you last in love?\\
~~Barham. When I was a junior captain, I think.\\
~~Nelson. So was I, when I was a junior captain. Or was I? It
doesn't matter. But to be in love as an Admiral -- at my age, a
crippled forty-six -- there is a folly, perhaps -- but a bliss and
an agony together that demands, if not sympathy, at least
some understanding. I haven't seen her for \textit{two years}. Two
years in a cabin, never a foot on shore, often ague-ridden,
sometimes sea-sick, always racked with doubts and jealousies
-- (Hastily.) although no need, of course -- by God there are
many people I might sue for slander if I had a mind -- but
the fevers of the middle-aged lover know no reason -- they
grow to and obsession --\\
(Barham is looking at his desk. It is hard for him to look anywhere else.)\\
~~Nelson. -- but enough of that. It was not what I meant to speak of. You
may ragard it as a simple case -- of a man who hasn't seen his
much-beloved mistress for two years, and very little of her
for five -- for since I was relieved of my command at Naples
their Lordships have been most diligent in keeping Lady
Hamilton and me apart. No, Barham for the love of Jesus,
try to see my case!\\
~~Barham. I see your case, my Lord, and am indeed most sorry
for it.\\
~~Nelson. Then you will take that look of disapproval from your
face?\\
~~Barham. My face can hardly express what I do not feel. A case
such as yours is not one to be either approved or disapproved.
It is simply to be accepted.\\
~~Nelson. With understanding and compassion?\\
~~Barham. With compassion.\\
~~Nelson. I am rebuked.\\
~~Barham. No, my Lord. I rebuke myself. I have too dull and
prosaic a soul to attempt understanding of such gothick and
extravagant matters as the fevers of a middle-aged obsession.
(Proferring a document.) Would you care to keep this?\\
~~Nelson. What is it?\\
~~Barham. The Lords of the Admiralty's testimonial on your
recent operations in the Atlantic. It is quite worth reading,
and would only intrude an hour or two on your Lordship's
well-earned leisure.\\
(Pause. Nelson looks at Barham and still reads that mark of
official diapproval in Barham's face. He takes the testimonial.)\\
~~Nelson. (Bowing.) Your servant ...\\
~~Barham. (Rising.) Lord Nelson.\\
(Nelson walks briskly out of the room, watched by Barham. Again
we hear the band this time playing a gay and popular theme of the
time.)\\
(The lights fade, and once more we hear the distant sounds of cheering.)\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scene 3\\
(A light comes up on a painting of Emma Hamilton, done in her extreme
youth. Then another light shows us a very rumpled bed, with only its
occupant's hair showing. Finally all necessary lights come on to show us
the bedroom and boudoir of Emma Hamilton in Clarges Street,
London. A screen in the bedroom area masks the powder room.)\\
(Francesca, Emma's personal maid, a middle-aged Neapolitan of
peasant extraction when Emma has imported into England from Naples
some years before, but who has resolutely refused to learn more than the
barest minimum of English, is ushering in young George Matcham
into the boudoir. He looks intensely nervous and is plainly determined
to be on his very best behaviour in such an exalted place.)\\
~~Francesca. (Gesturing.) I tell. You stay.\\
(She goes into the bedroom area, leaving George staring at the painting.)\\
~~Francesca. (She shakes her Ladyship's shoulder.) Eccelenza --\\
~~Emma. (Not stirring.) Fart off.\\
~~Francesca. Eccelenza, il Signorino Matcham sta qua.\\
~~Emma. (Rolling over.) You're mad, Francesca. It's the middle of
the night.\\
~~Francesca. Vi piacerebbe, non \`e vero? Quante volte stanotte?\\
(She disappears behind the screen.)\\
~~Emma. (Calling after her.) Stai zitta, cretina.\\
(Emma sits up. Her hair tousled from sleep and her eyes heavy from lack
of it, she doesn't naturally, look at her best -- and her best, in her
fortieth year is by no means what George in the boudoir, is currently
gazing at. She blinks, yawns and stretches herself. Francesca
comes back with a tankard into which she is pouring porter. She
hands it to Emma.)\\
~~Emma. Con Cognac?\\
~~Francesca. Naturalmente.\\
~~Emma. Not naturalmente at all. It just happens that this
morning I happen to need it laced. (She takes a swig and puts
her other hand up to indicate the number seven.)\\
~~Francesca. Eccelenza?\\
~~Emma. I'm answering your quiestion.\\
~~Francesca. Sette? Ancora un anno a mare \`e -- Pouff!\\
(She hands Emma a mirror and a comb, and places a vanity box beside her.)\\
~~Emma. You're an impertinent cow and I wonder why I keep you.\\
~~Francesca. Pouff! Un no di vostra eccelenza e sarebbe la
vittoria de Napoleone.\\
~~Emma. (Busy on her hair.) Me say no?\\
~~Francesca. Qualche volta \`e necessario.\\
~~Emma. Mai.\\
~~Francesca. Ne anche per fare Merton piu bello?\\
~~Emma. I can build two Metons anyway, if I choose. It's not in
my nature to say no, Francesca -- not to anyone -- but least of
all to my Nelson, my hero, my beloved, great Jupiter himself
-- the Lord of Olympus --\\
(In making a heroic gesture the mirror flies out of her hand across the room.)\\
~~Emma. Oh farting arses! Did I break my shiting glass? That means
seven years bad luck, if I did.\\
~~Francesca. No, no, eccelenza. Non e successo niente.\\
~~Emma. I didn't much like what I saw in it anyway. Let's have
another look.\\
(Francesca hands it to her.)\\
~~Emma. It's worse. (She goes on with her hair.) What's this young
Matcham like?\\
~~Francesca. Un ragazzo qualunque.\\
~~Emma. No nephew of Nelson's can be an ordinary little boy.
How do I look?\\
~~Francesca. Bellissima Emma Hamilton, come sempre.\\
~~Emma. Bitch. (Making a face at her.) Bring him in. And then get
me another porter.\\
~~Francesca. Con cognac?\\
~~Emma. Pochissimo, pochissimo.\\
~~Francesca. Mangiare dopo? Far este meglio.\\
~~Emma. My stomach wouldn't take food this morning. Well -- perhaps
I'll toy with a piece of cold mutton in my bath --\\
(Francesca approaches George who is stood, fidgeting with his hat.)\\
~~Francesca. Sua eccelenza vi aspetta.\\
(George not understanding, stands nervously. Francesca summons
him with a gesture.)\\
~~Francesca. Venite. Venite.\\
(George frantically nervous, gives a last look at the picture and then
follows Francesca into the bedroom area, and up to the bed. As
Emma turns her head to welcome him he stops uncertainly plainly
wondering if there hasn't been some mistake. Francesca continues
on into the powder room.)\\
~~Emma. (Holding out her arms.) My dearest little George Matcham.
