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{~~~~~~~~~~~~~A Bequest to the Nation\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Acte Two\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scene 1\\
~~(The lights come on to show the central acting area which will represent
the drawing-room and the dining-room at Merton. This time the rooms
are not directly connecting and anyone going from one room to the other
will be seen making a rather circuitous journey before entering either room
from the back. Beyond the dining-room area there lies a staircase leading
to the bedrooms.\\
At the moment it is the drawing-room---the larager of the two areas---on
which we will be concentrating, for Emma is in the midst of an Attitude
and the lighting, at the beginning of the scene, will be almost entirely on
her, as she stands with right arm upraised, expression borrowed, probably,
from Mrs. Siddons, and clothed in classical costume.)\\
~~Emma. And so the great hero fell and all the nation mourned
him! But of all who mourned him, none mourned him more
piteously than the woman who had borne his child, the
woman whom he had chosen of all women to love and to
keep, and the woman who had cherished him in her bosom
and loved him more than very life---Andromache of Troy!\\
(By now we can see her audience. It consistes of the George Matchams,
Senior and Junior, Katherine Matcham, the Rev. William
Horatio (George's age), Minto, Hardy and another Captain---Blackwood,
who brought the Cadiz despatches. Nelson sits
rather apart from the others, on a kind of throne. Much of Emma's
performance is inevitably directed at him. There are also some senior
servants present, while Francesca acts as a kind of Stage-Manageress.
Katherine Matcham provides background on a harpsichord, and is
not as sure of her cues as is Francesca, or as Emma would like.)\\
~~Emma. But she knew not yet what had befallen her great husband ...\\
~~Hardy. (Murmuring to Minto.) Who \textit{was} her great husband?\\
~~Emma. (Before Minto can reply, transfixing Hardy with a jurious
glance.) Only that \textit{Hector} had gone to bettle---\textit{Hector},
son of the King of Troy---(This though indisputably accurate, is an
improvisation for Hardy, who nods, satisfied.) and Andromache
sat in her dwelling wearing a purple mantle fringed with
flowers---\\
(This is Francesca's cue to drape Emma's shoulders with a purple
mantle, and for Emma to recline on a couch in a graceful mime of
happy expectation.)\\
and she bade her maidens make ready a bath for her
husband when he returned from battle.\\
(She does this, too, in mime. Katherine's trilling music, indicative of
maidens preparing a bath, is interrupted by her nervous difficulty in
turning over a page, and she gets a very sharp glance from Emma.)\\
But suddenly a great cry goes up from the walls of Troy and
Andromache bounds from her couch---\\
(Emma manages the bounding from the couch with little deft assistance
from Francesca.)\\
~~Francesca. Attenzione.\\
~~Emma. ---and runs towards the ramparts. What does she see?
Oh, most heavy sight! Not Hector slain! (To Francesca.)
Oh say he is not dead! Not dead? Not dead?\\
~~Francesca. (Firmly.) \`E morto.\\
(She adjusts the purple mantle more becomingly on her mistress's shoulders.)\\
~~Emma. Ah, say not so! Is my life, my love, my all, now only
dust?\\
~~Francesca. E polvere.\\
(She joins the audience, her duties now performed.)\\
~~Emma. Ah! Aah! Aaah!\\
(Three long cries of tragic grief.)\\
Has Hector gone and am I now alone?\\
(She speaks this quietly and with feeling. For one brief moment we might
feel that she could have had some talent as a professional actress. But,
in an instant, she has thrown her arms to Heaven and is well back into
the 'heroic' style.)\\
Then death, takest thou me too! Ah, my maidens---come
quickly all my maidens, and prepare my funeral pyre! For I
must die with him---\\
(There is a certain amount of gesturing to imaginary maidens after which
Emma, unaided this time, lies on the couch in an attitude of tragic
despair, carefully once more arranging her mantle to fall in the correctly
classical folds.)\\
~~Minto. (Meanwhile, whispering to Matcham Sr.) Did Andromache
kill herself?\\
~~Matcham. (Whispering back.) In Emma's version, anyway---\\
~~Emma. (Still arranging her folds.) Ah most lugubrious and heavy
woe! Ah, day of misery! Ah, noxious and lamentable fate!\\
~~Minto. (Whispering to Nelson.) Who wrote the words?\\
~~Nelson. (Indicating the Reverend William.) My brother
William---\\
~~Emma. Ah my maidens, my maidens! Most wretched of all
mortals am I now! Andromache weeps for her dead hero, the
beloved of his coutry and the Gods.\\
(The Reverend William had heard Nelson and is inclining his head
to what he assumes is Minto's approbation of his literary skills.)\\
The crown o' the earth doth melt, and withered is the garland
of the war! The odds is gone, and there is nothing left
remarkable beneath the visiting moon.\\
~~Minto. (To Nelson.) \textit{Brother} William?\\
(He has spoken a shade too loudly. Emma gives him a glare, and brother
William is destinctly put out. Nelson smiles, a shade nervously.)\\
~~Nelson. Sometimes a little of another William---\\
~~Emma. (Loudly.) The soldier's pole is fall'n. Young girls and boys
are level now with men. Great Hector's gone, and the mind
boggles with simple disbelief. The great defender of our
native home is slain, and all the nation bewail him---\\
(Katherine has slipped into the Dead March from Saul.)\\
Husband I come! Now to that name my courage prove my
title! I am fire and air! I come, I come. Poor, poor Andromache!
Husband---ah, my husband!\\
(She stabs herself and falls back on the couch.)\\
(The rest is silence.)\\
(She dies. There is loud applause. It must here be noted that eye-witness
reports of Emma Hamilton's Attitudes almost unanimously ascribe
to her a singular talent for heroic acting, a pleasing soprano voice and
a marked predeliction for going a mile too far. All these qualities will
have been noticeable in the performance she has just given, and any
slurring of speech or unhappy inpromptus---the excerpts from Antony
and Cleopatra were not in Brother William's script---could on this
occasion, be well excused by the fact that it is quite late in the evening
and that she has had a fairly full complement of brandy and champagne.
It is noticeable that, after taking a gracious bow and, while still
curtseying to Nelson, she takes a glass that Francesca has just
filled for her, and sips it thirstily; and if we are observant we will
notice that what she is sipping is indeed champagne liberally spiked
with brandy.)\\
~~Nelson. Bravo, Emma! Bravo!\\
(He kisses her.)\\
You were never better, on my life.\\
~~Minto. (To Emma.) Magnifecent as always, dearest lady. It is
not a piece I had heard from you, before.\\
~~Emma. It's a favourite. Tonight I was a nervous as a pregnant
nun---(To Reverend William.) saving your cloth, Reverend.\\
(The Reverend saves his cloth with a smirk.)\\
~~Minto. The very bravura of the performance makes that hard to
believe.\\
~~Rev. William. You were splendidly lifelike. (To Minto.) Those
words from the other William were not my doing, my Lord.
Lady Hamilton is sometimes pleased to make certain
additions---\\
~~Emma. \textit{Emma}, brother! What's this 'Lady Hamilton'? Shall
I call you 'Dean Nelson'?\\
~~Rev. William. (The most sycophantic of an unhappily sycophantic
family.) Oh, Heaven forbid! (To Minto.) Dearest Emma, I
was saying, is sometimes inclined to insert certain passages of
her own finding, and Shakespeare's Cleopatra, it seems, is
one of her favourite heroines.\\
~~Minto. Of course.\\
~~Emma. What do you mean by that, Minto?\\
~~Minto. Of course Emma Hamilton would have as her favourite
that other 'lass unparallel'd'.\\
~~Emma. Lass unparallel'd? Well I'll accept 'unparallel'd' at any
hour and at ten in teh evening I'll even believe in 'lass'.\\
(The audience has broken up into groups. Minto and Emma are alone.)\\
(Admiringly.) You think quick, Minto. If you'd said something
about 'this dotage of our Admiral' you'd have had this in
your face.\\
(Turning to Blackwood.)\\
Captain Blackwood, you are new to this house, and so new
to my little entertainments---\\
~~Blackwood. (Who has a stammer, increased by his present
nevousness.) At N--Naples once I had the p--p--privilege---\\
~~Emma. Of course, at Naples. Your frigate was in the Bay and Sir
William and I came aboard.\\
~~Blackwood. (Miserably trying to remember.) It was---oh dear---
something cl--classical.\\
~~Emma. Of course. But what?\\
~~Blackwood. Oh dear. It was something---r-rather happier than
the performance you have just given, I meant j-j-jollier---\\
(His nervousness is increased by Nelson's genial presence at his elbow.)\\
I meant it wasn't a l-lady m-mourning for her l-lover's death
or anything l-like that---\\
~~Emma. (Unhelpfully.) Husband's death---\\
~~Blackwood. Oh, husband's death. Yes. In Naples you gave us
a j-j-jolly lady---\\
~~Emma. My thoughts in Naples were perhaps something jollier,
Captain. You don't remember the lady's name?\\
~~Blackwood. (Excitedly.) She was a B-B-Bachante---that's what
she was---of course---and you made her most abandoned and
true to life.\\
~~Emma. But my performance this evening---less jolly, I agree---how
did you find that?\\
~~Blackwood. Oh, quite pitiful.\\
(Unhappily this is about the one word that has come out straight and
clear. Blackwood is instantly confused.)\\
I mean---\\
~~Nelson. (Stepping in to the rescue.) The word you used to me about
the performance, Blackwood, was affecting.\\
~~Blackwood. Oh yes. Aff--affecting was what I meant. I was
most deeply aff--aff--affected by the whole thing.\\
~~Emma. I am flattered. It takes much, I am sure, to affect the
gallant captain of the Euryalus.\\
(To Nelson, hand over mouth.)\\
Oh! Have I made one?\\
~~Nelson. No, my love. The name was most nobly remembered.
It is in fact, Blackwood's Euryalus that lately brought us the
news from Cadiz about Villeneuve.\\
~~Emma. Oh, of course. And he goes back in her tomorrow, you
said?\\
(She takes another glass of champagne and brandy from Francesca,
whose continued presence in the room---the other servants having
left---seems designed solely for this purpose. The Nelson family is grouped
together in a corner of the room, standing rather formally, their faces
smirking obsequiously, as if in the presence of Royalty. Hardy the
only one of the important guests not to have congratulated Emma,
wanders from the room, and we see him walking through the hall area
at the back towards the dining-room, which eventually he enters. A
map has been laid out on the table and it would appear that Nelson
had been giving his captains a rough briefing of the battle to come.
Hardy studies the map and begins to move some objects on the dining
table. Emma has been most conscious of his exit fromt the sitting-room.)\\
(To Blackwood.) You see, dear Captain, how well rehearsed
I am in all matters concerning Nelson's fleet.\\
~~Nelson. (Smiling.) Collingwood's fleet.\\
~~Emma. Well, it would be my Nelson's if he he were there.\\
~~Blackwood. No doubt of that, my Lady.\\
~~Nelson. But he is not there. He is here---\\
~~Emma. (Sharply.)---and most happily here---\\
~~Nelson. Indeed outrageously happily here---so it remains
Collingwood's fleet, and it's Collingwood's fleet he sets sail to
rejoin tomorrow.\\
~~Emma. (Raising her glass.) I wish you a fair wind, Captain.\\
(Blackwood bows. To Nelson.)\\
I suppose when Collingwood fights your battle they'll make
him an Earl.\\
~~Nelson. Do you grudge it to him?\\
~~Emma. I woldn't grudge Old Coll. being made Arse-licker in
Ordinary to His Majesty---saving your cloth again, Reverend.\\
(William saves his cloth again with a smirk and a bow.)\\
---So I could keep my Nelson here with me.\\
(Her arm is lovingly around him, and from a glance around, she
evidently wishes Hardy were there.)\\
What was it---in my Andromache---affected you most,
Captain Blackwood?\\
(Francesca at a gesture, replaces Emma's glass with yet another.)\\
~~Blackwood. (Who had hoped himself out of gunshot.) Ah. That is a
qu-question. Well, Lady Hamilton, when you spoke of
H-Hector, I was made to think of another even greater
d-defender of his country---\\
~~Emma. Not too much so, I hope. This defender is alive and so I
mean to keep him---despite the underhand work of some who
call him their friend.\\
(Again she looks towards the sitting-room entrance, but Hardy is still in
the dining-room, intent on his battle. Emma polishes off her champagne
an puts down the glass, striking an heroic Attitude.)\\
But still Europe's great defender! Let me see, let me see. How
does it go?\\
(She raises Nelson's arm. Hardy goes out of the dining-room.)\\
Yes. His legs bestrid---but why past tense?---His legs bestride
the ocean---in whose livery walks crown and crownets---realms
and islands are as plates dropped from his pockets---\\
(Hardy comes in.)\\
~~Nelson. Emma, dearest---\\
~~Emma. I was quoting a speech of Cleopatra's. (At Hardy.)
