Nelson: Britannia's God of War (35 page)

Gillray’s caricatures accurately reflect the polarisation of political opinion over Nelson and his Neapolitan exploits. Pitt and his ministers consistently upheld the actions of their hero: on 3 December 1798, indeed, Pitt had used his Budget speech explicitly to link ‘the transcendent commander’ with his own policies, and the determination of the political and mercantile classes. By contrast, Charles James Fox’s Whigs and their press mouthpiece, the
Morning
Chronicle
, accused him of bad faith, and pointed to the improper influence exerted by Emma.
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Later, when the hero returned, the same paper pointed to Emma’s condition, while caricaturist George Cruickshank was quick to find an earthy humour in their relationship. Criticism of Nelson mainly came from the Opposition in Parliament, however; for the country as a whole, the element of political opportunism in these attacks was clear, and there were in any case more important issues to deal with than Nelson’s private life and the internal difficulties of Naples. Later, when the immediate political context of these contemporary attacks on Nelson’s personal life and conduct at Naples was no longer obvious, they were misunderstood and treated as serious criticism, rather than political persiflage.

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The years between the Nile and Trafalgar saw the construction of a new idea of ‘Britishness’: a political discourse that emphasised the social, ideological and imperial elements that distinguished Britain and her people from the tyranny, Jacobinism, militarism and chaos that had followed in the wake of the French revolution.
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The stability of this new ‘Britishness’ was founded not on an army but on the Navy, which enabled Britain to defy external threats, secured her trade, and provided the nation with its first and greatest hero. Nelson was the pre-eminent symbol of this new cultural identity, the first to bring together England, Wales, Scotland, and in part Ireland. For some writers and artists, Nelson was presented as a saviour, an almost Christ-like figure: one artist even represented him on a tree, surrounded by his followers.
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With Wolfe as John the Baptist, the older generation of admirals as prophets, and a ‘Band of Brothers’ as disciples, he had come to redeem his people through his own death. This powerful imagery explains why Nelson was a troubling figure for many in the Church of England despite his own orthodox religious beliefs.

By the time of his return from the Nile, Nelson was at the heart of
the national effort, almost synonymous with this new notion of militant Britishness. This link was powerfully embodied on 31 December 1800, when Nelson and Hood conducted the King to his throne in the House of Lords, from where he delivered his speech on the opening of Parliament, with strong references to the conduct of Russia in seizing British merchant ships. In the New Year’s Day promotion that followed, Nelson became a Vice Admiral of the Blue.
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If Britain was going to survive the next year she would need someone to break the encircling grip of the entire continent. Britain, without a worthwhile ally, faced France and Spain in war, while Russia, Prussia, Sweden and Denmark were only waiting to extract crippling concessions that would destroy her strategy. Nelson’s public role was obvious and vital; unfortunately, his private life still continued to dominate everyone’s attention.
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It was an indication of how far his marriage had collapsed that Nelson spent Christmas with the Hamiltons at Fonthill, the fantasy Abbey of William Beckford, Sir William’s fabulously wealthy, but unstable nephew. Beckford was also a social outcast, whose homosexuality was common knowledge; he hoped to use Sir William’s poverty to secure social status, by making him a loan in return for being named as his heir. Amid such exotic company, Nelson met Benjamin West, President of the Royal Academy, history painter to the King, and creator of the epochal
Death
of
Wolfe
, which had redefined the art of death and the nobility of service for Nelson’s generation. Here was a subject on which Nelson had strong views. The conversation began with Nelson confessing that he was no connoisseur of art:

This story was told many years later to a young American artist, by which time Nelson was dead, and West had attempted his death more than once. However, Nelson’s fascination with Wolfe suggests the
story contains a strong core of truth. He had served with men like Dalling and Jervis who were on the Quebec expedition with Wolfe, while that name and the example of heroic death had occupied a powerful place in his mental world picture from childhood. He was, at this time, profoundly depressed by his personal circumstances, and may well have seen death in battle – a death that would confirm his legendary status in perpetuity – as preferable to living with Fanny. Over the next two weeks he sat for at least eight artists, as if to ensure that his features were captured for posterity, and that his death would not go unnoticed.
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They included a portrait for the City of Norwich by Sir William Beechey, one by John Hoppner for the Prince of Wales and a bust by Mrs Darner for the City of London. Beechey caught something of the quiet self-confidence that underpinned the naval leader, and perhaps reflected the decision he had made to end his marriage.