Come here and lest me kiss you.\\
(It is noticeable that whenever Emma is not talking to an intimate, as
Francesca plainly is, and is in control of herself, as she is now, that
she can readily adopt a manner that does not confound belief that she
was once the British Ambassadress in Naples. (Although even here a
figure of fun to visiting English gentry.) She has a fairly strong
accent (Lincolnshire, to be pedantically precise) and a coarseness of
expression that comes from an honest refusal to pretend that her origins
were anything but the most humble and obscure; but with all that we
can see the lady who has presided at Sir William's elegant and
expensive dinner-tables, and who has been on terms of intimacy --
extreme intimacy in many cases -- with the greatest in the land.)\\
~~Emma. You must forgive me, little George, for receiving you in my
bed, but this morning, for some reason, I am afflicted with the
plaguiest migraine ever.\\
(Francesca arrives witht the tankard refilled.)\\
~~Emma (To George.) Recommended by my doctor for just such
occasions.\\
~~George. I'm so sorry, Lady Hamilton.\\
~~Emma. It will soon pass, I assure you.\\
(She toasts him and takes a gigantic swig, followed by an ill-suppressed
belch. She squeezes his arm.)\\
~~Emma. Well, dear young George, aren't you excited to be here and
coming down to Merton?\\
~~George. Oh yes, of course I am.\\
(During the ensuing few lines a procession of Servants march through
the bedroom towards the powder room. First comes a Footman
carrying a hip-bath, then a series of Maids with towels and peignoirs,
then more Footmen carrying huge ewers of steaming water and
finally the Head Housemaid who is there simply to direst operations.)\\
~~Emma. (Looking at him.) Yes -- I could have told you were a
Matcham. Isn't it such splendid news, your father being
made so important in the city?\\
(George nods unhappily.)\\
~~Emma. Oh, my Nelson had to work hard for him, I tell you. I kept
him to it. We can't have any member of our family not looked
to. So you're young nephew George? The last of all the
Nelsons to be welcomed to Clarges Street and Merton.
(Fondling him again and making him more nervous.) Oh, we have
had such a houseful at Merton this last week, all of the family,
and such coming and going of Ministers and Princes of the
Blood, but them I don't give a fart for, and that's the truth,
George, it's my Nelson's family only that I love -- as I love
everything that is shared between me and him. His family is
now mine, George. you know that, don't you?\\
~~George. Yes, my Lady.\\
~~George. Don't call me my Lady.\\
~~George. What shall I call you?\\
~~Emma. Aunt, of course, what else? Aunt Emma. (Glancing at him.)
You favour your father I see, with perhaps a touch of my
Nelson about the eyes --\\
~~George. (Eagerly.) Oh, do you really think so?\\
~~Emma. That you favour your father?\\
~~George. No. That I have my uncle's eyes?\\
~~Emma. His poor eyes. (Continuing to make herself up.) Yes, you
have, George. You're proud of that?\\
(George makes no answer to so obvious a question.)\\
~~Emma. Of course you are. To be Jove's nephew gives you a place on
Olympus too. I call him great Jove sometimes to tease him,
but it's not far from the truth -- my opinion. (Striking an
attitude, although not yet an 'Attitude', by flourishing her glass.)
Great Jove, immortal of all immortals. (She nearly spills her
porter.) Oh, frig it! All over the poxy bed --\\
(Francesca comes in.)\\
~~Francesca. Quello di tafeta verde?\\
~~Emma. Jesu Maria, no. There'll be a crowd outside. I don't want
to look like a curate's prick. I'd better come and choose. Here
(To George.) hold this. (She hands him the tankard and climbs
out of bed.) Yes, George, your uncle is the perfect pattern of a
hero, to stand before this age and any other. A man both
great and good, and how rare that is in this wicked world.\\
(She totters a little as Francesca helps her into a peignoir.)\\
~~Emma. Hold me up, you silly cow. (Seeing George's face.) It's my
migraine, George. And my Lord and I were a trifle late last
night too --\\
~~George. At Court? I read there was a ball --\\
(The procession of Servants emerges from behind the screen during the
following speech, and walk out, their duty done. Emma, exhausted,
flops into a chair.)\\
~~Emma. (Shortly.) No, not a Court. His Lordship and I -- well, we
don't frequent the Court. Not this one, anyway. Naples of
course was different. The Queen of Naples -- I count as
perhaps my dearest friend in all the world. How I miss her.
You know, George, so close was Her dear Majesty of Naples
and me that we would sometimes, when she was lonely or
scared of those devilish Jacobins who murdered her poor
sister, Marie -- the martyred Antoinette -- we would sometimes
sleep all night together in the very same bed. And
the King, he would do everything to honour me too, but not,
of course, quite in the same way. But this old English
absurdity and his German Frau, they're -- well they're not
really \textit{royal} in my opinion.\\
(A Footman comes in with a card on a salver. He hands it to Emma, who
is engaged in swigging her porter.)\\
~~Emma. (Indicating card.) Lord Minto -- an old friend of my Nelson's,
indeed of us both -- but I haven't seen him for some time. (To
Footman.) Show him in here. He lives in Scotland -- or somewhere.
Quite in the wilderness -- nowadays -- although he was
our Ambassador in Vienna, when me and my Nelson visited
there -- (To Francesca.) Will the water keep hot?\\
~~Francesca. Ci stanno due brocche ancora piene.\\
~~Emma. (To George.) He's coming down with us to Merton.\\
~~Francesca. L'Ambasciatore Minto.\\
(Minto comes in. He is middle-aged, very elegant in appearance and
urbane in manner.)\\
~~Minot. (Bowing low over her hand.) Dear Lady Hamilton, what an
exquisite pleasure, after so long.\\
~~Emma. I don't know that I'm speaking to you, Minto. Since
Vienna you've avoided me like the pox.\\
~~Minot. Dear Lady, since Vienna I've avoided everyone like the
-- plague who doesn't happen to live in Roxburghshire.\\
~~Emma. That's not true, and I know it. You've been reported at
Court many times.\\
~~Minto. (Shrugging.) Ah. At Court. But nowhere else.\\
~~Emma. You were at that ball last night, I'll wager.\\
~~Minto. Oh yes. I looked for you and Lord Nelson.\\
~~Emma. We weren't asked, and well you know it.\\
~~Minto. An oversight, surely?\\
~~Emma. Oversight my arse. They won't have us, at any price.