Moll-Cleopatra---as some officers in your fleet call me, I hear.\\
~~Nelson. (Following her glance.) A very pitiful joke, my love.\\
~~Emma. But those words \textit{are} Shakespeare's---and they're as true of
you as they were of that silly old antique Roman when
spoken by his strumpet gypsy. Captain---are you listening?\\
(Hardy shakes his head politely. Nelson realising from experience all
the signs of an incipient scene, speaks quickly and lightly.)\\
Nelson. In that scene her Ladyship of Egypt was something
exaggerating, I think.\\
~~Emma. (Loudly.) This Ladyship of England exaggerates nothing.
When I see my pillar of the world I see great Jove himself---\\
~~Hardy. (To Minto, quite audibly.) It's a wonder she can see
anything at all.\\
(Emma wheels on him, evidently meaning to let go with some of the
'gutter language' for which she is famed. But, more dangerously, if
less uncomfortably, for all, she decides to speak quietly.)\\
~~Emma. I heard that, Captain Hardy. This is my house, and if I
should choose to toast the guest who does such honour to this
roof in what to your puritan mind might seem a glass too
many of brandy and champagne, that I think should be my
affair and not yours, don't you?\\
~~Hardy. I do, my Lady, indeed. It was only that my puritan
mind hadn't perhaps quite grasped the fact that this was your
Ladyship's house.\\
(Hardy seems happy to answer a broadside with a broadside. Nelson
quickly inteposes himself to stop what could be, for him, the most
disastrous battle of all.)\\
~~Nelson. Merton is \textit{our} house, Hardy---\textit{your} house,
\textit{everyone's} house who comes to visit it. And most certainly it
is Emma's. Emma, my dearest, Captain Hardy is anxious to talk to me
on the matter of these despatches that Blackwood takes tomorrow
to Collingwood---and, as he leaves us early in the morning---\\
~~Emma. (Impatiently pushing Nelson aside.) You haven't yet spoken
of my performance, Captain. I am afraid you were most
heartily bored by my drunken posturings.\\
~~Nelson. Emma---\\
~~Hardy. Not bored, Lady Hamilton. Far from bored. Nor did
they seem so drunken. I had heard much of your Ladyship's
famous Attitudes and can now, with my description of this
lady you have just so formidably personated, most happily
entertain my brother officers in the Victory. In their passage
to Cadiz to join Admiral Collingwood's fleet they may, perhaps,
need some entertainment.\\
~~Emma. You may tell them, if their classical education should
want as much as yours seems to, that the lady I so formidable
personated was called Andromache, and that she was---in
the classical sense, but not the puritan---the true and loyal
\textit{wife} of her hero, Hector---and that therefore the house she
lived in with him, was hers as much as his---\\
~~Nelson. (Now severe.) Emma, I must beg you to stop this
stupidity. All that Hardy meant was---\\
(He sees rightly that Emma is on the verge of losing all control, and he is
still trying to smile. The family meanwhile are being hastily pushed
by brother William out of the room. Only George contrives to
stay---watching the scene with deep destress. Minto attentive and bored
simultaneoulsly, has picked up a book.)\\
~~Emma. (Pushing Nelson aside.) I know well all that Captain
Hardy meant, and so does he. He meant that I'm not your
wife, Nelson---not by virtue of Mother Church. Well,
Captain---a pox on Mother Church! I am, by everything
that is just and honest in this world, the true and only wife of
this man here---the father of my child, Horatia Nelson---\\
~~Nelson. (Warningly.) Emma, please stop this now---\\
~~Emma. (Too far gone in her tantrum to stop anything now.) To all
people in this house, Captain---to my Lord's family, to my
Lord's friends, to my Lord's servants even---I am Lord
Nelson's wife. To the whole of England I am his wife---and a
pox on that old man madman of Windsor and his German
bitch of a Queen!\\
(She drinks her glass and throws it over her shoulder.)\\
There's my loyal toast, Captain Hardy! To the whole of
the rest of England, I, Emma Hamilton, am the true wife of
Lord Nelson.\\
~~Hardy. Excepting, I would suppose, to Lady Nelson.\\
(Pause, broken before Emma can break it more violently, by Nelson.)\\
~~Nelson. Hardy, that was unforgivable.\\
~~Hardy. I shall leave.\\
~~Nelson. No.\\
(As Hardy still moves away we hear the sudden rasp of authority in
Nelson's voice.)\\
You will stay here, Hardy. I command it.\\
(Hardy stops. That is a voice he can never disobey. But Emma is
continuing.)\\
~~Emma. Tell the bugger to get out of this house now, and never come
back. Nelson \textit{I} command \textit{you}---\\
~~Nelson. You command me in most things, Emma, but not in
that.\\
~~Emma. Oh, indeed? Then perhaps I should leave your Lordships
house. Francesca---have my carriage brought round at
once---\\
~~Francesca. Subito, eccelenza, subito.\\
~~Nelson. Francesca, you will pay no attention to that, and you
will leave this room at once. Your mistress will ring for you
when she has need.\\
(Francesca frightened too by the sound of Nelson's seldom heard voice
of command, bobs, and looks uncertainly at her mistress.)\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Francesca. (Finally, with a deep curtsey to the conqueror of Naples.)
A vostro ordine, signoria. (Crossing herself as she hurries out.)
Jesu! Jesu!\\
~~Nelson. (Turning to Emma.) Emma, you will apologise to Captain
Hardy for what you have just said about the King and Queen.
Also to Captain Blackwood.\\
~~Emma. Apologise? Are you mad?\\
~~Nelson. They are serving Naval Officers of his Majesty the King
who must not ever be spoken of in such terms in their hearing.
Never. Understand me?\\
~~Emma. Because they've sworn a vow of loyalty to his old lunacy?\\
~~Nelson. Yes.\\
~~Emma. And vows are such sacred things, aren't they?\\
~~Nelson. Yes.\\
~~Emma. More sacred, I don't doubt, than vows sworn by certain
person in the bed-chamber.\\
~~Nelson. (Quietly.) All vows are equally sacred, Emma. Some
that are made unwillingly in church may have to be broken,
but there's no happiness in that---\\
~~Emma. Oh---no happiness. That's good. So that's where we are
now, is it? More happily in Tom Tit's bed-chamber than in
mine? Why don't you go back to it then, if that's how you
feel?\\
~~Nelson. (Not raising his voice.) Emma, you are making yourself a
spectacle to strangers---and above all things else in the
world I hate that. If you will apologise to the Captains, we
will forget it all.\\
~~Emma. (Scornfully.) And you'll love me after? You'll vow that?\\
~~Nelson. I will love you always. That needs no vow. You know it.\\
~~Emma. I don't know it. If I did there might be no need for
apologies now.\\
~~Nelson. (Sharply.) Do it, please, Emma---for my sake.\\
(There is a pause. Emma finishes her drink.)\\
~~Emma. I'll do better than you ask. To show them I meant no
real disrespect, I'll sing them the National Anthem. Can I
do fairer than that?\\
(Going to the harpsichord.)\\
And isn't it the proper way to round off a performance?
Kitty? Where's Kitty?\\
~~George. I'll get her. (Calling.) Mother, mother! Come quickly!
You're wanted at the harpsichord to play 'God Save the King'.\\
(Katherine flies in breathlessly.)\\
~~Emma. Kitty, I want you to play the National Anthem, while I
sing it.\\
~~Katherine. Oh, most gladly.\\
(She sits at the harpsichord and strikes up. The rest of the family,
evidently believing that the storm is over, come back. Emma waits for
them before beginning to sing. Then she turns to Nelson and sings
straight to him.)\\
~~Emma. (Singing.)\\
Join we great Nelson's name,\\
First on the rolls of Fame, \\
Him let us sing.\\
Spread we his fame around,\\
Honour of British ground,\\
Who made Nile's shores resound,\\
God save my King.\\
(And with a deep curtsey she makes perfectly plain exactly whom she
means as 'her King.')\\
(Abruptly.) That is the only verse I know---or care to learn.\\
(All look at Nelson to see how they should take Emma's 'apology'. He
applauds politely.)\\
~~Nelson. Well sung, indeed, dear Emma. I am, as always, most
deeply flattered by those words.\\
(Turning from her abruptly.)\\
Hardy, shall we talk in the dining-room? The weather seems
to have put my garden quarter-deck out of the question.
Blackwood, will you join us? You carry that despatch on you
for details?\\
~~Blackwood. Ay, ay, my Lord.\\
~~Nelson. If the rest of you should happen to be going to your
beds---\\
(It is a royal command and there is a general hasty murmur of assent.)\\
then I'll bid you all a collective good night, and a most
pleasant rest until tomorrow.\\
~~Chorus of voices. Goodnight, brother, brother-in-law, uncle,
etc.\\
(Nelson bows, and then quietly uchers Hardy and Blackwood out of
the room. We see the three men making their way to the dining-room.
Emma, now at the harpsichord, strumming some notes gently, laughs.)\\
~~Emma. (To the departing family.) Your loving aunt, sister, sister-in-law
and (To Minto.) fellow guest---echoes those sentiments. A
pleasant reso above all. Above all, that. A pleasant rest
indeed!\\
(The family murmuring politely, go out. They file past the dining-room
entrance before they disppear up the stairs. Emma, still plainly in a
fury, slams down the lid of the harpsichord and goes to pour herself
another drink. Minto is the last to leave the room.)\\
~~Minto. Good night, my Lady.\\
~~Emma. Minto, you stay.\\
~~Minto. It \textit{is} rather late.\\
~~Emma. When have you ever found ten past eleven late?\\
~~Minto. Well, I have some papers---\\
~~Emma. Minto, Minto! I know you think me a vulgar, drunken
slut, and wish me dead like a million others, but don't desert
me in my distress? Do you want me to face the thunder of
mighty Jove's wrath alone?\\
(Pause. Minto shrugging decides to stay.)\\
~~Minto. I have a thought that mighty Jove's thunder may quickly
turn into a baby's drum once your Ladyship has applied the
right arts.\\
~~Emma. The right arts? What are they?\\
~~Minto. Your Ladyship should know them by now.\\
~~Emma. Oh yes. Her Ladyship does. But so does his Lordship---and
that's the trouble.\\
(In the dining-room, we see the two captains and Nelson in conference.
Once again the table silver is being moved about.)\\
Or biginning to be.\\
~~Minto. (In mock wonderment.) When those arts fail the world end.\\
~~Emma. It will, for me.\\
~~Minto. And for him.\\
~~Emma. True. And for him. So they mustn't fail, must they?\\
~~Minto. They won't.\\
~~Emma. At this time of night I'll agree with you. Tomorrow
morning, when Francesca brings in my morning tankard, I'll
think different, and begin again to wonder. Oh, Minto, you
knew me five years ago. Was I quite such a vulgar, drunken
slut?\\
(Turning to him.)\\
Oh, no. You won't answer that, so I'll answer it for you.
Vulgar? Yes. Your Ladyship was always vulgar. Being a
blacksmith's daughter shows---it always must.\\
~~Minto. No.\\
~~Emma. (Scornfully.) There speaks your humbug English Whiggery.
(Imitating a political speach.) An honest blacksmith's honest
daughter can, in our blessed land of the free, rise to the
most exalted station in life---such as even Ambassador's
wife in Naples---and retain never a trace of her humble
beginnings. (Raising an imaginary quizzing glass.) A balcksmith's
daughter? Pon my soul, you'd hardly know it, save for her
inelegant bearing, her coarse mode of expression and her
large feet---\\
~~Minto. (Prostestingly.) Your Ladyship's feet---\\
~~Emma. Are large and crushed so into small slippers they give me
hell. But still---if I'm vulgar it's not just because I'm a blacksmith's
daughter, but because I'm plain vulgar---and would
be if I were the daughter of a duke---which, to a couple of
Dukes I could mention, I almost have been---and God save
us all from incestuous thoughts! Jesu Maria! Do you think I
couldn't have made myself into a genteel English lady under
old Sir Willum if I'd set my mind to it? But God, who'd want
to be as refined as, say Kitty Matcham? What a death in life!
