Memoirs of Emma, lady Hamilton, the friend of Lord Nelson and the court of Naples; by 1855-1933 Walter Sydney Sichel Page A
Authors: 1855-1933 Walter Sydney Sichel
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vases indeed. Here were Melpomene and Thalia, and Terpsichore and Euterpe and Venus, all combined and breathing. Did he not boast the secret of perpetual youth? After all, he was only fifty-four, and he looked ten years younger than his age. He would at least make the solemn youngster jealous. Not that he was covetous; his interest was that of a father, a collector, an uncle. The mere lack of a ring debarred him from being her uncle in reality. " My uncle," she should call him.
Greville's amusement was not quite unclouded; he laughed, but laughed uneasily. To begin with, he believed himself his uncle's heir, but as yet 'twas " not so nominated in the bond." Sir William might well remarry. There was Lord Middleton's second daughter in Portman Square, a twenty thousand pounder, weighing on the scales, a fish claimed by Greville's own rod. But with others, the Court of Naples, an alliance with a widower kinsman of the Hamiltons, the Athols, the Abercorns, and the Grahams, enriched too by recent death, were solidities that might well outweigh his paltry pittance of six hundred a year. And if the widower re-married?—As for Emma, it was of course absurd to consider her. She adored her Greville, and should uncle William choose to play light father in this little farce, he could raise no objection.
Emma herself felt flattered that one so celebrated and learned should deign to be just a nice new friend. He was so amiable and attentive; so discerning of her gifts; so witty too, and full of anecdote. This was no musty scholar, but a good-natured man of the very wide world, far wider than her pent-in corner of it. Indeed, he was a " dear." And then he laughed so heartily when she mimicked Greville's buckram brother, or that rich young coxcomb Willoughby, who
had wooed her in vain already; no giddy youths for her. Was not her own matchless Greville a man of accomplishments, a bachelor of arts and sciences, a master of sentences? The uncle was worthy of the nephew, and so she was " his oblidged humble servant, or affectionate " niece " Emma," whichever he " liked the best."
And in her heart of hearts already lurked a little scheme. Her child, the child to whom Greville had been so suddenly, so gently kind, and after which she yearned, was with her grandmother. After she had taken the tiny companion to Parkgate, and bathed it there, why should not her divinity permit the mother to bring it home for good to Edgware Row? It would form a new and touching tie between them. The plan must not be broached till she could report on " little Emma's " progress, but surely then he would not have the heart to deny her.
Some evidence allows the guess that she had confided her desire to Sir William, and that he had favoured and forwarded her suit with Greville.
And so she left the smoke and turmoil, hopeful and trustful. Mother and child would at length be reunited under purer skies and by the wide expanse of sea. All the mother within her stirred and called aloud; her heart was ready to " break " at the summons. Fatherly Sir William saw her off as proxy for her absent Greville, whom he was to join, the happy man. " Tell Sir William everything you can," she wrote immediately, " and tell him I am sorry our situation prevented me from giving him a kiss, . . . but I will give him one, and entreat it if he will accept it. Ask him how I looked, and let him say something kind to me when you write."—" Pray, my dear Greville, do lett me come home as soon as you can;
. . . indeed I have no pleasure or happiness. I wish I could not think on you; but if I was the greatest lady in the world, I should not be happy from you; so don't lett me stay long."
Her first Parkgate letters, in the form of diaries, speak for themselves. After she had fetched away little Emma " Hart" from her grandmother's at Hawarden, she stopped at Chester. She had fixed on Abergele, but it proved too distant, fashionable, and dear. "High Lake" (Hoylake) was too uncomfortable; it
Greville's amusement was not quite unclouded; he laughed, but laughed uneasily. To begin with, he believed himself his uncle's heir, but as yet 'twas " not so nominated in the bond." Sir William might well remarry. There was Lord Middleton's second daughter in Portman Square, a twenty thousand pounder, weighing on the scales, a fish claimed by Greville's own rod. But with others, the Court of Naples, an alliance with a widower kinsman of the Hamiltons, the Athols, the Abercorns, and the Grahams, enriched too by recent death, were solidities that might well outweigh his paltry pittance of six hundred a year. And if the widower re-married?—As for Emma, it was of course absurd to consider her. She adored her Greville, and should uncle William choose to play light father in this little farce, he could raise no objection.
Emma herself felt flattered that one so celebrated and learned should deign to be just a nice new friend. He was so amiable and attentive; so discerning of her gifts; so witty too, and full of anecdote. This was no musty scholar, but a good-natured man of the very wide world, far wider than her pent-in corner of it. Indeed, he was a " dear." And then he laughed so heartily when she mimicked Greville's buckram brother, or that rich young coxcomb Willoughby, who
had wooed her in vain already; no giddy youths for her. Was not her own matchless Greville a man of accomplishments, a bachelor of arts and sciences, a master of sentences? The uncle was worthy of the nephew, and so she was " his oblidged humble servant, or affectionate " niece " Emma," whichever he " liked the best."
And in her heart of hearts already lurked a little scheme. Her child, the child to whom Greville had been so suddenly, so gently kind, and after which she yearned, was with her grandmother. After she had taken the tiny companion to Parkgate, and bathed it there, why should not her divinity permit the mother to bring it home for good to Edgware Row? It would form a new and touching tie between them. The plan must not be broached till she could report on " little Emma's " progress, but surely then he would not have the heart to deny her.
Some evidence allows the guess that she had confided her desire to Sir William, and that he had favoured and forwarded her suit with Greville.
And so she left the smoke and turmoil, hopeful and trustful. Mother and child would at length be reunited under purer skies and by the wide expanse of sea. All the mother within her stirred and called aloud; her heart was ready to " break " at the summons. Fatherly Sir William saw her off as proxy for her absent Greville, whom he was to join, the happy man. " Tell Sir William everything you can," she wrote immediately, " and tell him I am sorry our situation prevented me from giving him a kiss, . . . but I will give him one, and entreat it if he will accept it. Ask him how I looked, and let him say something kind to me when you write."—" Pray, my dear Greville, do lett me come home as soon as you can;
. . . indeed I have no pleasure or happiness. I wish I could not think on you; but if I was the greatest lady in the world, I should not be happy from you; so don't lett me stay long."
Her first Parkgate letters, in the form of diaries, speak for themselves. After she had fetched away little Emma " Hart" from her grandmother's at Hawarden, she stopped at Chester. She had fixed on Abergele, but it proved too distant, fashionable, and dear. "High Lake" (Hoylake) was too uncomfortable; it
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