I don't mind for myself, but I do mind for him. Two years
away, the West Indies saved and then -- not so much as a
coffee at the Palace. No more of that. I can only say, Minto,
it doesn't take you long to leave your beloved Roxburghshire
when you hear my Nelson's back in England. Not that I'm
not glad to see you, of course.\\
~~Minto. I had some business in town.\\
~~Emma. You didn't have some business in town when it was to
see me, did you? Only to see my Nelson. (To George.)
Lord Minto is loved by Lord Nelson best of all persons in the
world -- second only to me, of course. Isn't that true, Minto?\\
~~Minto. I would be happy to think so, my Lady. But you should
have added that I run you a very poor second, for the competition
provided by your Ladyship is, to say the very least,
large.\\
~~Emma. (Covering up that part of her body to which his eyes has
momentarily strayed.) Large?\\
~~Minto. I meant that I unhappily possessed neither the figure nor
the gender to compete in such a race --\\
~~Emma. Every word you say makes it worse, you beast. This is
young George Matcham, my Nelson's nephew.\\
~~Minto. Master Matcham.\\
~~Goerge. Lord Minto.\\
(For the rest of the scene both Emma and Minto continue to ignore him.
George sits unhappily on the bed where he has been pushed by
Emma, holding the tankard from which Emma takes an occasional sip.
Francesca has gone back into the powder room.)\\
~~Minto. (To Emma.) I assure your Ladyship that my compliments
to you, clumsy as they are, bear no illusion whatever to your
most handsome embonpoint -- which suits you, as always,
quite admirably.\\
~~Emma. If you did possess my gender, I'd just call you bitch and
have done. Oh well, it's happiness makes me fat -- and, let me
tell you, Minto, I've heard no objections about that from the
only source that matters. Anyway, when my Nelson goes to
sea again next year, I'll pine away to a shadow, see if I don't.\\
~~Minto. Next year?\\
~~Emma. (Savagely.) Is he not due a year's rest?\\
~~Minto. (Shrugging.) He's \textit{due} a lifetime.\\
~~Emma. A lifetime wouldn't last him long if you and your
politician friends had your way. But you won't have your
way -- none of you. He's given me his word on that -- and
that's not lightly given.\\
~~Minto. I know it isn't.\\
~~Emma. Nor lightly broken, neither. (Wagging an admonishing
jinger at Minto.) So I want no meddling, Minto -- from you or
anyone else. See?\\
~~Minto. Meddling?\\
(They are on opposite sides of the bed, talking over George's head.)\\
~~Emma. I know you. Like all his fine friends you want the two of
us separate -- by a thousand leagues of sea if you can. You
can't bear the thought of what might lose your party a few
boroughs at the next election. Nelson living with a woman
not his wife? Oh no -- we can't have the electors hear such
wicked, malicious, scandalous things about the man whose
reputation keeps Mr. Pitt in Downing Street.\\
~~Minto. I might perhaps remind your Ladyship that I am a
Whig, and that the House of Lords has anyway no need to
woo electors. I personally am therefore absolved from your
Ladyship's suspicions.\\
~~Emma. Oh no you're not. Whig and Tory, Commoner and Peer,
King and Queen, you're all alike. You need your Nelson, and
you need him pure. There's not one of you doesn't want to
split us, and wouldn't say afterwards it was done for England,
not for yourselves. Perish the thought! Well, let me tell you,
Minto, what England wants. England wants a live and happy
Nelson, not a Nelson broken and sick, and half dead with
longing. And as for me you don't care that -- (Flicking her
fingers.) any of you. Nelson dead and I'm thrown on to the
dust-heap. Do you think I don't know that, Minto? So -- on
this visit -- no meddling, do you hear?\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Minto. The epithet 'bitch' I could perhaps agree to be saddled
with, my Lady, saving my gender, but 'meddler' never. So,
may it just be 'bitch'?\\
~~Emma. (With a rough, sincere laugh.) I could like you, Minto, if
you'd ever let me.\\
~~Francesca. (Appearing.) Il bagno di vostra eccelenza si sta
raffredando.\\
(Emma nods, and gets up, now with less difficulty.)\\
~~Emma. I got angry with what you said about 'large'. Yes, you
caught me there, I'll grant. Still, would you have me a flag-pole?
(Laughing again.) Perhaps you think my Nelson would,
so that he could more easily run up his flag? But his flag does
well enough as it is, thank you very much.\\
(She takes a large swig of her tankard, from George, while Minto
joins in her laughter.)\\
~~Emma. Last night it was nailed to the mast, at 'no surrender' and
with the signals all at 'close action'.\\
(She laughs again, and handing the tankard back stops at the sight of
George.)\\
~~Emma. Geroge, into the next room with you. You too, Minto.\\
~~George. (Keen to go.) Yes, Lady Hamilton.\\
~~Emma. Aunt Emma.\\
~~George. Sorry. Aunt Emma.\\
(George goes into the boudoir. Emma stops Minto from joining him.)\\
~~Emma. Did he understand that?\\
~~Minto. At that age they understand most things, and enjoy them
just as keenly as your Ladyship.\\
(Emma appears at the entrance to the boudoir. She sees George studying
the painting again.)\\
~~Emma. Not more interested in the dead painting than in the live
model, George?\\
~~George. Oh no, most assuredly not --\\
~~Emma. Assuredly? If I could have spoken like that at his age I
might have ended a duchess.\\
~~Minto. (Entering the boudoir.) You may yet end a duchess.\\
~~Emma. Emma, Duchess of Bronte, Viscountess Nelson? There's
a certain much to be hoped for event that has to take place
first might I remind you. But they do say the winters at Bath
aren't too healthy for the rheumatical.\\
~~Minot. They have indeed reported a certain malignancy of
vapours there.\\
~~Emma. (Raising her tankard.) Good luck to the vapours, say I, and
don't let them spare any Toms, or any Tits. By which I don't
mean something vulgar, Minto -- like what you've been
staring at this last five minutes. (Calling to George.) George,
talk to Lord Minto now, but don't listen to a word he says
about me, because he hates me like the pox -- which is
nothing, of course, save the greatest jealousy.\\
~~Minto. Who now, my Lady, is the bitch?\\
(Emma, on her way towards the powder room laughs, finishes her
tankard and disappears behind the screen. Minto in the boudoir,
approaches George.)\\
~~Minto (Breaking a pause.) Do I need to tell you that what our hostess
just said is a joke?\\
(George discomforted and bewildered, is silent. It seems safest.