(She drinks.) So---vulgar I always was, and vulgar I'll always
remain---and for choice. But slut? What of that, Minto?\\
~~Minto. Your Ladyship's generosity is known to be prodigious.
Why should it have stopped short of the bed?\\
~~Emma. (Thoughtfully.) Yes, I've been generous enough. I didn't
ever take money except in my teens. And old Sir Willum---ha
had no cause for complaint. He didn't want much---poor
old love---although what with my standing stark naked for
hours on a plinth in draughty rooms, while he---pottered
about in his special fashion---I caught a plaguy lot of colds.
Poor old Sir Willum! Well, I was an honest wife to him in my
own way.\\
(As Minto raises his eyebrows.)\\
Oh, yes---that was Sir Willum's way too. Cuckolded by
England's greatest hero? It kept the old boy alive. To be
honest---a bit too long for propriety's sake. Oh, what a boon
we all were then to the Cartoonists---with Sir Willum beaming
from a box at Drury Lane---and me beside him, eight
months gone with Horatia---and Nelson on the other side,
saluted from the stage with music and drums and patriotic
tableaux, and Tom Tit tucked in there into the bargain---\\
~~Minto. Where would she sit?\\
~~Emma. Behind us, of course. She knew her place, even then. But
getting all the sympathy, the bitch! That gentle, resigned
look, that smile of infinite understanding and forgiveness.
Oh, I could have strangled her!\\
(After a pause.)\\
Oh, Minto---yes---I know what you're thinking. What a
human monster she is, this Emma Hamilton, to hate the
woman she's dispossessed and humiliated! Well, I do---and
that's that. And I don't hate easily. But I'm scared of Tom
Tit and I hate what scares me.\\
~~Minto. She's no threat. Why does she scares you?\\
~~Emma. I don't know. (She shivers.) Perhaps because she's there
alive and waiting.\\
~~Minto. Not for him---\\
~~Emma. I don't know. But she's waiting---and making him feel
guilty and miserable with all those principles he learnt from
his father, the Rector. You can't blame her. That's her
revenge.\\
~~Minto. (Smiling.) As an Avenging Fury she is rather overparted.\\
~~Emma. Overparted my arsehole! Do you think an Avenging
Fury has to be a witch on a broomstick. A genttel and
rheumatic English lady with a refined sense of decorum, the
book of Common Prayer on her lap and the law on her side
does much better, I tell you. Get me another drink, love. It's
good for forgetting fear.\\
~~Minto. (Replenishing her glass.) I might remind your Ladyship
that it's also good for becoming drunk.\\
~~Emma. Oh yes. I've learnt that too. Well, Minto, there's 'vulgar'
and 'slut'. Now 'drunken'. How do you compare \textit{that} to
five years ago?\\
~~Minto. (Handing her a glass.) Your Ladyship has never seemed
averse from fortifying by artificial aids a vivacity already
richly endowed by nature.\\
~~Emma. Jesus! (She takes a long drink.)\\
~~Minto. (Seriously.) I think you drink more now, and get less
drunk.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Emma. Yes. You're a sharp one, Minto. Nothing much escapes
you, does it? I drink from morning until night, and no longer
for enjoyment. Mine or anyone else's, it seems. Still Hardy
was a cheeky bastard to have said what he did. I'm scared of
Hardy too---and he knows it. What do you think they're
plotting in the dining-room.\\
~~Minto. A battle.\\
~~Emma. To be fought by Collingwood.\\
~~Minto. (Piously.) And---let us pray for England's sake---to be
won by him.\\
~~Emma. Oh it will be. It's Nelson's plan. (Striding about in sudden
agitation.) I'm scared he's trying to shame Nelson into going
out again himself. He's foxy, that Hardy. He knows what the
muttering of a few words like 'Duty', 'Honour', 'England',
will do to my Nelson. He's muttering them in there now---never
fear. And I do fear. I fear that my arts---as you called
them---might be sunk by Captain Hardy's hornpipe.\\
~~Minto. (Seriously.) I don't think so.\\
~~Emma. (Eagerly.) You don't? I still look well enough, do I?\\
~~Minto. (Politely.) As desirable as when you sat for Romney.\\
~~Emma. (Sharply.) Don't say that! I can eat flattery, God knows,
but if you mention Romney, then I'll know you're lying.\\
~~Minto. (Quietly.) I didn't say beautiful. I said desirable.\\
~~Emma. By candle-light, to a man half-blind? (She dabs at her eyes.)
Brandy tears.\\
~~Minto. You must know that by candle-light or daylight, half-blind
or with both eyes clear, Nelson will always see you as
Romney saw you---as his Divine Lady.\\
~~Emma. But how do I see myself? Answer me that. When I get
up in the mornings and look at myself in my glass, don't you
think I don't say to myself---but he can't love \textit{that}! Not
\textit{that}! It's too absurd. So Francesca fills me up with a few
tankards of porter and brandy at breakfast, and by evening I'm the
Divine Lady again and I'm saying---but, of course Nelson
loves me, and he's damn lucky to have me. But tonight's
different, I don't know why. (She dabs her eyes again and puts
the handkerchief away.) Oh, my Nelson---I do love him!\\
~~Minto. I think you do.\\
~~Emma. Only \textit{think}, Minto? By heaven, I love my Nelson
more than I love life. (Catching herself in a dramatic posture.)
No that's an Attitude and I mustn't attitudinise about my feelings
for Nelson. Well, I suppose the truth is that I love Nelson because
he sees me in the only way I can ever bear to be seen by any
lover now---(With sudden anger.) He's been in there long
enough.\\
(She goes to the harpsichord.)\\
Shall I see if my arts still work?\\
(She opens the harpsichord and begins to strum some notes again.)\\
We have a signal. An absolute signal. The day he fails to
answer it I am lost. Mind you---after the way I've behaved
tonight ... Well, we'll see.\\
(She plays the verse of Rule Britannia, not loudly and heroically, but
rather gently and prettily. Nelson, in the dining-room looks up,
evidently hearing. Then he goes back to work.)\\
I'm nervous.\\
~~Minto. Perhaps the refrain itself is more commanding?\\
~~Emma. Oh no. We never get to the Rule Britannia bit. He thinks
it vulgar.\\
(She continues to play but nothing appears to happen. What in fact
does happen is that Nelson walks quickly out of the dining-room.)\\
(In alarm.) Minto, did I behave so badly tonight that he'll
\textit{never} forgive me?\\
(The question is answered for her as Nelson walks in. Emma rises from
the harpsichord and goes to Nelson. They kiss.)\\
(At length.) Minto, you told me you had some papers to read.\\
~~Minto. (At the door.) I am already appending my notes.\\
(He goes out. Left alone, Emma sinks gracefully on to one knee, bending
her head in submission.)\\
~~Emma. Nelson, the culprit begs forgiveness.\\
~~Nelson. (Trying to lift her.) Emma, Emma---\\
~~Emma. Oh, my Lord---I have most grievously offended, and I
hereby submit myself to your Lordship's great will.\\
~~Nelson. (Laughing at her.) You know what my will is, Emma.
Whether it's great is another matter---but it's unquenchable---that's
certain.\\
(He tries to lift her.)\\
~~Emma. No---I must first have your gracious pardon and on my
knee I beg it.\\
~~Nelson. Must we behave like this? There's no one here.\\
~~Emma. (Faintly irritated.) I thought you'd like to see me on my
knee before you, admitting my fault and craving humble
indulgence.\\
~~Nelson. I like to see you in any position before me, but not now
in an Attitude.\\
~~Emma. You don't like my Attitudes?\\
~~Nelson. (Succeeding in lifting her.) You know I adore them as I
adore you---but not always, dearest Emma. Not when we are
alone.\\
(He kisses her passionately now---and she responds.)\\
~~Emma. I was very bad, wasn't I?\\
~~Nelson. It's forgotten.\\
~~Emma. Didn't I call him a bugger?\\
~~Nelson. Yes, but let us hope, inaccurately.\\
~~Emma. I shamed you in front of all. Why do you put up with
me?\\
~~Nelson. Don't you know yet?\\
(He kisses her greedily now, fondling her.)\\
~~Emma. Have you finished talking to your Captains?\\
~~Nelson. Another five minutes.\\
~~Emma. I'll go straight up.\\
~~Nelson. Please---\\
~~Emma. I'll make it so good tonight---\\
~~Nelson. You don't need to make it anything but what it always
is---and that is bliss enough.\\
~~Emma. Who's attitudinising now?\\
~~Nelson. Oh, it's not an Attitude, my dearest, dearest heart. If
you could only know the joy---the wonder---you see my hand
is trembling---\\
~~Emma. And that's not all. Come up very soon. When I do shame
you, it's only out of love, and fear of losing you---\\
~~Nelson. How could you ever lose me?\\
(Katherine appears at the entrance. Neither Nelson nor Emma trouble
to move.)\\
~~Emma. Come in, Kitty.\\
(Katherine comes in, and takes in the scene with pleasure, but little
surprise.)\\
~~Katherine. Forgive me, dear brother, dear Emma---\\
~~Nelson. (Still holding Emma.) Come in, Kitty. What is it?\\
~~Katherine. Young George---it's his last night. He leaves very
early in the morning and may not see you, and he does so
want to say goodbye.\\
~~Emma. Send him in. I like young George. Five years older, I
could make you jealous of young George---\\
~~Katherine. (Smirking.) Dearest Emma---always so generous
about the family---\\
(Going to the door.)\\
And he has some special message he want to deliver to
Horatio---\\
~~Emma. (Smiling.) And not to me?\\
~~Katherine. (Beckoning.) I don't think so. He's very secretive
about it. Come in, dear.\\
(George comes in, very frightened, still and grave-faced.)\\
(To George.) Don't be scared. And please say all the right
thing to your great and gracious host and hostess.\\
(She goes out. Nelson and Emma, who have remained locked until this
moment, separate and smile at George warmly.)\\
~~George. I want to thank you both for the most memorable four
days of my life.\\
~~Emma. (Kissing him fondly.) Dearest George, I have loved having
you as my guest at Merton and I promise I'll make sure that
it won't be long before you return.\\
~~George. (Bowing.) I am most grateful, my Lady.\\
~~Emma. What's this my Lady again?\\
~~George. I'm sorry. Aunt Emma.\\
~~Emma. (To Nelson.) Don't be long. And you tell your Captain
Hardy I'm sorry for having called him a bugger---\\
(Blowing a kiss to George she goes out. George, left alone with
Nelson, is plainly nervourts, but equally plainly conscious of a duty
to be performed. Nelson is gazing after Emma, hardly conscious of
George. George fumbles in his pockets.)\\
~~George. I have this to give you, Uncle Horatio.\\
(He produces an object wrapped in paper.)\\
~~Nelson. (Unwraps it). What is it?\\
~~George. It's supposed to be against the ague. I was asked to give
it to you by our maid at Bath.\\
~~Nelson. Very kind.\\
~~George. I told her you had hundreds of such things sent you
through the post, but she insisted I give it to you personally
and be sure to tell you it came from our Betsy.\\
~~Nelson (Smiling.) I must remember to write to her.\\
(Picking up his brief-case which he has carried in from the dining-room.)\\
Well--why don't I do it now, and you may deliver it to her?
I hope she will forgive a pencil?\\
~~George. Oh, but you shouldn't bother---\\
~~Nelson. (Writing.) Of course I should. Betsy---you say?\\
~~George. Yes.\\
(After a pause, while Nelson writes.)\\
But you shouldn't strain your eyes, Uncle---especially with
writing letters that aren't important---\\
~~Nelson. Oh, but a letter of thanks for a kindly thought \textit{is}
important, George. Very important. Whatever they say of me,
they mustn't ever say that I have forgotten my manners ...
your most grateful servant, Nelson and Bronte.\\
(He hands George the letter.)\\
~~George. She'll be---I don't know what she'll be. I hope she
doesn't sell it, that's all.\\
~~Nelson. Let her. But not for too small a price.\\
(Coming from the desk to shake hands.)\\
You have been a most pleasant guest, George, and are growing
into a fine young man. As her Ladyship says, you will
always be welcome at Merton.\\
~~George. Thank you.\\
(As Nelson has stepped away.)\\
There's just one other thing.\\
(Nelson stops and turns.)\\
You may be angry---\\
~~Nelson. With you? Never.\\
~~George. I've brought a letter to you from your wife.\\
(George takes it out of his pocket. Nelson makes no move to take it.)\\
(There is a pause.)\\
~~Nelson. (Quietly.) That you should never have done.\\
~~George. I gave a promise.\\
~~Nelson. That, too, you should not have done. To whom did you
give this promise?\\
~~George. To Aunt Frances.\\
~~Nelson. (Angrily.) Don't call her that! (Controlling himself.) Where
did you meet Lady Nelson?\\
~~George. In Bath, by accident.\\
~~Nelson. Where were your mother and father?\\
~~George. They had just gone on the London coach.\\
~~Nelson. And you were alone?\\
~~George. Yes.\\
~~Nelson. (Bitterly.) By \textit{accident}!\\
(He snatches the letter from George, but doesn't attempt to open it.)\\
This is not her handwriting.\\
~~George. No, it's mine.\\
~~Nelson. Why is it yours?\\
~~George. The other covering was written on already. You see,
it's a letter she wrote to you some time ago, and it went---astray.