It is often said that Nelson’s relationship with Emma, and the end of his marriage, revealed that while a genius afloat, he was a child ashore. The basic argument is Minto’s, and it says more about Minto than it does about Nelson. Minto envied Emma’s relationship with his hero, and Nelson his courage in setting aside his wife for someone altogether more interesting. The apparent schizophrenia set up by Minto absolves his biographers of the need to account for actions in public and private that appear contradictory. It would be more appropriate to see the private Nelson as a late developer. Owing to the emotional legacy of his childhood, his early entry into naval life, and long years afloat, he missed out on the social phases of his adolescence: he left home aged twelve, and came back at twenty-one – a captain, and half-dead. Nor, on the evidence of his fumbling attempts at courtship, did he pick up much more understanding before he married.

Away from the sea, he sought a simple life, an idealised version of the home he had known before his mother died. This is why he clung on to his brother William, a last link with his childhood. But Nelson did not sleep under his own roof until he was past forty, by which time it was too late for him to become a fully rounded social being like his contemporaries. Even when he had secured the quiet life ashore he craved, he never stopped being the admiral, and went back to sea whenever the duty bell rang. His need for public applause also demonstrated his arrested development; it was a child-like attribute that he never lost, though he had turned it to his own advantage by the end of his life.

In truth, examining Nelson’s private life courts disappointment; it is a mistake to expect heroes to be heroic in every aspect of their existence. Emma argued that theirs was a great romance, and her version still attracts those who believe Nelson incapable of anything small. In truth his private life was small, short and trifling – worthy of note only because he did not trouble to abide by convention, and used his celebrity to escape the consequences of a foolish and immature decision fifteen years earlier. This decision did at least demonstrate some of his best qualities: by refusing to bow to social pressure and return to conventional marriage with his dull wife, he showed the same calm, decisive resolve that he displayed on more famous occasions. However, this does not mean that he was in the grip of a grand passion: the Nelson-Emma ‘love story’ is a posthumous creation, much embellished by two centuries fascinated by the human side of celebrity. In reality the pair spent very little time together, and Nelson no more thought of giving up his post for her than he had for Fanny.

It was a strong relationship, however, and its power lay in their respective talents and origins. Both had made their way to the top on merit, exploiting every opportunity nature or nurture could provide. Nelson had a family leg up on to the Navy List; Emma’s looks opened doors, and not just to bedrooms. They were fascinating outsiders, and made no attempt to hide the fact, or to deny their relationship. They were wise not to make a parade of the affection until 1805, by which time no one was unaware, or at all bothered. By this time, Nelson had secured his domestic ease, only to lose it forever. But his road to a simple retired life opened in January 1801.

The Christmas holiday – nine days out of London with Emma and Sir William – gave Nelson time to think about his personal circumstances, free from constant demands for appearances, dinners and crowds. Using the same logic he applied to his professional life, he could weigh up his options, plan out his operations, and strike at the perfect moment. With his plan of campaign settled he was ready to face the world. But his return to London was saddened by news that old William Locker had died on Boxing Day, before he had visited Greenwich. On 3 January Nelson followed his mentor to the grave, and wondered if it would not have been better had it been his own. Over the next ten days he arranged to recover his papers from Fanny, dispose of the dreadful house at Round Wood, and arrange the financial details of the separation. He assigned Fanny
£
2,000 a year, his
Nile reward. This was a nice touch: the Nile had made him the national hero – surely it would buy him the personal happiness he craved? He would not be the first, or last, husband to abandon his wife after a change in his fortunes. He could only afford the gesture because the pension for his wounds was almost
£
1,000, double his half-pay as a vice admiral.

Nelson left London on 13 January, with brother William, and never saw his wife again. He was on the road for Plymouth, where his new flagship lay. By early 1801 rumours about Nelson’s attachment to Emma were in wide circulation, with the clear understanding that Fanny had been set aside.
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Fanny was the only person who did not understand what was going on, and her obtuse refusal to play the part Nelson had assigned her, to retire to the country and keep out of his way, made his situation difficult.
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Fortunately for him, by the time Fanny realised what was happening, and started to make strenuous efforts to recover him, he was back at sea. He left the business of ending his marriage to Davison, and to a lesser extent his brother William, and went off to do what he did best. He would return to public notice on his own terms. The international situation was changing rapidly: the Austrians had finally made their peace with Bonaparte, and Naples would soon follow. But there were more pressing problems for Britain, and it was to them that Nelson was drawn.