Minto pours himself out some wine from a tray of drinks on a table.)\\
~~Minto. Will you join me?\\
~~George. No, thank you.\\
~~Minto. Not allowed it?\\
~~George. Oh, I'm allowed it.\\
~~Minto. Then have some. (He pours a glass and hands it to George.)
It might help to remove that look.\\
~~George. What look?\\
~~Minto. To meet Lady Hamilton, for the first time, can, I know,
be rather a shock to a juvenile sensibility. Never, I dare say,
more than to a nephew of Lord Nelson's. Your look is one of
surprise, Master Matcham. Remove it. It will not be popular
at Merton. Your good health, sir.\\
~~George. (Sipping.) My Lord.\\
~~Minto. (Appreciatively.) She keeps a good wine. I wonder who
pays for it. Not your uncle, I trust. He has not prize money
enough for even a pipe of this. (Appreciately again.) Excellent.\\
~~George. I thought Lady Hamilton was rich.\\
~~Minto. Rich in everything but money. Sir William left her only
his debts. But we were commanded not to talk of her. Do you
go to school?\\
~~George. Oh yes.\\
(He has turned to look at the portrait again.)\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Minto. Where?\\
~~George. Bath.\\
~~Minto. And do you enjoy it?\\
~~George. (Listlessly.) Oh yes.\\
~~Minto. I'm so glad.\\
(Pause. George is plainly disinclined for conversation, at least on these
terms.)\\
~~Minto. (Indicating painting.) As Ariadne. She was then I believe,
sixteen. A rather mature sixteen.\\
~~Geroge. (Turning slowly.) Are you fond of Lady Hamilton?\\
~~Minto. You seem, Master Matcham, to have inherited your
uncle's flair for surprise attacks.\\
~~George. I'm sorry.\\
~~Minto. Don't be. I always tell the truth, except when I have
need to tell a lie. I am fond of Emma Hamilton. She's a
very generous and good-hearted lady -- loyal, passionate, and
kind.\\
~~George. Kind?\\
~~Minto. Very kind. Except of course, to her enemies -- but as they
are mainly Neapolitan revolutionaries --\\
~~George. I was thinking of an enemy nearer home.\\
~~Minto. (Frowning.) Ah. But why fret about her either?\\
~~George. She's my aunt.\\
~~Minto. An aunt, superseded by events. You now have an Aunt
Emma. You had better have some more of this. You still have
that look.\\
~~George. No, thank you. (Pointing to the picture.) If you could
only explain -- (He stops.)\\
~~Minto. Explain what?\\
~~George. It doesn't matter. I shouldn't ask.\\
~~Minto. I don't think you should, Master Matcham. (Raising his
hand to stop George's apology.) not because the question is
likely to be improper but because it is likely to be unanswerable.
What does Lord Nelson see in her? Is that what you
want explained?\\
(George nods.)\\
~~Minto. What does one person see in another person? That question
has been asked since the beginning of time and will be asked
to the end of it -- and there is very rarely any answer, Master
Matcham.\\
~~George. But he's a great man. (Passionately.) You \textit{do} believe
that, don't you?\\
~~Minto. Oh yes.\\
~~George. Great because of what he has done or because of what
he is?\\
~~Minto. I think you should defer that question to Captain Hardy,
his Flag Captain. He can speak for him in both capacities
better than I. I can only speak for him as a man in love.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~George. Above all things I don't understand how he could allow
her to treat his wife the way she does.\\
~~Minto. Your ex-Aunt Frances? In what way does she treat her?
Does she send poisoned pork pies to Bath?\\
~~George. (Angrily.) She's bribed his whole family to desert her.\\
~~Minto. (Shrugging.) They've deserted her readily enough, and
I'd say that any bribes have been his, not hers.\\
~~George. (Stiff with rage.) Oh no! That's a lie.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Minto. Master Matcham, you are not quite old enough yet to
challenge and not quite young enough to put across my knee.
I really think you must withdraw that observation.\\
~~George. I'm sorry -- I'm very sorry, my Lord -- but it can't be
Lord Nelson. It just can't be -- That's all I meant --\\
(Pause. Minto looks at him thoughtfully.)\\
~~Minto. (Shrugging.) Very likely not. It hardly matters, anyway,
as the wife in question is, I hear, perfectly content with her
two thousand a year, and her reflected glory in the society of
Bath.\\
~~George. That isn't true --\\
~~Minto. (Smiling.) Again, sir?\\
~~George. I mean I \textit{know that} isn't true. I've seen her recently and
she's very -- well ... upset.\\
~~Minto. Really? Tears? You'll learn one day that the tears of a
neglected but comfortably pensioned-off grass widow aren't
always very real.\\
~~George. Hers were real.\\
~~Minto. When did you last see her?\\
~~George. A week ago, and she gave me a letter to deliver to her
husband.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Minto. You must, of course, on no account, deliver it.\\
~~George. My Lord, I must.\\
~~Minto. Must?\\
~~George. I gave my word.\\
~~Minto. Oh God, deliver me from a schoolboy's honour! Do
you want to destroy your uncle's peace of mind?\\
~~George. Oh no! Oh Heaven, no!\\
~~Minto. Then give me that letter and let me tear it up. Or, better
still, return it to her unread.\\
~~George. It's already been returned to her opened and unread.