You never read it, she's sure, and she's very anxious
for you to read it now.\\
~~Nelson. Went astray? How?\\
~~George. I---er---don't quite know.\\
~~Nelson. Very well. You've fulfilled your promise.\\
(He throws it unopened onto a table.)\\
And never make such a promise again.\\
~~George. No, Uncle Horatio.\\
~~Nelson. Well, (Patting his shoulder.) it's not you who are to
blame I suppose. Go to bed.\\
~~George. There's just one thing else. I promised her you would
read it.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Nelson. (With quiet rage.) How did you dare to do that?\\
~~George. I didn't know how you felt, then. But I thought
whatever's happened, a husband can surely still read a letter
from his wife. Especially you---\\
~~Nelson. Especcially me?\\
~~George. Especially, when the husband is you---of all people in
the world.\\
~~Nelson. Thank you for the compliment, but this is a husband of
all husbands in the world who happens to prefer to think his
wife is no longer alive.\\
~~George. (With spirit.) But she \textit{is} alive, isn't she, Uncle
Horatio? As alive, anyway, as our maid Betsy. I mean---didn't you
speak, just now, about manners?\\
(There is a pause. Neslon clenches and unclenches his fist, like a man
whose patience is very strained. Then he abruptly picks up the letter,
opens the covering, and pulls out the enclosure. He has only read a
couple of sentences when he screws the letter up and hurls it to
the floor.)\\
~~Nelson. (Now in open rage.) You double-deanling, traitorous dog!
It's a plot! I'll have you kicked out of this house tonight, and
never come back!\\
(At the hall dor, shouting.)\\
Kitty! Kitty! Come here at once! And Matcham too! Come
down! (To George.) I'll make you regret this trick you've
played on me for the rest of your life---\\
~~George. But I played no trick, Uncle---\\
~~Nelson. To bring me a letter of such vileness that I had to
return it to her three years ago---\\
~~George. Vileness? How can you say that about it?\\
(Katherine has appeared breathlessly.)\\
~~Katherine. What is it, Horatio?\\
(Nelson ignores her. He is staring at the boy. Matcham, in a
dressing-gown appears behind Katherine.)\\
~~Nelson. (To George.) You've read this letter?\\
~~George. Yes.\\
~~Nelson. She gave it to you to \textit{read}?\\
~~George. She said I could---just to make sure it wasn't what
you've just called it. (Boldly.) And it wasn't, it wasn't vile. Oh
God, Uncle, I wish I could see it \textit{was}, oh God, I do---\\
~~Katherine. (Murmuring.) Don't blaspheme---\\
~~George. (Picking up the letter.) But I can't see that it's a letter
that any man should have sent back to his wife, with such a
cruel message on it---\\
~~Nelson. (Very quietly.) Least of all me?\\
(Emma comes into the room, pushing aside the frightened Matchams.)\\
~~Emma. What's this?\\
~~Nelson. It has nothing to do with you, Emma.\\
~~Emma. Nothing to do with \textit{me}? You, shouting in a rage all over
the house, and now shaking like you had the palsy---and it's
nothing to do with me? Tell me this instance.\\
~~Nelson. I won't speak of it now---or probably ever. Just---take
this boy away from me, please.\\
~~Emma. (To Katherine.) What has he done?\\
~~Katherine. (Murmuring unhappily.) I don't know---but I think
he's brought some letter from Tom Tit---\\
~~Emma. (Appalled, to George.) Is that true?\\
(George is too distraught with what he seems to have done to Nelson
to answer her.)\\
You answer me, then, Nelson. Is that true?\\
~~Nelson. I tell you---it is none of your business.\\
~~Emma. (Thunderstruck.) A secret letter from Tom Tit to you not
my business?\\
~~Nelson. (Raising his voice.) Leave me be. I must go out.\\
~~Emma. Go out in this weather? Are you mad?\\
~~Nelson. Matcham---light me a lantern, please.\\
(Matcham goes to the hall area. Neslon is following him when Emma
interposes herself.)\\
~~Emma. You are cerntainly not going out in this weather, Nelson---and
you are not leaving this room until I have a proper
explanation.\\
~~Neslon. (With his suddenly commanding voice.) Make way, if you
please.\\
(Matcham comes in, lighting a lantern.)\\
~~Emma. Don't give him that.\\
~~Nelson. The lantern please, Matcham.\\
~~Matcham. But Lady Hamilton has just said---\\
~~Nelson. This is my house and not yet Lady Hamilton's, although
she is sometimes pleased to think that it is otherwise. If I
wish to leave it for my garden, I do so without her permission.
Give me that lantern.\\
(Matcham hands him the lantern. Emma still bars the way.)\\
~~Emma. (Still interposing herself.) Nelson, I'll not endure this. I'm
coming with you.\\
~~Nelson. (Coldly.) No. I go alone. (As Emma still bars his way.)
By your leave, My Lady.\\
~~Emma. (Taking a step back.) My Lady?\\
(Nelson walks past her, finds a cloak, wraps it around him and turns.)\\
~~Nelson. (To Matcham.) You will please get your boy to his
room---\\
~~Emma. To his room? We'll whip the hide off him.\\
~~Nelson. (His voice coldly cutting across hers.) No, he will not be
harmed in any way at all. Anyone who dares to do so---or
orders it done---(Looking Emma.) anyone at all---will leave
my house tonight. (To the Matchams.) You will take him to
his room, Matcham. He leaves early anyway. I should have
remembered that. I am truly sorry to have disturbed you
both. Good night, again.\\
(He goes out. Emma runs after him.)\\
~~Emma. (Shouting.) Nelson. (Then more pleadingly.) Nelson ...\\
(Nelson walks away from her without looking back.)\\
(The lights fade to a complete blackout. During it we hear, at first, some
music indicative of inner turmoil, and then the sound of wind and rain,
intermingled at a moment by a peal of thunder.)\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scene 2\\
(When the lights come on again it is to show the dining-room where
Hardy, still and wide-awake, and Blackwood, asleep, are waiting.
After several moments Nelson appears as from the front door. His cloak
is now dripping wet. He makes his way quietly towards the stairs, sees
candles still alight in the dining-room and goes towards it. Hardy
stands up as Nelson enters.)\\
~~Nelson. (Standing at the entrance.) I fear you have had a long
watch.\\
~~Hardy. Oh, I had company.\\
(Blackwood stumbles to his feet at the sound of Nelson's voice.)\\
~~Blackwood. My Lord---you are s-s-safe returned?\\
~~Nelson. (Smiling.) That safety can only be measured by the
state of my health in the morning.\\
(He takes off his dripping cloak and lays it across a chair. Then he rubs
his hand under his stump.)\\
~~Blackwood. Hardy and I---well l-l-looked everywhere for you.\\
~~Nelson. Didn't Hardy guess where I was?\\
~~Hardy. (To Blackwood.) Captain Blackwood, it is time for
your bunk. You leave for Portsmouth at dawn---which is in
rather less than two hours.\\
~~Blackwood. Ay, ay, Captain. (Bowing, naval fashion.) Lord
Nelson, I confess I am most h-h-heartly relieved to see you
s-s-standing here before me. I had so much f-feared---we had
all so much f-feared---Her Ladyship has even s-sent search
parties out---\\
~~Nelson. (To Hardy.) Where is she?\\
~~Hardy. In bed at last.\\
~~Nelson. (To Blackwood.) Good night, Captain Blackwood---or
what remains of this night. I am most sorry to have
disturbed the larger part of it.\\
~~Blackwood. Oh, My Lord, that was n-n-nothing. (Bowing.)
My Lord.\\
(He goes and we see him mounting the stairs to bed.)\\
~~Nelson. (To Hardy.) Didn't you guess where I was?\\
~~~Hardy. Yes, of course---but as you had plainly hidden yourself
away on that particular crow's nest of yours, and as it is so
very private---even if a little unsheltered on such a night---I
knew you had no wish to be disturbed there---even by me. (He
feels his cloak.) You should take a double tot of grog, I think.\\
~~Nelson. (Pretending to be outraged.) Grog, Hardy? My best
French brandy?\\
(He allows Hardy to fill a glass and pour some drops down his throat.)\\
But I suppose it would hardly be called a hero's death to die
of a chill contracted on the roof of a folly in my garden, after
a tiff with my mistress.\\
~~Hardy. By all accounts it was something more than a tiff.\\
~~Nelson. Yes, it was, I suppose. Was there great uproar afterwards?\\
~~Hardy. Not many turned in before three, I think. Her Ladyship
even later.\\
~~Nelson. (Smiling) And she sent out search parties?\\
~~Hardy. Yes, but surprisingly refused at all times to go out
herself.\\
~~Nelson. Oh no. She would never go out herself.\\
~~Hardy. A matter of pride or of weather?\\
~~Nelson. Pride. I must always go to her. And go I will, when I
have rid myself of this shivering. (He pours another small glass.)
Where is the boy?\\
~~Hardy. In his room.\\
~~Nelson. He has not been beaten?\\
~~Hardy. No. You had forbidden it.\\
~~Nelson. And the letter? With what spirited version did she
oblige you all of that occurrence?\\
~~Hardy. That the boy brought you a written message from your
wife so vile that you could only throw it back in his face, and
order him out of the house, never to be seen or spoken to
again, and that then---for some mad reason that she cannot
for the life of her fathom---you turned on her and insulted
her and called her 'Her Ladyship', and went rushing off into
the night---after saying of all wicked things, in the world, it
was none of her poxy business. Am I well briefed?\\
~~Nelson. She has added some colour, but you're briefed well
enough. (Anxiously.) This letter? Did \textit{she} read it?\\
~~Hardy. No. The boy has locked it up, and hidden the key.
There has been, as your Lordship might imagine, something
of a hue and cry.\\
~~Nelson. Has he talked?\\
~~Hardy. No.\\
~~Nelson. Not a word?\\
~~Hardy. Not that I know of.\\
~~Nelson. Not even that he read the letter himself?\\
~~ Hardy. His mother heard him say that to you.\\
~~Nelson. Yes, I suppose she did. And she heard, and has no
doubt informed you all, of his description of it---as the kind
of letter that no honourable man would ever send back to his
wife?\\
~~Hardy. No one, of course, will believe that.\\
~~Nelson. And why not, Hardy? Why in God's name not? Isn't
it all of a piece with what's known of the case. A faithful
loving wife, most foully wronged by her hsuband and living
now in loneliness and despair because that very villain who
has thrown her off so cruelly has bribed his family and
threatened his friends to make them desert her too? A pitiful,
mistreated wretch, flying her flag with genteel dignity in
Bath, while her besotted husband rolicks away his honour and
reputation in drunkennes and lechery with the mother of his
bastard child. That's how that boy now sees it, Hardy. Why
shouldn't the world see it too, through his eyes?\\
~~Hardy. The world is not your nephew, my Lord.\\
~~Nelson. I'm not at all so sure my nephew is not the world.\\
~~Hardy. Well---young eyes usually see the truth of things in a
distorting mirror---and so does the world, I suppose.\\
~~Nelson. But how is this truth distorted?\\
~~Hardy. How can I answer that without facts?\\
~~Nelson. You have the facts.\\
~~Hardy. (Losing patience.) I have the fact that you have wronged
your wife. What you have never told me is \textit{how} your wife
has wronged you. I only know that she has.\\
~~Nelson. How do you know?\\
~~Hardy. Because I'm your friend and I know as a simple truth
that you---Lord Nelson---could never behave as you have and
as you do to that lady unless she had first done you some most
grievous wrong.\\
(After a pause.)\\
She has, has she not?\\
~~Nelson. Yes.\\
~~Hardy. Most grievous?\\
~~Nelson. Yes.\\
~~Hardy. I don't ask how. I only ask, how if the true facts are not
known, how can the world pass true judgement?\\
(Nelson rises abruptly.)\\
~~Nelson. Oh God, how easy compassion is! You don't understand
it at all, Hardy---\\
~~Hardy. I said if I knew the true facts---\\
~~Nelson. (In mounting fury.) You know the true facts. Six years
ago, in Naples, I wittingly and of my own free will, deserted a
loving and loyal wife for the embraces of a notorious charmer.
How much did you all laugh in the wardroom of the Vanguard when
you saw that happening? 'Not for the one who displayed
herself naked for show at fourteen in Vauxhall Gardens, who
was sold by Greville to Hamilton as payment for a bad debt,
and has been bedded by half the nobility and gentry of
England before becoming Sir William's wife? Not leaving his
wife for \textit{her}! Not for \textit{Emma} Hamilton!' Do
you think I never imagined how loud that laughter must have
been?\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Hardy. My Lord, the wardroom could not have guessed that
you were so aware. I did not guess it myself, until this minute.
You pretend very well, you see.\\
~~Nelson. Oh God, Hardy---how do you think I can keep my
sanity and not be aware?\\
(Pause. He turns his face from Hardy.)\\
My Divine Lady? God in Heaven, Hardy, when Emma
throws a glass of champagne, after an insult to my King,
don't you think I see exactly what you see, a drunken, middle-aged
woman making a fool of herself and of me. Do you think
I relish the gutter-talk, don't wince at the vulagrity, and
have lost the capacity to smell liquor on the breath? Do you
think I don't feel blasted with shame nearly every day that I
spend at Emm's side?\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Hardy. Then why have you so long endured such days?\\
~~Nelson. (Facing him.) Because after the days there are the
nights.\\
(Pause. Nelson smiles.)\\
And now of course, you are asking youself the question:
how can any love be respected that begins and ends in the
bad?\\
~~Hardy. Yes. How can it?\\
~~Nelson. To me, very easily. To the forty-year-old Admiral who
had never known or enjoyed what most other men have
enjoyed and long since forgotten---that in the release
of the bed there lies an ecstacy so strong and a satisfaction so
profound that it seems that it is everything that life can offer
a man, the very purpopse of his existence on earth---well to
that poor crass innocent of an Admiral in Naples Bay the
question was not so easy---oh, no, Hardy, not easy at all. You
must remember, you see, that, even at that age, I was still
the rector's son who, from the cradle, had been preached the
abomination of carnal love, and the ineffable joys of holy
wedlock. But when at last I surrendered to Emma, I
found---why should I be ashamed to say it?---that carnal love
concerns the soul quite as much as it concerns the body. For the
body \underline{is} still the soul and the soul \underline{is}
still the body. At least they are for me. You must understand
that there is nothing in Emma I would change, Hardy. I love her and
I want her exactly as she is---because I am obsessed and I want her
\underline{absolutely}.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Hardy. I don't think this love of yours does begin and end in the
bed, My Lord.\\
~~Nelson. You are right. And yet without the bed what would it
be? Nothing. But that other love---that ineffable bliss of
wedlock---the one so blessed by my father and thought by all
the world so fitting for a nationalhero; the tight brave smile,
the rigid body the---'if this makes my beloved husband happy
then I'll do it, even if the messy business quite disgusts my
well-bred sensibilities'. Oh Hardy, that was a hell of
humiliation---a hell---but a hell from which I am now so very
happily escaped---\\
(He covered his face. The he rises, nods to Hardy and goes out to the
stairs.)\\
We should get \textit{some} rest.\\
(Hardy follows him.)\\
~~Hardy. (On the stairs.) Did you say happily, My Lord.\\
~~Nelson. (Continuing up the stairs.) Find another word if you like.
Satisfyingly?\\
~~Hardy. Is it so satisfying to be laughed at in Clarges Street?\\
(Nelson stops short.)\\
~~Nelson. That was nothing. A few brutish boors, probably hired
by my enemies.\\
~~Hardy. Has your Lordship any enemies, apart from the French?
I doubt if Napoleon would hire spies to risk jeering you into
going out again to sea.\\
(Nelson turns violently and stares down at Hardy.)\\
~~Nelson. God damn you, Hardy, but you fight foul! (Looks down
at him.) I'll not go out to Cadiz, do you hear?\\
~~Hardy. I hear.\\
(Nelson makes his way brusquely down the stairs and into the sitting-room.
Hardy follows him. In the sitting-room Nelson picks up his brief-case.)\\
~~Nelson. (Loudly, not knowing Hardy has followed him.) It's all
you've thought about since that morning in Clarges Street.
'I don't care how sacred a vow is', you've said, 'I don't care
what it may cost him in spirit and health and love. I'll get
him to go out again.' Well, Hardy, you won't and that'a an
end of it. Let them laugh and guffaw at me in the streets, and
let them cheer Colllingwood as their new hero---\\
~~Hardy. (At his elbow, quietly.) No. That they'll not do.\\
~~Nelson. Of course they will, when he wins his battle.\\
~~Hardy. He won't win it. Mind you I don't say he'll lose it either.
A couple of prizes, perhaps, and some damage to their flagship.
Perhaps some damage to one or two of ours, but which
must happen when two lines of warships sail in parallel,
exchanging broadsides---\\
~~Nelson. In parallel? Are you mad? Go back to the dining-room
and study my plan.\\
~~Hardy. I had many hours tonight to study it, My Lord. Laid
out with all your silver, it looks very pretty.\\
~~Nelson. God damn it, Hardy, where in blazes on that table are
two parallel lines of battle? Are you mad or drunk, sir? The
two British lines of battle point at right angles to the enemy
line, one at his heart, the other at his liver. The very genius
of the plan is to reverse completely all the rules by which
naval battles until now have been fought, and to abolish
parallel lines altogether, with their formal cannonading and
their couiple or three of prizes and some damage to a flagship.
This is \textit{annihilation}, Hardy.\\
~~Hardy. (Politely.) Yes, My Lord, I have often heard you say so.\\
~~Nelson. After this battle the French and Spanish fleets must
never put to sea again. Not a single ship among them. God
damn your eyes, Hardy, if my plan means anything at all, it
means victory so complete and absolute that we will rule the
seas and oceans for perhaps a hundred years---\\
~~Hardy. Oh yes, it \textit{is} a very pretty plan.\\
~~Nelson. (Beside himself.) Pretty? Pretty? By God, Hardy, if I
had two arms I would throttel you for that.\\
~~Hardy. I only meant that it looks pretty on your dining-table,
My Lord. I also meant that your dining-table was not the
Atlantic ocean.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Nelson. I've thought of everything, haven't I?\\
~~Hardy. Nearly everything.\\
~~Nelson. What have I left out?\\
~~Hardy. Yourself.\\
(Pause. Nelson laughs.)\\
~~Nelson. Do you think I can be caught by so foolish and obvious
a trap? Collingwood is a great commander.\\
~~Hardy. Not great. Say good---\\
~~Nelson. Good enough to win the battle with this plan.\\
~~Hardy. If he uses it.\\
~~Nelson. Why should he not use it? When I last saw him he
agreed to it in every detail---\\
~~Hardy. I've no doubt. But when, in a few weeks' time, he sees
thirty or more French and Spanish sail, in line of battle, on
his horizon---and it will be quite an awesome sight---five
miles or more of broadsides facing him and his outnumbered
fleet---which does your Lordship \textit{really} believe he'll
follow---your plan or the training of a lifetime?\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Nelson. My plan.\\
~~Hardy. May you be right. Myself I believe that no Admiral in
the world would risk losing his entire fleet in a single afternoon
by following a revolutionary plan of battle, never tried
before, and conceived by a genious who has decided to be
absent from the action.\\
(Nelson is silent, unable to answer. The figure of George can be seen
stealthily descending the stairs and making for the front door. He is
carrying a bag.)\\
(During this.) Well---My Lord---have I your leave to go to
bed? The thought of it is infinitely inviting.\\
~~Nelson. (Sharply.) Who is that in the hall?\\
(Hardy goes quickly out of the dining-room and confronts George
who, startled, tries to go back up the stairs. Nelson has followed
Hardy to the dining-room entrance.)\\
Is it young George?\\
~~Hardy. Yes, My Lord.\\
~~Nelson. Come in here, George. (As George hesitates, commandingly.)
Come in here. (To Hardy.) Good-night, Captain Hardy.\\
~~Hardy. (Bowing.) Your Lordship.\\
(He goes up the stairs. George appears in the dining-room, reluctantly.)\\
~~Nelson. Where are you going at this hour? You're not due to
leave until eight---and then with your father and mother.\\
~~George. Yes.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Nelson. Where were you intending to walk to tonight?\\
~~George. London, I think.\\
~~Nelson. Nineteen miles, in the rain?\\
~~George. It's stopped raining.\\
~~Nelson. Give me that. (He takes the bag.) Sit down.\\
(George sits awkwardly.)\\
You're running away?\\
(George nods.)\\
From me and Lady Hamilton? Well, that I undestand. But
why from your father and mother?\\
(George doesn't answer.)\\
Did you think you were going to be beaten?\\
~~George. I wouldn't have minded.\\
~~Nelson. What is it then?\\
~~George. I want to leave this house, that's all.\\
~~Nelson. You \textit{are} leaving this house, in three hours---with
your parents.\\
~~George. I don't want them talking to me. They'll ask questions
that I can't answer. Please, I don't want to talk to you either.
May I go?\\
~~Nelson. No. (He pours out a glass of wine.) You look as if you'd
been crying. Have you?\\
~~George. Not much.\\
~~Nelson. You'd better drink this.\\
~~George. I don't want it.\\
~~Nelson. It'll make you feel better.\\
~~George. Nothing will make me feel better. Nothing as long as
I live.\\
~~Nelson. Drink it.\\
(George takes it obediently, sips a mouthful and hands it back hastily.)\\
You take things too hard. I called you some names, and said
some things I didn't mean.\\
~~George. You didn't say anything bad.\\
~~Nelson. Well, whatever it was I said that upset you, you must
forget it.\\
~~George. I'll try. May I go?\\
~~Nelson. George---what have I done?\\
~~George. Nothing.\\
~~Nelson. (Pointing to the bag.) You have that letter in there?\\
~~George. Yes.\\
~~Nelson. You're going to return it to her?\\
~~George. No, of course not. If I see her I'll just say I delivered it,
as I promised, and that you read it.\\
~~Nelson. And called it vile?\\
~~George. No, never.\\
~~Nelson. Why are you keeping it?\\
~~George. To read again.\\
~~Nelson. Why?\\
~~George. I might understand.\\
~~Nelson. Might you? I don't think you will.\\
~~George. Nor do I.\\
~~Nelson. Will you promise never to show it to anyone else in the
world?\\
~~George. What kind of person do you think I am?\\
(Pause. Nelson pours himself another brandy.)\\
~~Nelson. A very good, brave and most honourable boy. A
nephew I am proud to have.\\
(George makes a sound.)\\
Don't laugh. Too many people laugh at me these days.
Despise me, if you like, but don't laugh. What I just said was
true.\\
(He finishes the brandy, and faces George.)\\
Very well, George. Here it is. Now you may begin your
lesson in the understanding of adult emotions. (Quietly and
without the faintest effort of memory.) 'The eighteenth of
December eighteen hundred and one. My dearest husband, it is
some time that I have written to you. The silence you have
imposed is more than my affection will allow me---\\
(George stares at him with wide eyes.)\\
'and in this instance I hope you will forgive me for not obeying
you. One thing I omitted in my letter of July which I now have
to offer for your accommodation---a comfortable warm house.'\\
(George, understanding that Nelson has not only read the letter, but
in fact knows it by heart, drops his head in misery.)\\
(Continuing gently but remorselessly.) 'Do, my dear husband, let
us live together. I can never be happy until such an event
takes place. I assure you again, I have but one wish in the
world, to please you. Let everything be buried in oblivion, it
will pass away like a dream.'\\
(George makes a gesture for him to stop.)\\
Hear it out. A few more tears tonight won't hurt. 'I can only
entreat you to believe I am most sincerely and affectionately
your wife, Frances H. Nelson.'\\
(He pours himself another brandy.)\\
You see that you and she need have had no fears that I didn't
read it.\\
~~Geroge. (At length.) And sent it back---with that message?\\
~~Nelson. (nodding.) I, of all people in the world---\\
~~George. What did she do to you to make you do that? It
must have been something really dreadful---\\
~~Nelson. It was.\\
~~George. What was it?\\
~~Nelson. She wrote me that letter.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~George. But it's a kind and loving letter.\\
~~Nelson. It's brutal.\\
~~George. It isn't---\\
~~Nelson. Many brutal acts are done out of love and kindness,
George. Perhaps most. (Seeing his blank face.) Oh dear God,
must I explain? Is this so important to you?\\
~~George. (Simply.) The most important thing on earth.\\
~~Nelson. It won't save my honour, which you seem so to cherish.\\
~~George. If it's true, it will.\\
~~Nelson. It's true.\\
(He sits beside him, and speaks very quietly.)\\
George, when one has done wrong to someone---an open
wrong, a shameful and humilating wrong, a wrong on an
epic scale, to be forgiven for it is the very hell.\\
(He drinks. George stares at him in silence.)\\
I shock you, of course. You're my Reverend father's grandson
and to answer forgiveness by hatred must seem unchristian
at the least. But is it? Jesus told us how to answer a blow on
the cheek, but he never told us how to answer a kiss. I haven't
always been a bad Christian, George. I've even managed
sometimes, to love my enemies a little. Not too much, mind you.