That's why I'm taking it down, so that this time he'll receive it
at least.\\
(Pause. Minto has entirely lost his urbanity. Of the two he is now the one
to seem shocked.)\\
~~Minto. Who returned it?\\
~~George. Mr. Davidson.\\
~~Minto. By whose command did Davidson return and opened
letter?\\
~~George. Well, on the cover it says by Lord Nelson. It actually
reads: 'opened by mistake by Lord Nelson but not read' --
but, my Lord, it stands to reason --\\
~~Minto. Nothing, sir, in Lord Nelson's present life, stands to
reason.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~George. Oh no. \textit{That} I'll not believe.\\
~~Minto. I'll forgive you this time, sir, since I'll not believe it
either.\\
(After a pause.)\\
~~Minto. But Davidson doesn't take his orders from Lady Hamilton.\\
~~George. Still \textit{she} must have opened it, and told him it was a bad,
vile letter, full of abuse and that he mustn't read it. Then she
must have got \textit{him} to order Davidson to send it back. That's
how I've worked it out.\\
~~Minto. (Thoughtfully.) You have worked it out most ingeniously,
Master Matcham. A very reasonable solution.\\
~~George. You're not still hinting --\\
~~Minto. I'm hinting nothing, except that I want that letter kept
from Lord Nelson, and I want you to give it to me now.\\
~~George. No.\\
~~Minto. I am a pacific man and deplore violence, but it has
suddenly occurred to me that I am, for once, in the position
of facing defiance from someone who is rather smaller than
myself. (Menacingly.) You will give me that letter at once, sir.\\
~~George. It's under lock and key.\\
~~Minto. You have the key on you?\\
~~George. No. (With squeaky bravado.) You can put your sword to
my throat, my Lord, but I'll give that letter to only one man;
the man to whom it was addressed.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Minto. You have been seeing Master Betty on the stage recently.\\
~~George. I saw him at Bath.\\
~~Minto. I don't happen to be wearing a sword, nor indeed have
I these twenty years. This is no matter for boyish heroics, sir,
I beg. You have a charge of gunpowder under lock and key
and you apparently intend to ignite it in your uncle's face.
Believe me it will explode as hurtfully to you as to him. And
all because a jealous wife squeezed out some easy tears into
your lap.\\
~~George. (After a pause, quietly.) She cried the way I've never
seen anyone cry before in my whole life---or at least not a grown-up.
She cried from deep, deep down in herself, as if
she were ill. It was terrible. I'll never forget it as long as I live.\\
~~Minto. You must try.\\
~~George. I can't. And I never will.\\
~~Minto. Then at least keep it to yourself. He'll not thank you, I
promise, for having seen Tom Tit in tears.\\
~~George. Why should what's happened make him turn so much
against his wife?\\
~~Minto. I don't know, and nor does anyone else. But I must
earnestly beg you not to deliver to him that letter.\\
(George shakes his head.)\\
(Urgently.) You can at least postpone delivery until tomorrow
night?\\
~~George. Well, perhaps, just for twenty-four hours.\\
~~Minto. In the meantime, I see I shall have to speak to Lady
Nelson myself, which will put me in the unlikely role of trying
to put out a fire in a powder magazine. I have no doubt but
that I'll be blown to pieces, with no posthumous medal for
gallantry to console my family.\\
(Emma flies out of the powder room struggling into her peignoir, and
runs across the bedroom into the boudoir.)\\
~~Emma. He's brought the biggest crowd yet. I was looking out of
the closet window.\\
~~Minto. Was that quite wise, my Lady?\\
~~Emma. Oh, you're such a prude. The crowd have often seen me
with nothing on. They like it.\\
~~Minto. I'm sure, but---\\
~~Emma (Interrupting.) They were holding up babies for him to
bless. (Hugging George.) Oh George, aren't you proud?\\
~~Geroge. Yes, Lady Hamilton.\\
~~Emma. Aunt Emma. I nearly huzzaed myself out of the window.\\
~~Minto. That would have pleased the Cartoonists---\\
~~Emma. The Cartoonists? Those buggers aren't worth my piss---\\
(Nelson comes in. He is dressed as when we last saw him, having
come from the Admiralty. He looks only at her, ignoring Minto and
George.)\\
You kept your promise?\\
~~Nelson. Did you doubt me? (He embraces her ardently.)\\
~~Emma. In that poxy Admiralty I always doubt you. Those
people in there could get you to go out tomorrow. Did you
ask for a year.\\
~~Nelson. I didn't specify.\\
~~Emma. (Angrily.) You promised---\\
~~Nelson. I just told him I wasn't going out now, to Cadiz---and
insisted my refusal be accepted. But it'll \textit{be} a year, my heart,
never fear. A whole year---I promise.\\
~~Emma. (Kissing him.) Oh I do fear, Nelson.\\
~~Nelson. Don't. (He gives her a long, possessive embrace.)\\
~~Emma. (Breaking away.) We have company.\\
(Nelson sees the other two. Plainly he has difficulty with his eyesight.)\\
~~Nelson. Why, Minto---you have obeyed your summons! By
God, I'm most heartily flattered (he embraces him) and more
happy to see you than I can properly tell you. You've grown
thin up north. We'll alter that at Merton. Emma is the most
perfect housekeeper in the world---if a thought extravagant
in these days of high prices.\\
~~Emma. Enough of that, Nelson. All's done for you and no one
else. (Pointing to George.) This is Master---\\
~~Nelson. (Warmly embracing George.) I know who this is. Dear
nephew George! My dearest, dearest boy! How good to see
you! But you have grown so much I had pains to recognize
you. By God, you look older than I did when I was first made
a Captain, doesn't he, Emma?\\
~~Emma. How do I know? When you were first made a captain we
hadn't met.\\
~~Nelson. (Smiling at her.) Perhaps that is just as well.\\
~~Emma. Nelson!\\
~~Nelson. (Hastily.) For the Navy's sake, I mean, not my own.\\
~~Emma. But that's worse. Do you want young George to think
that his Aunt Emma's influence on Nelson has been bad for
the Country?\\
~~Nelson. (To George, quietly.) All I meant, George, was that to
have met Lady Hamilton as a youth might---to the detriment
of my later service---have made me chary of risking a life
suddenly grown too precious to lose.\\
~~Emma. That's better. He can turn quite a phrase for a sailor,
can't he?\\
~~Nelson. (Suddenly noticing.) Emma, why are you undressed before
these men?\\
~~Emma. Oh, they're not really men, Nelson---I mean one's a boy
and the other's a---well, he's from Roxburgh.\\
(A footman comes in with a card on silver salver.)\\
(Reading it.) Captain Hardy. Show him up.\\
(The footman goes.)\\
Hardy, I'll agree, does count as a man. What's more he thinks
I'm the whore of Babylon even when I'm in my winter
woollies. I'll not be long.\\
~~Nelson. May I come in with you?\\
~~Emma. You'd best receive your precious Hardy here first, hadn't
you?\\
~~Nelson. I'm not anxious to. You of all people know why.\\
~~Emma. Coward! Scared of his own Flag-Captain! What a hero!