Moderation in all things. But I do try to save them from
drowing, even at risk to our ships, and no one can say I ever
treated a prisoner-of-war other than with honour and gentleness.
But George---\\
(He seems to find it hard to continue. George's eyes are unwaveringly
fixed on his, and they are the eyes of his own conscience.)\\
George---what about an enemy who won't retaliate? Who
answeres every broadside with a signal gently fluttering at the
mast which says: 'Whatever you do to me, my dearest
husband, I will always forgive you and go on loving you for
ever.' What about that enemy, George? In this matter of
loving enemies my dearest wife has beat me in the chase.
What is there, then, left for me but to hate?\\
(He finishes his glass and goes back to the table, looking down on the
preteded battle. There is a long pause.)\\
That ends your opening lesson in a long and difficult course.
Human love and human hate. It's a perplexing study for
anyone.\\
(He pours himself another brandy, watched, in silence by George.
Minto, in a dressing gown is descending the stairs.)\\
(After drinking.) For anyone in the world. And I never went
to school. Not your kind of school. An eleven-year-old
midshipman may learn many things if he is diligent---but
not very much about life.\\
(Minto, having heard voices, makes a discreet appearance at the door.
He is plainly surprised to see George, but masks it with the ease of
an accomplished ambassador.)\\
~~Minto. I trust I don't interrupt?\\
~~Nelson. George and I were discussing certain metaphysical
matters. I have been trying to unravel a puzzle for him. (To
George.) Have you understood, even a little.\\
~~George. No.\\
~~Nelson. Well, you're in good company. (He leads him to the hall.)
Go back to your room, now. (Trying to be inaudible to Minto.)
No more of this nonsense of running away. It's cowardly to
run away, didn't you know that? (George nods.) Well, then,
back to your bed.\\
(He pushes him towards the stairs and watches him as he mounts them.)\\
Good night, George.\\
(George continues on his way for a few steps before stopping.)\\
~~George. Good night---Uncle Horatio. (He continues to go up.)
Thank you for the port.\\
(Nelson turns quickly and goes into the dining-room, where he finds
Minto sipping a glass of brandy.)\\
~~Minto. (Indicating the glass.) Either a little too early or else a little
too late. It is difficult to know. I grant it is not the first time
in my life that I have been similarly confused. I have a
message for you.\\
~~Nelson. I can guess it.\\
~~Minto. I have no doubt. My Lord, but may I satisfy my conscience by
delivering it. (He finishes his brandy.) Both too early
and too late. Her Ladyship has just paid me the delightful
compliment of rousing me from my sleep. It appears that she
heard your and Hardy's voices on the stairs some moments
ago. They awakened her, in fact.\\
~~Nelson. (Wearily.) And I am commanded to go to her at once.\\
~~Minto. No, My Lord.\\
~~Nelson. No?\\
~~Minto. My message is the reverse. Her Ladyship feels herself so
mortified by the events of tonight that she has found herself
in honour bound (Yawinig.) forgive me---to lock and bolt the
doors of her bedroom and she wishes me categorically to
affirm that no knock of entreaties, however loud and piteous,
will induce her to open them before mid-day (Yawning again.)
---oh dear---when she has ordered her carriage to take her on a
round of visits to various gentlemen with whom she feels she
will be a more welcome guest than under your Lordship's
roof. Now I trust I have delivered her correctly. I was particularly
to remember the part about the roof. So, if your
Lordship will forgive me, I will return to my bed and pray to
be allowed to sleep reasonably undisturbed by the ensuing
commotions.\\
~~Nelson. You may sleep soundly. There will be no knocks or
entreaties. As for the round of visits tomorrow---well mid-day
is still many hours away, and, who knows, the various
gentlemen may even yet be disappointed.\\
(He has accompained Minto into the hall. Minto begins to mount the
stairs, then notices that Nelson is moving back towards the
dining-room.)\\
~~Minto. Where will you sleep?\\
~~Nelson. Oh, I'll find somewhere. Who knows, Minto? It is
always possible, don't you think, that those bolts may not
hold?\\
(Emotion suddenly seems to overcome him. It is with difficulty that
he manages a smile on these last words.)\\
They should, by now, have grown a trifle rusty.\\
(He puts his hand to his face and, turning his back on Minto, goes back
quickly into the dining-room, where he collapses into a chair, his
whole body suddenly shaken with an access of dry, soundless sobs. On
the stairs Minto hesitates, seriously considering whether he should go
to him or not. He decides, rightly, against, and disappears.\\
In the dining-room Nelson reaches a trembling hand for some brandy,
pours it with difficulty and drinks it. We have been witnessing not
only the pent-up emothional outburst of a deeply distressed man, but
also one of those celebrated ague fits for which Betsy of Bath has hoped
to provoide the remedy.\\
It is some time before he has recovered himself enough to rest his head
on his hand outstretched on the table---no longer ague-ridden and sobbing,
but utterly exhausted.\\
After a few moments Emma appears at the head of the staircase. She is
in a peignoir. She comes down the stairs with extreme timidity---at one
moment even apparently considering a return to her room. Then she
makes up her mind and walks to the dining-room entrance. She looks at
Nelson for a moment then slides into the chair next to his, and rests
her head on his shoulder.)\\
~~Emma. Oh Nelson, forgive me!\\
(Nelson looks up. For a moment he seems so dazed as not to take in her
presence.)\\
~~Nelson. (At length.) For what, my dearest?\\
~~Emma. For whatever I did.\\
~~Nelson. What was it?\\
~~Emma. I thought \textit{you'd} tell \textit{me}\\
~~Nelson. I can't, Emma, I don't know.\\
~~Emma. I expect you'll remember. And I'm sure it was something
dreadful I did to you.\\
~~Nelson. You did nothing dreadful to me, my dearest. You
never have and you never could. (Feeling her hand.) You're
cold.\\
~~Emma. Sleeping alone can freeze a lady---\\
~~Nelson. Well---that at least can be rectified.\\
(He gets up and stretches himself. Emma puts her head on his breast again,
lovingly and timidly.)\\
~~Emma. I've been so scared.\\
~~Nelson. What of?\\
~~Emma. That you'd left me.\\
~~Nelson. I'll never leave you, Emma. Not until death.\\
~~Emma. Have you been drinking brandy?\\
~~Nelson. Rather a lot, it seems.\\
~~Emma. Learning from me, eh?\\
~~Nelson. I haven't quite your own regal capacity for the stuff.\\
~~Emma. (Holding up the decanter.) Well, you're not doing too badly
for a beginner. Shall we have one now? Together.\\
~~Nelson. Why not?\\
(Emma pours for both.)\\
~~Emma. What shall we drink to?\\
~~Nelson. To Emma---and her Nelson. What else?\\
(Nelson looks down at the plan, and with a brusque gesture disarranges
it suddenly from a neat pattern to chaos.)\\
~~Emma. You've spoiled your pretty plan.\\
~~Nelson. Yes ... Did you too think it pretty?\\
~~Emma. Very pretty---and I'd have kept this table laid out just
this way---to show to visitors exactly how Nelson won his
battle off Cadiz.\\
~~Nelson. (Gently.) Exactly how Collingwood won Nelson's battle
off Cadiz.\\
~~Emma. I said how Nelson won it.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Nelson. Emma---I have not asked you---\\
~~Emma. No, but you were goint to.\\
~~Nelson. No, my dearest, you are wrong. I would never, never,
have asked.\\
~~Emma. But you might have called me 'my Lady' a little more,
and shown a greater fancy for going out alone in the rains as
the time of Collingwood's battle approached? I love my
Nelson---But I love all of him. I don't want him only half a
man, with the better half pining to be out at sea.\\
~~Nelson. Has Hardy talked with you tonight?\\
~~Emma. That b---that person? I wouldn't soil my lips.\\
~~Nelson. (Embracing her.) Oh Emma, my darling!\\
~~Emma. It wasn't only that thought, Nelson. If you'd gone on
trying to catch your death of cold hiding from me outside at
night, I could have nursed you later---as I did in Naples---and
meanwhile learnt solitaire. No, it wasn't only that ---to
be really truthful---\\
~~Nelson. You always are really truthful.\\
~~Emma. Well, I can exaggerte a bit, like paying a round of
visits to various gentlemen. (They both laugh, holding hands.)
I wouldn't want to be thought of as a woman who kept you
from going out when the country needed you. It \textit{is}
my country, too, you know.\\
~~Nelson. You, too, think I'm needed?\\
~~Emma. There's only one Nelson in the world. But he's mine.
Mine alone.\\
~~Nelson. Truly only yours.\\
~~Emma. Mine to keep---and mine to give too. (She is near tears.)
Only---one thing, my darling---this time take care. (She can't
go on.)\\
~~Nelson. Yes, my heart.\\
~~Emma. Don't leave your Emma alone and deserted.\\
~~Nelson. I won't.\\
~~Emma. Swear it properly. Swear that this time you'll do all that
lies in your power, not to get yourself killed.\\
~~Nelson. (Gravely.) I will do all that lies in my power not to leave
my Emma alone and deserted, and that I do most solemnly
swear to, before God.\\
~~Emma. Well, you're good with voes, and you do your best to keep them.
You'd have kept the one about not going out, you say?\\
~~Nelson. (Kissing her hand.) Yes, I do. Oh my Emma, I love you
so deeply.\\
~~Emma. (Getting up.) No, Nelson. That won't do at all. I want
something more memorable. Something I can quiote to my
friends. I've thought of something---\\
~~Nelson. I would expect that you might have.\\
~~Emma. I wrote it down in my journal in bed.\\
(As Nelson looks at her.)\\
Oh yes, You didn't need to risk any agues in a wet garden.
I'd have told you this last night in bed---but I wanted you
to know I was \textit{giving} you---not having you \textit{filched}
from me by an underhand, contriving prick of a Flag-Captain. Now
let me remember. I know. 'Dear Emma, brave Emma. If
there were more Emmas in the world there'd be more
Nelson's.' How do you like that?\\
~~Nelson. (Staring at her.) I like it very much. I like it because it's
absolutely true.\\
~~Emma. Not really. Nelson's are born, not made.\\
~~Nelson. They can sometimes be reborn.\\
(He begins to arrange the table again.)\\
My pretty battle. Well, we shall see.\\
~~Emma. (Watching him.) Just tell me one thing, love. It will be
another victory, won't it?\\
~~Nelson. I think so.\\
~~Emma. A big one?\\
~~Nelson. Yes. Very big.\\
~~Emma. It needs to be.\\
~~Nelson. (Eagerly.) Yes, it does. The strategic situation---\\
~~Emma. (Laughing.) Do you think I talk strategies? It has to be big,
my darling, because, since the crowds in the streets have
taken to laughing at us---\\
~~Nelson. Laughing?\\
~~Emma. You heard them in Clarges Street.\\
~~Nelson. I heard nothing but cheers.\\
~~Emma. (Holding his arm.) You heard laughter and you knew
who it was they laughed at. Well, I \textit{am} grown a little laughable
I suppose, these days. I should fast a little, take off weight.
And drink less, of course.\\
(Absent-mindedly, she takes a gulp of brandy. Nelson smiles affectionately.)\\
(She takes his hand.)\\
Oh my darling, to afford an Emma Hamilton, you need a
very big victory indeed. Then you'll find they won't laugh
any more. It'll be 'huzza, brave Nelson!' again and, perhaps
even, 'huzza, brave Emma!' too. A likely thought! (Picking up
two sauce-boats.) What are these?\\
~~Nelson. The lead ships of our two attacking lines---\\
~~Emma. One of them now the Victory, I suppose?\\
~~Nelson. Well, it may be. The other certainly the Royal
Sovereign. They'll need to be heavy ships, you see, to lead
the two prongs of our attack.\\
~~Emma. (Scornfully.) I know you think I'm half-witted on naval
matters and don't attend at all when you talk about
them---(Accusingly.) but, how often, at this table, have I heard you
say to those sailors that these two ships (She flourishes the
sauce-boats.) will have to bear so heavy a weight of cannon
that they might well be sunk before they can even fire back a
shot.\\
~~Nelson. They'll not be sunk, Emma.\\
~~Emma. But all those broadsides at them, from their biggest
ships! (Angrily.) Why haven't they designed a warship that
can fire forwards, instead of always these eternal broadsides?\\
~~Nelson. (Busy on the table.) One day they may.\\
~~Emma. But they haven't yet, and for an hour or more in this
position, you'll be pacing your quarter-deck, fired at by most
of the enemy fleet. (She indicates.) And being head on, with not
a chance of firing as much as a single shot in return.\\
~~Nelson. Half an hour. Less even than that, with a stiff breeze.\\
~~Emma. Why do you \textit{have} to be in the Victory?\\
~~Nelson. (Smoothly.) But I don't \textit{have} to be in the Victory. I
recommended to Collingwood to fly his flag in a frigate
somewhere to the rear---the better to control the action.\\
~~Emma. Oh yes! I can just see \textit{you} flying your flag in a
frigate---somewhere to the rear!\\
~~Nelson. There's no shame in that.\\
~~Emma. (Near tears again.) No shame to Collingwood, perhaps.
But \textit{your} flag? Oh Nelson, how you lie to me sometimes!\\
~~Nelson. (Piously, while rearranging his battle.) Heaven forbid,
dearest Emma!\\
~~Emma. Nelson, do you remember what you have just vowed to
me?\\
~~Nelson. Very clearly.\\
~~Emma. Then vow another one. Vow about this.\\
(She picks up a sauce-boat, and puts it carefully to the rear.)\\
~~Nelson. My dear, you have put poor Victory on direct collision
course with H.M.S. Agamemnon, H.M.S. Ajax and H.M.S. Orion.
(He picks up the sauce-boat and holds it.) I think, dearest
Emma, you should allow me to make my own dispositions.
They may not be perfect, but at least they may avoid sinking
four of my own battleships before contact with enemy.\\
~~Emma. Well at least swear one thing---\\
~~Nelson. Two vows in one morning, is a little too much for the
Almighty, don't you think? Especially when the one will
so absolutely cover the other.\\
~~Emma. Will it?\\
~~Nelson. You know it must.\\
~~Emm. (Embracing him.) Then leave your battle for tonight. Let's
go up. Time's short.\\
~~Nelson. Most, most gladly.\\
~~Emma. Now do you remember your little speech?\\
(She goes to the entrance.)\\
~~Nelson. My speech?\\
(He replaces the sauce-boat exactly where it was. Emma has reached the
stairs.)\\
~~Emma. The one I wrote in my journal.\\
~~Nelson. Oh yes.\\
(He goes. She is waiting for him.)\\
~~Now, let me see. Brave, dear Emma. If there were more
women in the world like you---\\
(He joins her at the stairs.)\\
~~Emma. No, no, no! It's 'dear Emma, brave Emma---if there
were more Emmas in the world there'd be more Nelson's.'\\
~~Nelson. Oh yes. Dear Emma, brave Emma, if there were more
brave Emmas---\\
(They begin to walk up the stairs.)\\
~~Emma. If there were more \textit{Emmas}. Try again.\\
~~Nelson. Dear Emma, brave Emma. If there were more
Emmas---oh dear, I forget what would happen---\\
~~Emma. (Kissing him.) There'd be more \textit{Nelsons}.\\
(The lights fade and we hear the distant boom of cannon. The hazy
murmurs of a melancholy sea shanty comes to our ears as though
muffled by the sound of billowing sails in a wind.)\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scene 3\\
(The lights come up on Nelson's cabin in the Victory. Two seamen are
carrying in a sea-chest, a small table and a chair. On the table is a
document and writing material. The distant gunfire continues through
the scene. After a moment Nelson walks into his cabin wearing a
plain jacket without stars. He nods dismissal to the seamen, who go.
Nelson, left alone, falls to his knees.)\\
~~Nelson. May the great God, whom I worship, grant to my
county---\\
(Hardy comes in with Blackwood, followed by Hardy's orderly
(a midshipman). Nelson smiles at them and motions them to be quiet
for a moment. They bow their heads.)\\
---and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and
glorious victory; and may no misconduct in anyone tarnish
it; and may humanity after victory be the predominant
feature in the British fleet. For myself, individually, I commit
my life to Him who made me, and may His blessing light upon
my endeavours for serving my country faithfully. To Him I
resign myself and the just cause which is entrusted to me to
defend. Amen, amen, amen.\\
(He remains for a few seconds on his knees and then rises alertly. His
manner from this point on is quiet, resigned and happy.)\\
Hardy, Backwood? It seems that the enemy are being rather
wasteful of their shot. Are they falling short?\\
~~Hardy. By a cable or so ... But one went over us.\\
~~Nelson. Yes, it will be hotter soon. (Glancing at his watch.) It must
be some forty minutes at least before we can answer their fire at
all. Lady Hamilton has suggested that we design a battle-ship
that can fire forwards. I think it rather a good idea, don't you?\\
~~Hardy. A ship designed to fire its broadsides forwards might be
a shade unseaworthy, my lord. Something like a maritime
ballon.\\
~~Nelson. No, no. A swivelling turret crammed with cannon
could do it. Let's hope our new tactics here will inspire our
naval inventors. However, in the absence of swivelling gun
turrets, I admit I could have done with a fresher breeze.
How goes the Royal Sovereign?\\
~~Hardy. Most bravely, my Lord? She'll be in action before us.\\
~~Nelson. (Genially.) Damn Collingwood with his new copper!\\
And damn poor Victory with her barnacles of two years!
Blackwood, you should be getting aboard.\\
~~Blackwood. I have waited, my Lord, under s-strict orders.\\
~~Nelson. Whose orders?\\
~~Backwood. Y-yours, my Lord. You said l-last night at our
general m-meeting that you might be flying your flag in my
frigate.\\
~~Nelson. I said such a thing?\\
~~Blackwood. Well---the other Admirals s-said it but I understood
that your L-L-Lordship agreed. After all it was your
written r-recommendation that the Commander-in-Chief---\\
~~Nelson. Fiddle.\\
~~Blackwood. I beg pardon, my Lord?\\
~~Nelson. I said 'fiddle'. A frigate was for Collingwood. Go on
board yours and carry her well.\\
~~Blackwood. Ay, ay, my Lord.\\
~~Hardy. (Detaining Blackwood.) My Lord, will you please
reconsider? The Victory will have the weight of four enemy
battleships against her, alone and unsupported.\\
~~Nelson. Do you make it four? I make it five.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Hardy. Will you at least give orders that the Temeraire pass us?
She is close on our heels.\\
(Nelson says nothing. Hardy accepts his silence as consent.)\\
(To his midshipman.) Tell the Signals Officer to hail Captain
Harvey and order him to sail his ship to lead the line.\\
~~Midshipman. Ay, ay, sir.\\
(Midshipman goes off.)\\
~~Nelson. (Not listening.) Yes, yes. Very wise. But first, as you and
Blackwood are both conveniently here, will you attest my
signature? See, I have signed.\\
(They bend over the document, Hardy taking the pen first.)\\
It is not necessary for you to read it, but in case we get burnt or
sunk, I should tell you the gist, I think. This document
most clearly and absolutely leaves Lady Hamilton---well it's
too complicated, perhaps to tell. I'll read the last paragraph.
(Reading quickly.) 'I leave Emma, Lady Hamilton, therefore
a Legacy to my King and Country, that they will give her
an ample provision to maintain her rank in life.' Will you sign
there? I think that will make it all legal.\\
(Hardy signs. Blackwood follows him. The midshipman comes
back.)\\
~~Midshipman. Your orders carried out, sir.\\
(Nelson walks to the extreme limit of the stage and peers as through
an imaginary porthole.)\\
~~Nelson. What's the damned blackguard Harvey doing with his
Temeraire, Hardy? By God---he's trying to pass us, I swear.
Hail him at once to keep his proper station.\\
~~Hardy. (Patiently.) What \textit{is} his proper station, my Lord?\\
~~Nelson. Behind the Victory, of course. Where else?\\
~~Hardy. But at your last orders I have had him hailed to the
exact contrary.\\
~~Nelson. Fiddle.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Hardy. Yes, my Lord. (With a sigh, to Midshipman.) Coutermand
my last order.\\
~~Midshipman. Ay, ay, Captain. (He goes out.)\\
~~Nelson. Oh Hardy---did you see that signal I made to amuse
the fleet?\\
~~Hardy. I did, my Lord.\\
~~Nelson. 'England confides this day.'---\\
~~Hardy. There was no signal for 'confides', so the signals officer
altered it to 'expects.' ...\\
~~Nelson. 'England expects'? It doesn't sound half as good.
You've been below---did the fellows hear of it? Did it amuse
them?\\
~~Hardy. Not much, my Lord. The only comment I heard was an
enquiry whether the Admiral had gone off his head. They
all know what's to be done, they said, and don't need any
signal from you to tell them. Still, as it \textit{was} from you, they
did give it a cheer.\\
~~Nelson. A loud cheer?\\
~~Hardy. Almost inaudible. But they yelled their heads off at
your Lordship's next signal---the one for close action.\\
(Nelson laughs.)\\
~~Nelson. Oh well---I love them all---each and every damned
rascal. (To Blackwood.) On board, Blackwood!\\
~~~Blackwood. Ay, ay, my Lord. (Extending his hand.) May I wish
your Lordship the most complete and crushing victory ever
won?\\
~~Nelson. Well, if it could be that it would be no more than
I have planned. But God will decide all. Goodbye, Blackwood.\\
~~Blackwood. And---after the battle---may it be the Eu-Eu-Euryalus
that brings the news to London?\\
~~Nelson. (Absently.) Yes. Hardy, please remember to tell Collingwood
that is my wish.\\
~~Hardy. It will be you who will give the order, my Lord.\\
~~Nelson. Of course. I meant---in case I forget.\\
(Blackwood goes. Hardy looks at the plain uniform.)\\
~~Hardy. I'm very glad you have taken my advice about the plain
tunic. To wear the one with all your stars up on the quarterdeck
would be simple suicide.\\
~~Nelson. Oh, of course.\\
~~Hardy. With those sharp-shooters up in their mizzen-masts, if
you had been strutting about your quarter-deck with your
breast blazing like the sun---\\
~~Nelson. I don't strut, Hardy.\\
~~Hardy. No, my Lord.\\
~~Nelson. (At the imaginary porthole) That damned Temeraire is
gaining still. I'll have Harvey court-martialled---see if I
don't. Go up and hail him yourself.\\
~~Hardy. (With a sigh.) Ay, ay, my Lord.\\
(There is a moment's silence then the men, as if by mutual instinct,
embrace awkwardly.)\\
~~Nelson. Despite all things, I have not---have I---been too great
a sinner?\\
~~Hardy. No, my Lord.\\
~~Nelson. (Patting him on the back.) Well, well. At least they'll not
say of me that I haven't done my duty. And for that, I
suppose, I should thank my Maker.\\
~~Hardy. You should, I believe, my Lord.\\
(The sound of gunfire increases, as Hardy leaves the cabin. Left alone,
Nelson goes to the chest and pulls out from it his familiar bestarred
uniform. He clambers into it with some difficulty. Then he polishes
the stars with his sleeve, smiling a little. That done, he puts on his
cocked hat at a carefully jaunty angle and strolls out of the cabin, up
towards the quarter-deck.)\\
(The lights in the cabin fade quickly, but remain on the Turneresque
backcloth while the gunfire grows even louder. Then, through the gunfire
we hear the single tolling of a church bell. The lights on the backcloth
fade quickly and the gunfire rumbles into silence. There is the
sound of church music.)\\
\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Scene 4\\
(The bell tolls more loudly. When the lights go on we are in Merton.