You tell him now and get it over.\\
(She kisses him and then goes out into the bedroom, where Francesca is
waiting, and they both disappear behind the screen.)\\
~~Nelson. The crowd seemed even bigger than after Copenhagen.
It's surprising after two years. Oh, how I long sometimes to
walk in London unrecognised. But how can I do it?\\
~~George. (Taking it literally.) Perhaps, Uncle Horatio, if you
didn't wear all your stars and decorations---\\
~~Nelson. (After a faint pause, good-humouredly.) You're quite right
George. It's my vanity that betrays me.\\
~~George. Oh, I didn't mean that.\\
~~Nelson. (To Minto.) The boy's right, Minto. Even for an
interview with the First Lord, I \textit{could} wear a plain suit. I am
on leave. (Touching his four stars with a smile.) But damme, I
like people to know what I've done! (To Minto.) I suppose,
Minto, that you'd call that babyish.\\
~~Minto. Will you never forgive me for that unfortunate remark?\\
~~Nelson. No, by God, I won't. (To George.) He once told me
that ashore I was a babe in arms, while at sea---well, no
matter---\\
~~Minto. At sea, an Alexander.\\
~~Nelson. Was it Alexander? Well, George, in both he exaggerated
deeply---\\
~~Footman. (Entering.) Captain Hardy.\\
(Hardy comes in. He is a veteran sailor, at home in any company in the
world, except, possibly, where he finds himself now. Nelson embraces
him without a word, and then turns to introduce George.)\\
~~Nelson. My nephew, George Matcham.\\
(Hardy bows.)\\
And Lord Minto, whom I expect you know---\\
~~Hardy. (Shaking hands.) Why yes. It's a great pleasure.\\
~~Minto. Mine too, Captain.\\
(There is an uneasy pause. Nelson is plainly nervous.)\\
~~Hardy. Her Ladyship?\\
~~Nelson. Is getting ready. I think perhaps---if you'll excuse me---\\
(He goes towards the bedroom.)\\
~~Hardy. Before you go---I take it you've seen the First Lord?\\
(Nelson nods.)\\
Has he news where Villeneuve's gone?\\
(Pause. This is moment Nelson has dreaded.)\\
~~Nelson. Yes, Hardy---he has.\\
~~Hardy. Where? North?\\
~~Nelson. No, South. In fact, Cadiz.\\
~~Hardy. (Excitedly.) Cadiz? Cadiz? He can't stay there long.\\
~~Nelson. No.\\
~~Hardy. Cadiz! That's the best news ever. We'll catch him, then.
How many ships?\\
~~Nelson. Something over thirty.\\
~~Hardy. And how many can we muster?\\
~~Nelson. Enough.\\
~~Hardy. As many as theirs?\\
~~Nelson. Who wants as many as theirs, Hardy? I said enough.\\
(Hardy laughs delightedly, and clutches Nelson's arm.)\\
~~Hardy. That's good. That can go in the press when the news is
out. So when does the Victory sail?\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Nelson. (Speaking carefully.) It must be soon---for it's sure that
they'll need every ship they can spare.\\
(Pause. Nelson plainly hates the look of growing disappontment he sees
in Hardy's expression.)\\
~~Hardy. Every \textit{ship}?\\
~~Nelson. (Smiling.) And every Captain, too.\\
(There is another pause. Hardy says nothing.)\\
I don't doubt you'll have your orders to sail the Victory
south in a few days.\\
~~Hardy. (At long length.) Yes, my lord.\\
~~Nelson. She's still a good enough ship for the kind of pell-mell
battle this is likely to be. Perhaps Collingwood will choose to
fly his flag in her rather than the Royal Sovereign. I know I
would, if I had my choice, in spite of the Royal Sovereign's
new copper and the Victory's barnacles of two years---(with
a slightly embarrassed bow.) Chaptain Hardy.\\
~~Hardy. (Equally embarrassed.) Lord Nelson.\\
(Nelson goes into the bedroom and sits on the bed, starting at the floor,
quite motionless.)\\
(In the boudoir at length.) I need some rum.\\
~~Minto. I don't think she keeps it.\\
~~Hardy. (Fiercely.) Not keep rum? What kind of an Admiral's
Lady is she---\\
~~Minto. In some things---unsuitable.\\
~~Hardy. In \textit{some} things?\\
~~Minto. There's good wine, Captain. And brandy, of course.\\
~~Hardy. French muck. (Angrily.) There's nothing here that's
English at all. Yes there is. (He holds up a bottle.) Gin. A
whore's drink. Well, I'll have it. This is \textit{suitable} wouldn't you
say, my Lord?\\
~~Minto. (Gently.) He \textit{has} been away for two years, Captain.\\
~~Hardy. Yes. And so have I. Your health. (To George.) Sir.\\
(He downs the drink in one, replenishes, and then sits down in morose
obstraction. Minto glances from George to Hardy and then back
again---two figures both showing clear traces of shock and disillusion.)\\
~~Minto. (After a pause, with a hint of mischief.) You may settle a
point for our young friend, Captain. He asked me earlier if
your Admiral is accounted a great man for what he has
done, or for what he is. I told him to refer that question to
you.\\
~~Hardy. (After a pause, gruffly.) He is great in both. How could he
have done what he's done without being what he is?\\
~~Minto. (To George.) You are well answered.\\
~~George. You mean he wouldn't have won his battles without
genius?\\
~~Hardy. Genius? Genius is nothing at sea. Nothing much, anyway.