Lady Nelson, in deep mourning, is standing very still in the sitting-room.
The furniture is covered with dust sheets. Francesca, in deep
distress, comes down the stairs.)\\
~~Francesca. Lady Hamilton, vi vuole vedere, eccelenza, ma
forse sarebbe.\\
(As Frances appears not to understand.)\\
Lady Hamilton ... not good ... is better ... later.\\
~~Frances. Well, perhaps if I could leave her a note?\\
~~Francesca. Si, si, eccelenza. I fetch paper.\\
(Emma can be seen walking, none too steadily, towards the hall area.
She is in a nightdress, and is trying unsuccessfully to put on the purple
mantle she wore as Andromache.)\\
~~Emma. (Off.) Francesca! Francesca! Dov\'e stai, idiota?\\
(Francesca flies up the stairs to mask Frances from her.) \\
~~Francesca. Se n'\`e andata---se n'\`e andatornate a letto.\\
~~Emma. L'ho vista, bugiarda. Her carriage is still outside.\\
(She pushes Francesca out of the way, and goes into the sitting-room
where Frances has risen to greet her. The bell tolls.)\\
Lady Nelson. (She curtsies clumsily.)\\
~~Frances. Lady Hamilton. (She returns the curtsey with dignity.)\\
~~Emma. (To Francesca.) Aiutami.\\
(She indicates the mantle. Francesca, near tears, drapes it round her.
The bell tolls again.)\\
(Meanwhile to Frances.) I've been through my whole wardrobe and found
nothing else of mourning. I never could abide
black, you see---and I've not been out of my bed for a long,
long time. (To Francesca.) Stop fumbling. I'll fasten it. Leave
us.\\
(Francesca goes.)\\
This is a costume I have sometimes worn for one of my little
entertainments. Purple is mourning, isn't it? It must be.
Anyway it was for Andromache. That was the character I
personated in this mantle---the last time I did so was here, in
this very room, one night, before---your husband.\\
(It has been an effort for her to use that phrase.)\\
(The bell tolls.)\\
Your visit, Lady Nelson, does me great honour. To what do
I attrib-attribute it?\\
~~Frances. I would never, rest assured, have intruded on your
Ladyship's grief without the most urgent of reasons.\\
~~Emma. I do rest assured you would not.\\
~~Frances. I have news of the greatest importance for youself,
and I judged it best that I should be the one to give it you,
rather than that you read it in the newspapers tomorrow.\\
(The bell tolls again.)\\
~~Emma. I don't read the newspapers any more. (Looking around.)
I'm sorry you should see the house like this. It was a pretty
house---and this room really the prettiest of all. The truth is,
my staff has left me---all save Francesca. It was a matter of
their wages being overdue. But Your Ladyship would hardly
understand such things.\\
~~Frances. Please, Lady Hamilton, will you hear my news?\\
~~Emma. Your news? Yes, in a moment---a moment. (She looks
around.) There should be some refreshment for your Ladyship.\\
~~Frances. Please. I don't need any refreshment.\\
~~Emma. Well, this Ladyship does. Excuse me.\\
(She takes up a bottle of brandy from the only table not covered and slops
some into a tankard.)\\
A shortage of glassware. There are some glasses in the dining-room,
but it's too far to walk. Your Ladyship should see the
dining-room before you leave. It is left exactly as he arranged
it one night with the glasses and the silverware to show the
two fleets as they were to come into action---and as they did
come into action---almost exactly so, from all accounts---off
Cape Trafalgar. Of course some of the silver has had to go,
but there must be enough left still to make the picture. Very
pretty it looked, when last I saw it.\\
(She drinks again.)\\
(The bell tolls.)\\
(Suddenly screaming.) Oh why don't they stop that bell? We
all know Nelson's dead! Wasn't it a victory? The biggest (Her
voice breaks.) yet---as he vowed it would be. Forgive me, your
Ladyship, if I sit down. My legs are rather weak from staying
in bed. And, of course, from brandy too. There's no denying
the brandy to Your Ladyship.\\
~~Frances. I should not have come. I see that now.\\
~~Emma. Why not? You've come to gloat, haven't you?\\
~~Frances. No, no. That's not true. Simply not true. But how can
any of us know the real reasons for doing what we sincerely
believe to be right?\\
~~Emma. If \textit{I'd} been in your shoes, \textit{I'd} have come down
here to gloat.\\
~~Frances. No. I am sure you would not, Lady Hamilton.\\
~~Emma. Oh yes I would. I'd have gloated all right---because
that's the kind of woman I am.\\
~~Frances. I don't believe it. I have heard much about you, as
you must appreciate. I have learnt much about you too as
you, in my position, would also, surely have done. (Emma nods.)
But there is nothing that I have learnt of you that has ever
indicated anything but a most wide and generous nature.\\
(Pause. Emma laughs.)\\
~~Emma. Oh, God, how easy are words! Wide and generous. A
whore---that's all. A whore who stole your husband.\\
~~Frances. My husband left my bed for yours. He was bound to
have left it, one day, for somebody's. I have understood that---for
a long time now. Why need we quarrel because the bed
happened to be yours?\\
~~Emma. We quarrel because you were my enemy. My remorseless,
implacable enemy. You hated me, didn't you?\\
~~Frances. (Quietly.) Yes, I did. Just as you must have hated
me.\\
~~Emma. But I had reason. He was mine. I had him. He was all
mine. Mine---absolutely. But you were still there, in the
shadows, waiting. Always waiting. Can you deny it?\\
~~Frances. No.\\
~~Emma. Sitting there waiting---knitting, darning,
waiting---Penelope waiting for her Ulysses to come home.\\
~~Frances. Yes, I waited for my Ulysses. Oh yes. But my Ulysses
did not come home. And my waiting for him, Lady Hamilton,
all those years, was not in the least an Attitude. Forgive me,
please. That was unkind.\\
~~Emma. Well he's returing to you all right. He's in a cask of
brandy in the Bay of Biscay now, and he's returning to \textit{you},
Lady, Viscountess---what are you now---? Countess Nelson.
Not returning to me, whom he loved---absolutely. Delivered
in a barrel of alcohol. Is that all you were waiting for?\\
~~Frances. No.\\
~~Emma. (Laughing.) You were waiting for him---alive?\\
~~Frances. Yes, I was. It was foolish, I know, but I confess it now.
I \textit{was} waiting for him to return to me, alive.\\
~~Emma. \textit{You.} Tom Tit?\\
~~Frances. I was waiting for his old age. That at least, would have
been mine.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Emma. (Raising her glass.) Oh well. Here's to his old age, then!
(She drinks.) My doctor says this is going to kill me, you
know---and that it mayn't take too long. Well, it had
better not. I'm not too happy at the thought of spending the
rest of my days on earth in a debtor's prison, which is what I'll
be threatened with before long.\\
~~Frances. There'll be no debtor's prison for you, Lady Hamilton.
That is part of what I have come to tell you---\\
~~Emma. You mean---\\
~~Frances. A document has arrived with other papers. It is signed
by Lord Nelson, and duly attested by Captain Blackwood
and Commodore Hardy---\\
~~Emma. Oh, Hardy's made Commodore, is he?\\
~~Frances. Yes.\\
~~Emma. And I called him a bugger. Well, I suppose there's
promotion and medals for all. So---what does the will say?\\
~~Frances. It is the very last known document of my---of Lord
Nelson's ---life, and it leaves you, Emma, Lady Hamilton, as
a Legacy to the Nation.\\
(There is a long pause. The bell tolls.)\\
(Then Emma throws her head back and literally shouts with laughter.)\\
~~Emma. A Legacy to the Nation? Me? Oh God in Heaven! I
think I'll die of this.\\
(She continues to laugh in high hysterics watched with deep concern by
Frances.)\\
Left to the Nation? Me, on a plith in Westminster Hall,
naked like when old Sir Willum was alive, with all those
Peers and Commoners up to old Sir Willum's tricks. Or
sitting between the King and Queen at Windsor on a throne
with a plaque on it saying, left to King and country by
Viscount Nelson, here sits Emma Hamilton, the late hero's
whore---Oh, my poor, poor Nelson! What a baby he was?
Bur of course---that was his vow that night. Not deserted and
not alone. How could I be deserted and alone if I'm left to
the Nation? Oh my poor, dear baby! It would take him to
think of that---\\
(The bell tolls.)\\
~~Frances. Everything possible will be done to see that my Lord's
last wishes are met. The Earl himself has agreed---\\
~~Emma. The Earl? What Earl?\\
~~Frances. Earl Nelson---William Nelson that was, my husband's
brother.\\
~~Emma. So he's an Earl now, is he? The arse-licking Dean, who
never said a prayer in his life, except perhaps to wish his
brother dead in battle and himself made Earl. And what have
the rest of that grubby crew of Nelson's got? William's son---he'll
be something---\\
~~Frances. The Viscount Trafalgar.\\
~~Emma. The Viscount Trafalgar? That little snotty-nosed brat?
Oh God what a world!\\
(The bell tolls.)\\
And I suppose they're all back your way now? I know they've
all left me. And Minto? Do you see Minto?\\
(Frances nods.)\\
Yes. The first to rat, I warrant. Well, quite a triumph for you,
isn't it?\\
~~Frances. If it is, you must not suppose for a single second that
it is one I relish.\\
~~Emma. I can't think why you don't.\\
~~Frances. Because I am not the kind of woman who would. Why
else am I here? You don't understand me, Lady Hamilton.\\
(Pause.)\\
~~Emma. No. I never did. I never understood you at all, I suppose.\\
(The bell tolls.)\\
(Emma comes close to Frances and stares at her.)\\
I wonder what it's like to be good.\\
~~Frances. Trying to be is not always very easy.\\
~~Emma. Did \textit{you} ever understand me?\\
~~Frances. No.\\
~~Emma. It's a funny world, isn't it?\\
~~Frances. I think you should go back to bed, and I'll say goodbye.
Shall I call your maid?\\
~~Emma. I'll call her. (Yelling.) Francesca! Vieni qui pronto!\\
(Francesca appears.)\\
Francesca, accompagna la signora contessa alla sua corrozza.\\
~~Frances. Look after your mistress. I can find my own way out.
(To Emma.) You must believe me, Lady Hamilton, when
I say that I myself intend to use any influence that I might
have to see that my Lord's last wishes are fully met, and that
your debts at least are paid for by Parliament.\\
~~Emma. I believe you. (She takes a drink.) But of course you won't
succeed. Parliament? (Laughing.) They won't even put it to
the vote. (Looking at her mantle.) Oh withered is the garland of
war. Young boys and girls---I can't remember, what young
boys and girls did. The usual, I suppose. (To Frances.) I'm
sorry. I put some of Cleopatra in that night. Quite a lot---just
to annoy Hardy. It didn't of course, because he's too ignorant
to know his Shakespeare. Now I've forgot it too. I can only
remember---the odds is gone, and there is nothing left
remarkable beneath the visiting moon.\\
~~Frances. Please don't lose hope. I will do all that I can, I
promise.\\
~~Emma. You don't need to promise. (Conversationally.) I wonder,
Lady Nelson, just as a matter of idle interest, which one of us
will be better remembered in a hundred years as Nelson's
woman. You, I suppose. I'll just be a figure of fun! Well,
here's to the figure of fun! (She takes another swig. The bell
tolls. Screaming.) Oh, why don't they stop that bell!\\
~~Frances. I'm leaving you now. Francesca, please \textit{do} look
after her. Please!\\
(With her curious hobbling walk, she goes out of the room, but pauses to
look back as Francesca speaks.)\\
~~Francesca. (Holding Emma.) E mo, eccelenza, per l'amore di
Dio, tornate a letto.\\
~~Emma. No.\\
(She throws Francesca off her and staggers to the harpsichord. She
uncovers the keyboard with difficulty and sits down at the stool. Then,
with the left finger, she plays the first few bars of the verse of 'Rule
Britannia' and looks up expectantly as if waiting for an answer.)\\
(The bell tolls.)\\
(Emma's head, whether through drink, or despair, crashes on the
keyboard, emitting a jangled discord, and the bottle of brandy held in
her right hand spills slowly on to the floor. Francesca flies to her
side.)\\
~~Frances. (From the hall, with genuine pity.) Poor Lady Hamilton!\\
(She hobbles her birdlike way into darkness.)\\
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(Curtain.)\\





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