It's keeping to windward of the enemy line and attacking it
at the right place and the right time---That's part of his
genius. I meant something much more than that. I meant
having the right ships and the right men to attack with.\\
~~George. (Puzzled.) Our ships and seamen are surely much better
than the French---\\
~~Hardy. That's what you read. Man to man and ship to ship, I'm
not so sure, myself. But if they \textit{are} the best who made 'em so? \\
(In the bedroom Nelson suddenly gets up from the bed, his depression
apparently over. He walks behind the screen into the powder room.)\\
(Fiercely.) Do you know the kind of man a British seaman is,
Master Matcham? 'Hearts of oak are our men'? Don't you
believe it! Pressed into service, as like as not---four-fifths of
them are---and pressed means kidnapped in Chatham or
Portsmouth, knocked on the head and thrown into a life as
brutal and slavish as any in the world. In Newgate gaol they
get better to eat than maggoty biscuit, and they don't get
two hundred lashes of the cat o'nine tails for a back answer
to their gaoler. Two hundred multiplied by nine? That's a lot
of bloody flesh off any man's back, Master Matcham, and the
threat of it keeps 'em servile enough---as it'd keep you too---and
Lord Minto I don't doubt. And a bumper tot of rum
would make you both drunk enough to fight a battle. But
would you care overmuch who won it? I ask you straight,
both of you? If you were British seamen would you break
your hearts if the revolutionaries won their war against us or
the guillotine were set up in Piccadilly? And would you raise
that bumper tot of rum to the health of your Admiral?\\
~~George. (Quickly.) Before the battle of the Nile the men did
drink to Nelson.\\
~~Hardy. Yes, sir. To Nelson. That's your answer. \textit{I} don't raise
this whore's drink to him now---feeling as I do at the present---but
those men do drink their rum to Nelson. They beg
to serve in any Squadron he commands and cry like women
when they hear he's wounded. Don't ask me how he's done
it, but if it's not by a miracle, and it isn't, then it must be by
being the kind of man he is. (Looking at his glass.) Do you know
I'm not sure even this gin isn't foreign---\\
~~Minto. They do make a passable gin in Naples.\\
~~Hardy. I wish to Heaven he'd never seen that God-forsaken
place. (Morosely.) And if you two gentlemen care to repeat
that remark I'll bear the consequences like a man.\\
(Emma comes out of the powder room, followed by Nelson. She is
dressed for the drive to Merton. She is walking to the boudoir, but
Nelson pulls her back and embraces her.)\\
~~Minto. They could be heavy.\\
~~Hardy. They couldn't be much heavier than now. Collingwood's
flag in the Victory? I'll shoot it down myself.\\
(Emma enters the boudoir with Nelson behind her.)\\
~~Emma. Captain Hardy, what honour you do me!\\
~~Hardy. It is I who have the honour, your Ladyship.\\
~~Emma. The crowd is now quite immense. (To Hardy.) Did they
give you a cheer, Captain, when you came to the doorstep?\\
~~Hardy. I am hardly known to them, my Lady.\\
~~Emma. (Graciously.) You should be, and, one day, you will be,
I'm sure. (With a wide gesture.) One day everyone about my
Nelson will be known. Minto, you are to come in the carriage
with us. My Lord thinks it more proper---\\
~~Nelson. (Mildly.) The word I used was seemly, Emma. Propriety
was not in my thoughts.\\
~~Emma. Nor ever will be, I trust.\\
(Francesca hurries from the bedroom and hands Emma a flask which
she whisks into her reticule. Minto notices it.)\\
It's a long journey, Minto, and you might be glad of it.
George, you and Captain Hardy are to follow in the secone
carriage. You may tell the good people out there, if they ask,
who you are. They'll know, of course, where you're going.\\
~~Nelson. (Looking at him.) By Heaven, George, you \textit{have} grown!
You must tell your mother to get you new breeches. And
jacket too. When Fanny bought the children's clothes---\\
~~Emma. (Warningly). Nelson, are you going to say something in
praise of Tom Tit?\\
~~Nelson. (Lightly.) Nothing ever in praise of Tom Tit. It's hardly
praise to say she had a gift for buying children's clothes---\\
~~Emma. I'll buy George several new suits before he goes---at the
best tailors. That's a promise.\\
~~Nelson. And most Emma-like in its extravagance. (Kissing her.)
Perhaps just one new suit.\\
~~Emma. And new boots to go with them. (She sweeps out.)\\
~~Nelson. (To Minto.) I'm glad you're travelling with us. We
have a little matter of business to discuss. The question of a
loan to be raised at my bankers---(Mischievously.) and in such
matters I am, as you know a very great baby indeed.\\
~~Minto. I'll not deny it.\\
(They follow Emma.)\\
And as regards babies, I haven't yet asked about Horatia---\\
(By now they are out of the room.)\\
~~Nelson. (Off.) Oh, Minto, she is such an exquisite little creature
now. I'm so proud of her. And so is Emma---\\
~~Minto. (Off.) She would be five, or thereabouts---\\
~~Nelson. (Off.) Four and five months exactly.\\
~~George. (To Hardy.) Can't we go down?\\
~~Hardy. No. Let them get their huzzas! We'll be anonymous,
and follow later.\\
~~George. I'll go and watch at the door.\\
(He desappears. Hardy, left alone, stares broodingly into his glass, and
then up at the portrait of Emma. Suddenly, with a violent gesture, he
hurls the contents of his glass at it. He is pouring himself another gin
when George returns, looking bewildered.)\\
~~Hardy. Well? Did they cheer heartily?\\
~~George. Yes. Oh yes. But---\\
~~Hardy. But what?\\
~~George. Some of them \textit{laughed}.\\
~~Hardy. Did they?\\
~~George. (Utterly appalled.) They laughed at \textit{Nelson}!\\
(Hardy gulps his drink down and gives George a friendly pat.)\\
~~Hardy. With Lady Hamilton.\\
(The lights fade. The cheers, which have started a little earlier, grow to a
crescendo and we hear the sound of a string orchestra playing some
genteel melody that is no doubt a great favourite at the Pump Room at
Bath.)\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scene 4\\
(The lights come on to show a small area representing a downstairs room
in Lady Nelson's London house. Minto is rising from a chair. Frances
stands nearby. There is a portrait of the young Nelson prominently
placed. In this scene Lady Nelson uses a stick.)\\
~~Minto. It seems then, that my visit has achieved nothing.\\
~~Frances. Oh but yes. It's given me the chance of seeing you
again, after all these years. I forgot to ask you. Are your wife
and family well?\\
~~Minto. Never better.\\
~~Frances. I'm so glad.\\
~~Minto. You won't relent?\\
~~Frances. That is an odd word to choose---I mean in the general
circumstances. If my nephew George cares to break his
promise, that's his own affair, and you may tell him from me
that I won't be angry.\\
~~Minto. If I tell him that it will bind him even more strongly to
his word of honour.\\
(Minto speaks the phrase as if it had quotation marks. Frances' quiet
response pointedly leaves them out.)\\
~~Frances. Yes. He's an honourable boy, my nephew George.\\
~~Minto. You realise that your honourable nephew may well be
seriously blamed for his part in the delivery of this letter?\\
~~Frances. Why? He has an honourable uncle.\\
(Pause. Minto finds himself beaten.)\\
~~Minto. Goodbye, my Lady.\\
~~Frances. I would see you to the door, but I don't walk so well
these days. Rather birdlike, as you may have heard.\\
(Minto bows and turns.)\\
One moment. Your visit has at least succeeded in one thing.
It has stirred my conscience. You have a notebook with you,
I know. Would you write something in it from me for my
nephew and let me sign it?\\
~~Minto. Most gladly.\\
(He takes a notebook and pencil from his pocket.)\\
~~Frances. But tell me one thing first. You blame me for choosing
my schoolboy nephew as a go-between. Would you like to
tell me, Lord Minto, what other member of my family I
might have chosen?\\
(Minto is silent.)\\
Or mutual friend? Would you yourself?\\
(Minto makes an impatient gesture.)\\
Or anyone else you can think of? The post, I have discovered,
is liable to interception.\\
~~Minto. Why not the Admiralty?\\
~~Frances. You think the Admiralty any more reliable than the
post? How many friends do you think I have at the Admiralty
now?\\
~~Minto. There are a host there who would heartily wish Lady
Hamilton dead.\\
~~Frances. But she isn't, is she? Well, this is for George. You can
phrase it as you wish. (Dictating.) Dear Geroge, Lord Minto
thinks you should not show my husband the letter I gave you,
and he may well be right. I must leave it to you to decide,
and in order to help that decision you have my permission to
read the letter yourself. Should you think that there is anything
in it at all which will cause my husband and distress
whatever, then it is your duty and my wish that you burn it.\\
(Minto has been scribbling.)\\
Your lawyer's mind will no doubt find a better way of
expressing that. So long as you have the main points taken
down, I'll sign a blank page.\\
~~Minto. I have taken down exactly what you dictated, and I
would prefer that you signed that.\\
~~Frances. Very well.\\
(He hands her the notebook and she signs it.)\\
I only wished to show you that I trusted you.\\
~~Minto. In this matter I'm not sure that I can trust myself.\\
~~Frances. Why are you so apprehensive?\\
~~Minto. I am not a very brave man, and I am afraid I can
already hear the thunder of an approaching battle royal.\\
~~Frances. (In her mildest tones yet.) Oh dear! I am indeed sorry to
be the cause of such melodramatics, in your quiet little family
circle.\\
(Minto, putting away his notebook, smiles for the first time.)\\
~~Minto. I must confess, Lady Nelson, that I most truly admire
your spirit.\\
~~Frances. Thank you. I have some need of it these days.\\
~~Minto. I don't doubt it.\\
~~Frances. You are going back to Merton?\\
~~Minto (Looking at his watch.) In time for dinner. It's being taken
early and I am most strictly commanded not to be late.\\
~~Frances. Her Ladyship is to give you one of her Attitudes,
perhaps?\\
~~Minto. No doubt some beguilement of the kind.\\
(He picks up his hat and stick.)\\
~~Frances. I trust you were wise enought not to come here in your
own carriage?\\
~~Minto. I have no carriage in London. If I had, would it have
been unwise to have used it to come here to Somerset Street?\\
~~Frances. House number seven, to the north of the street and
house number fifty-one, to the south. They are both usually
on the alert.\\
~~Minto. There are melodramatics, then, in Somerset Street?\\
~~Frances. Oh, window-watching isn't melodramatic. It's
important to her to know who comes to see me. I perfectly
understand why.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Minto. Well---\\
~~Frances. (Quickly.) It's wrong to detain you---but I have no one
to tell me these things now. I must rely on the newspapers---and
they leave out so much. His good eye---is it troubling him?\\
~~Minto. A little, I think.\\
~~Frances. He \textit{will} strain it. He must always wear that eye-shield
when he works at this desk. Always. Tell him that.\\
~~Minto. Yes, my Lady.\\
~~Frances. (Trying to smile.) But not, of course, as coming from
me---\\
~~Minto. (Not smiling.) No.\\
~~Frances. Tell Lady Hamilton that it must be always left near
at hand---otherwise he forgets it. And Lord Minto---if you
could---I don't say it would be easy for you---but if you
\textit{could} ever get him to understand that I am not his enemy, but
his ever-loving wife who, if she's given the chance, will do
anything in the world for his good---\\
(As Minto stays silent.)\\
But what's the use? You're \textit{his} friend, now, not mine. I don't
blame you. With number seven to the north and number
fifty-one to the south, who can now stay friends with both?
I realise that it is the situation that is to blame.\\
~~Minto. Do you? Do you, for instance, realise that there is not
one of your husband's friends or family that would really
wish the situation as it is? That some of them---myself am
one---would give nearly all they had to change it.\\
~~Frances. Why then don't you try to?\\
~~Minto. Because it cannot be changed. Nothing will change it,
ever. Ever, my Lady---from now to Doomsday. Do you
understand that?\\
~~Frances. (In a low voice.) I understand that he is now gone from
me for good. Yes I understand that. (With a faint return of
spirit.) But I also understand that he is gone from me to a
woman who can do his reputation nothing but harm---and
has already done so. Is that not true?\\
~~Minto. It is the woman he has chosen. The woman he now
loves and who loves him. The woman he will never leave.\\
~~Frances. I accept that.\\
~~Minto. But do you? Or do you not still hope?\\
~~Frances. I must sometimes---hope---\\
~~Minto. Don't. Please, Lady Nelson---I most urgently beg you---don't.
For you, hope can only mean despair, and if you could
kill the one you could also kill the other.\\
~~France. I must then try to kill hope.\\
~~Minto. It really \textit{is} the best---and I speak only for your own good.\\
~~Frances. I'm not so much concerned with my own good, Lord
Minto, as I am with his. Do you believe that?\\
~~Minto. Yes, I do.\\
~~Frances. (Suddenly, fiercely.) But if \textit{I} give up hope so then must
\textit{they}. They must cease to picture me as the 'Invalid of Bath.'
I am not in a decline. I am not going to die. I will do anything
for my husband's pleasure, except to cease from living. That,
if you care to, you may tell him---and as coming from me.\\
(Minto says nothing, as she strugles with tears that are plainly not so
far distant, but succeeds with a visible effort in overcoming them. Then,
with the aid of her stick, she manages a very passable curtsey.)\\
Lord Minto.\\
(She rises again, her back straight and her head held high.)\\
~~Minto. (Bowing.) Lady Nelson.\\
(He goes. Frances stands motionless, her back to the portrait of the young
Nelson. As the lights fade on the scene the portrait still glows brightly---until
that too fades into darkness.)\\
}
\end{document}